Candace looked tired, dark circles under those famous hazel eyes. “Hello, Bec. Thank you for getting in at a reasonable time. I appreciate your being responsible and not making me chase you down.”
“You have enough to do. Where’s Varon?”
She laughed softly, and it made her look younger. “You’re right about that. And Varon’s out on a date with Joe. What about you? Was it Taj or Dante tonight?”
I tried not to be annoyed. I never got answers, yet she expected them. Sounded a lot like a certain blogger. “Taj. And just a long walk back to the hotel. Don’t worry. I was careful.”
“Have a good time?”
I relaxed a small bit with the easier camaraderie. “He’s very interesting, been to a lot of places, but I still don’t know much about him. You guys checked him out, right?”
She flashed a hard glance. “No one would come within an inch of the front door of this hotel or the office without clearance. Including you.”
Uh oh. That was a definite “yes and be quiet.”
“I’ve dealt with hackers before.” She held up her hands, seemingly aware that I was about to launch into defense mode, which I was. “I know that a good percentage of you are simply out to expose security weaknesses, but even you have to admit that can put people and information at risk, and there are a small number that use their skills to hurt and steal.”
I had arguments against that too, starting with the fact that any information a hacker gained access to was already at risk, but I could see this wasn’t the time for that discussion.
“You’re basically honest,” she continued. “We won’t count changing your grades since it was only one class, one time, and I hear there were extenuating circumstances. If there’s one thing being a celebrity has taught me, it’s how to tell if a person is honest. In my experience, an honest person is rare.”
“I know.” I thought about all the phonies and liars at St. X’s. I may have cheated by changing that one disputed grade, but I’d done the work. It was more like correcting a wrong. Still, it was funny coming from Candace. Not only was she was an authority figure, but her life was based on deception—using makeup, enhancing her looks, playing roles, and now, pretending to be an editor.
She searched my face. “You read people too, don’t you?”
“People are like puzzles. I like to figure them out.”
She nodded. “And you’re compassionate. You have a good heart. You hack for fun, and, I believe, for what you think, maybe misguidedly, is justice.”
I swallowed. Did she know about the Kevin debacle?
Candace poured herself a small amount of wine and swirled it around in her glass. “Now tell me, what do you know about Parker’s accident?”
I frowned. “Someone tampered with the car’s systems.”
“We’ve figured that out. But which?”
“It was the seatbelt,” I said. “And the airbag.”
“But Parker’s seatbelt was fastened—”
“The lap belt was. What about the one across her chest?”
Candace sat up straight.
“If it was an automatic belt, it didn’t function properly. It should have held her back or she wouldn’t have hit the dashboard so hard,” I said.
“How do you know that’s what happened?”
“When I went to see her—”
Candace narrowed her eyes at me, definitely not happy about that reminder.
“When I saw her,” I began again, “she had this weird bruise on her chest.” I looked around and finding a pad and pen by the phone, quickly sketched it out and handed it to her. “I know what it is now—a logo. What kind of car was it?”
“A Lancia.”
“A shield in a circle,” I said. “So when Parker hit the dashboard hard, it left an almost exact imprint.”
“If you’re right, that would explain her chest injuries,” Candace said in a tone that told me she wasn’t completely convinced. “The airbag should have prevented that. It deployed in the crash.”
I nodded. “Yes, and Ortiz said that the car was checked out before that day and everything was working fine. We know that all the safety features, the seat belt and the airbag, worked perfectly on the driver’s side because although Ortiz was bruised and banged up, she walked away without being seriously hurt.”
Candace blinked several times. Unsure if she was following where I was going with this, I continued. “Parker’s seat belt had to malfunction for her to hit the dashboard. The injuries on her face and head came because the airbag was late being deployed. Along with the seat belt, I think the airbag sensor was also tampered with. It was like a one-two punch.” I took a breath. “Anyone with the right know-how could do that with a laptop and a couple of cables. Whoever it was, they made the accident look legit by frying the system so that the seat belt hack couldn’t be traced. After that, it was just a matter of a little offensive driving on someone’s part—get in Ortiz’s way on a narrow street.”
She shook her head in wonder, then her eyes focused on me. “Keep this between us. Until we can verify this, trust no one. Do you understand?”
I nodded vigorously. “And there’s another connection. Or maybe it’s nothing.”
She leaned forward, attentive. “Go on.”
“When I was doing the expense reports I saw that Serena had bought these cables—the same kind that could have been used to hack Parker’s car.”
Candace relaxed a little bit. “Yes, Varon mentioned you were doing some recon. In my office.”
I felt the blood rush to my face. “I didn’t think it was you, I was checking to see if Serena bought the cables for one of the offices before I made any accusations.”
“Serena? I don’t think she’s capable of anything that technical.” She studied my face, realizing I was serious. “I’ll look into it—we have to chase down every lead, even if it seems small. Or unlikely. She’s been investigated, but it’s possible we missed something.”
I didn’t respond. Every time I came up with an argument to connect Serena to the accident, a counter one cropped up: she was technically running the magazine now, but she didn’t get to replace Parker. She bought the cables but didn’t seem to have the knowledge to use them.
“I was going to ask Sophie if she knew or saw anything unusual about that day or Serena, but never got the chance.”
One of Candace’s sculpted brows rose. “Better that you didn’t. We have enough extra noses in this situation.” Tapping her chin with her index finger, she mused, “I don’t know why Serena would need any extra technical equipment.” Clearly the fact stuck in her head and puzzled her, as unlikely as Serena’s involvement seemed at first. “If she was involved—and I’m not saying she was—I don’t think she did everything herself.”
I nodded. “That makes sense. But who would she be working with?”
“Has Dante ever shown any interest or aptitude for working with that kind of technology?”
I was taken aback, but the answer came quickly enough. “No!”
“But he is pretty agile on that Vespa. Enough to drive defensively. Maybe offensively,” Candace countered.
He was slick on the scooter. I was hesitant to either agree with her or defend him. It was getting harder to sort through the facts and not make guesses that could get people—maybe innocent ones—in lots of trouble. What if I was wrong about everything?
Taking a deep breath, I answered as honestly as I could. “That’s true, but I’ve never seen him talk to Serena. I know what you’re going to say: that I like him and I might not be thinking logically, and I admit that I don’t know him that well. But I also don’t want to accidentally help someone who might be involved. The only thing he said to me that might connect him to what happened is that he asked to meet Mrs. Jennings.”
“Did he push hard? Pressure you?” Her voice was soft, but it felt sharp like steel.
“No, he didn’t insist or offer me anything. I honestly think it’s more of a ‘meet a celebrity�
�� thing.”
Trying to meet the First Lady was something most people would want to do if they got the opportunity—I knew, because I was thrilled to get the chance. Could anyone really blame Dante? I waited, holding my breath, not certain I wanted to hear what she was going to say if it was going to be bad for him.
Candace replaced the cork, her long, strong fingers forcing it deep into the bottleneck. She appeared to be debating something. “I don’t think I’m giving away any state or bureau secrets by telling you that Dante came back with a clean record.” She rested back in her chair, a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth that wasn’t a smile but an expression of adamant determination. “We’ll keep an eye on him.”
That didn’t sound too bad—not much different from what they were already doing with me. But there was still something else—I knew one person who had the know-how to use those cables.
“What about Taj?” I said.
“What about Taj?” She almost sounded defensive.
“Taj is … very tech savvy.” I didn’t want to say how savvy. It might be nothing, and I didn’t want to get him into trouble, any more than I wanted to get Dante into trouble—but I had to tell Candace everything.
“I’m aware of that—he also came back clean. And he has the curse of being a celebrity, which makes it easy to track his movements. Always watched and never alone.” I nodded, and she took a sip of wine, staring at me over the rim of her glass. “It’s good that you’re so observant, and it’s smart that you’re conscious of the company you keep, especially in this situation. That’s a sign of good judgment, which I’m sure your parents and former headmasters would be thrilled to hear about, but, unfortunately, can’t.”
I gave her a wry look. “Too bad. A good word from you might help when my parents try to get me into a new school. They may even let me have a say where my next prison will be.”
“I might be able to help with that, once this is all over.”
“Thanks.” I rose and picked up my backpack. “Goodnight, Candace.”
“Bec? Don’t worry. That’s my job.” She smiled grimly at me, and I felt a genuine concern—and realized that she was more worried than she wanted me to see.
TRICKS AND TIPS FOR THE EDGE-Y GIRL
If you’re taking lots of vacation photos, don’t force a smile. Think happy thoughts, add a slight curve of the lips and you’ll be a natural!
25
For a job well done. Join us for the interview. Breakfast at the office.
Please don’t be late.
C.
The note I found when I woke up was written in Candace’s elegant script. It had been placed on top of a hot-pink dress, one of the coveted sample pieces sent to Edge by Dolce and Gabbana! There was also a little matching jacket and crystal-covered platforms that weren’t so slanty that I felt like a leaning tower when I stood up. I was going to rock these.
I showered, put on a bit of makeup, then dried and curled my hair the way Joe had shown me. It looked almost as good as when he did it. Enjoying the stares I got as I wound my way up the street to the office, I felt like a native; I knew my way around, I was picking up the language. More than that, I was an asset. Candace had said as much.
Nothing in school, or what I’d done online, had been this intense. Changing a grade, putting my name first on the electronic sign-up list for concert tickets, and torrenting movies that were still in the theater were nothing compared to this. I had a new respect for Candace and the agents. It was kind of thrilling, being almost on the inside. My life didn’t need any more complications and trouble, but being here in the middle of spies and plots and danger was exhilarating.
When I got within sight of the offices, a sudden anxiousness overtook me. When the shoot was wrapped up, would Parker be in any shape for Candace to hand me over to her? Not that I needed or wanted watching, but being a minor, I knew that was the way things had to be. Would I be going to New York as scheduled, or staying here? I was powerless to make a choice about what happened. All I knew was that the end of my time here also meant the end of my time with Dante and Taj.
God, I would miss Dante’s golden smile. And clinging to him as we darted through the streets on the back of his Vespa. We could meet up in the states if he came over like he wanted to, and if it happened to be wherever my next school was, and if I wasn’t kept under lock and key. Leaving would mean no more chats over shared gelato, strolling through quaint and quiet side streets, and sneaking up secret staircases.
And Taj … Without the Secret Service and Candace and the First Lady hovering in the background, we could just be us. He traveled the world: if he wanted to, we could meet up again.
And share tech secrets and tricks.
And kisses …
This had been the best week of my life—but who knew what would happen next?
Resigned to wait for my fate, I went into the office. Everything was ready for Theresa Jennings’s last visit. All the porcelain coffee cups were sparkling clean and neatly lined up, and fresh pastries and fruit were laid out on pretty plates. There were full jugs of water and juice, and a professional barista in a uniform and apron was manning the espresso machine. Maybe Kevin’s OCD was actually coming in handy for once.
“Everything’s in order! Don’t even think about using the kitchen!” Kevin shouted when he stomped into the common area.
“Relax,” Sophie said in a soothing voice. “Everything’s fine.”
He nodded and seemed to calm down. I saw her squeeze his hand before he left to check on something else. Everyone seemed to be on their best behavior today, and nobody was bickering. Ugi appeared to accept that Joe and Varon were a duo, and Joe wasn’t as snippy to Ugi. Everyone seemed content.
For now.
“Bec, please get me the photos from Claudio,” Kevin said, “in case we need to take additional shots. Aldo, are you ready?” Kevin rushed off to check on the photographer.
Wait. Kevin. Said please. To me.
I wondered if Taj had fixed Kevin’s credit dilemma.
Shaking my head in amazement, I retrieved a stack of glossy prints from the photo editor’s table and flipped through them. He’d marked a number of shots that he thought might work.
Mrs. Jennings with a handful of schoolkids in uniforms.
Mrs. Jennings with a pair of laughing nuns.
A little girl tugging on Mrs. Jennings’s dress. Cute.
Same little girl, eyes opened wide as the First Lady smiled at her.
Mrs. Jennings taking off her cape, part of it flipped over and draped over her arm.
A small silver glint on the exposed lining caught my eye. Using a photo magnifier, I peered closer. A sharply inhaled breath caught in my throat. That bit of metal wasn’t a snap or button—it was a mini GPS. A tracking bug.
Someone had tagged the First Lady.
I looked at the photo again, noting every little detail. Everyone looked so happy. The little kids, Mrs. Jennings, the nuns. Even the policeman in the background.
The policeman.
This time I could see his very distinctive profile. And then it hit me.
It looked like the Man from the warehouse.
His longish, silvery hair was the same as the policeman at the Pantheon and the security guard at the Forte.
He’d been everywhere. What were the odds?
After glancing around to make sure no one was watching me, I made a photocopy of the Man’s picture, intent on showing it to Candace first chance I got. Taking a quick peek out the windows, I scanned all around: up and down the street, even straight across, trying to peer into the windows of the buildings across the way, looking for him. He was everywhere else, why wouldn’t he be here now? And what was he up to?
Could he be the one who’d sabotaged Parker’s car?
No. That would mean Candace was working with a kidnapper or worse. Anyone could be duped under the right circumstances, but there were things that didn’t seem to fit—so many pieces to this puzzle. I tried to
clear my mind and focus on each suspect, starting with the Man.
The first time I saw him, he was with Candace at the warehouse. The second time was at the Pantheon, and the time after that at the Forte, then again at the Vatican. At the Pantheon and St. Peter’s Square, the Man played a policeman.
My heart skipped a beat.
Who was the other common denominator almost every single time?
Me.
And with the exception of the warehouse, Taj.
If there was any connection …
I had to tell Candace.
First, I found Kevin. “Here are the pictures from Claudio. Some look useable,” I said, pushing them into his hands.
He rifled through them. “Hmmm. Maybe we can use one or two. Serena will have to approve which ones. But there aren’t enough.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I’m going to have Angelo take as many shots as he can here in the office during the interview. We can crop some into headshots and Photoshop the backgrounds.” He handed the photos back to me. “Thanks, Bec. Put these on Serena’s desk when you get a chance.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze, then marched off to talk with the photographer.
Wow. Who was this new and improved Kevin? Would it last?
I ran upstairs and dropped the photos on Serena’s desk, then knocked on Candace’s door.
“Come in!”
She was on the phone but waved to me to sit in a chair. It was the same one I’d sat in numerous other times to be yelled at, lectured to, or ordered about, but this time I had valuable intel.
“Okay, fine. Yes, sir.” Candace hung up and leaned back in her chair. “I’ll be glad when this assignment is over, Bec.”
“Me too.”
Her phone buzzed. “Make it quick,” she said, as she looked at her phone, then me. “Mrs. Jennings will be here soon.” Sliding open the desk drawer, she pulled out her gun and holstered it.
The sight of the weapon still unnerved me. Yes, she was CIA and protecting the First Lady, so of course she’d have a gun, but it was still chilling to see it—because I knew she’d use it if she felt she had to.
Blonde Ops Page 20
