Flashbyte (Byte Series - Ellie Conway Book 4)

by Cat Connor

  The memory faded before it became unmanageable.

  I checked I had boots on my feet as my fingers sought the faded scar around my throat.

  “Mom, why did you do that?” Carla asked, watching me with sleepy eyes.

  “What, sweetie?”

  “Touch your throat like that.”

  I smiled. The elevator pinged. “This is our floor.”

  She hurried to catch up as I strode along behind the porter. Carla grabbed my hand.

  “What was it, Mom?”

  “Nothing, sweetheart. Just a memory.”

  “Of this hotel?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  The porter disappeared through a doorway. We caught up. I took the key card and tipped him for his help.

  Sometimes I dreaded the way Carla’s inquisitive mind worked, and the thought of her drilling me about the past didn’t thrill me. Turned out I didn’t need to worry. By the time I’d closed and locked the door behind the porter she was almost asleep in the bed nearest the window. Midnight faded into the past as I checked email then surfed TV channels.

  Nine

  Hello, I Love You

  Morning slammed into me at high volume. I pulled a pillow over my head and pressed down.

  It didn’t help. The noise pounded against my hands as they held the pillow. I peeled back a corner and growled, “Turn it down!”

  The volume dropped significantly.

  I wasn’t done yet, “We’re in a hotel. Have some consideration for other guests.”

  “Sorry,” Carla muttered. “Why are you so cranky?”

  “Tired.”

  She bounced on my bed. “Do you have to work today?”

  Gee, let me see. Two boxes of meat landed on my doorstep yesterday. They’re people meat but not my case; they’re just my problem. A heap of case files sitting on my desk waiting for me. Then there are the two Conways dead in mysterious circumstances. Again, not my case, but the potential is there for it to be my problem. And the little matter of the Blake Lane shooting. Did I have to work?

  “Yes, but I’d sooner hang with you,” I said.

  “I could stay here. You can go to the office.”

  “Ah, no, not by yourself.”

  “It’s a hotel, what could happen? I’m fourteen!”

  “Exactly – you’re fourteen!”

  “Mom!”

  “Don’t start with me; I haven’t even had coffee yet.” I rolled over and tried to smother myself again. Music started up. I looked at Carla. It wasn’t her. I was hearing ‘Rockin’ Robin’ and I had no clue why.

  “I’ll get the coffee,” Carla said.

  I suspected she was trying a different tactic to allow me to let her stay in the hotel by herself. Good luck with that.

  Before I could come up with a reason for the new song she was on the phone ordering room service. Listening to her breakfast order cemented my earlier thoughts. She would not be staying in the hotel by herself.

  Carla hung up.

  It seemed like a good idea to repeat her breakfast instructions back to her, “Coffee, pancakes, bacon, French toast, orange juice, chocolate croissants, and a banana smoothie … did I get that right?”

  Carla grinned. “Yes.”

  “I’ll stay here until Rowan picks you up.”

  It’d take us until lunch time to get through the mountain of food. I threw back the covers and crawled out of bed. Time to locate clothing and hit the shower in the hope the water would wash away the song. Trying to figure out what it had to do with the night’s events was set to do my head in.

  I’d envisaged a quick shower. The steaming hot water and high pressure showerhead seduced me into a record-breaking long shower. I emerged prune-like and lobster red. Boiled clean.

  Clean is good.

  The song was gone.

  Breakfast was waiting for me. Carla was eating. True to her teenage years, she piled her plate high and was making short work of it. It astounded me how much food the child could put away. She remained lean and willowy no matter how much she ate. She was a credit to her good genes and love of sports. I watched her fork reach out for another pancake. It occurred to me I needed to get in quick before there was nothing left.

  My phone rang.

  With one eye on the diminishing pile of French toast and pancakes and one on my phone, I chose pancakes and French toast. Voicemail could get the call.

  Breakfast was good. It was obvious to me that maple syrup was the nectar of the gods, not ambrosia.

  Abandoning my sticky plate I crawled over my bed and grabbed my phone from the nightstand as it buzzed again. Four new voice messages and a bunch of new @replies on Twitter. I pulled my pen and notebook from my bag and started with the oldest message. It must’ve been left while I was in the shower.

  First message: Caine offering to watch Carla if I needed to go into the office.

  Second message: Sam would be late in.

  Third message: Doc remembered he needed help with something.

  The fourth message was interesting. My pen scribbled the number on my notebook. I scrambled back over the bed and hooked up the room phone. Reading the number out loud, I dialed. The phone rang twice before it was answered with so much excitement that it disguised the voice I expected to hear.

  “Gracey, is that you?”

  “Yes,” she replied, her breathing ragged. “Ellie?”

  “Yep, I got your message but don’t understand the problem. Can you tell me again?”

  She started firing words at me so fast they blurred. “I didn’t know who to call. It’s gross. Why would anyone do that? It’s just horrible. Then I remembered you were FBI. You don’t mind do you? I mean, this is just horrendous.”

  “Stop!” I found myself taking a deep breath. “Breathe. Again, this time slow down. What’s horrendous?”

  “The doorman brought up a package for me,” she said with much more control, but the squeaky echoes of fear still lurked as her voice raised a few octaves in the telling. “I’m a vegetarian! It’s meat! Someone sent me MEAT. Did I mention I’m a vegetarian? This is crazy shit!”

  Any other day sending meat to a vegetarian would just be rude. Today it spelled trouble spreading. I wanted it to be some fan who got it wrong, or even an incorrectly addressed package meant for someone else entirely. The cold, clawing dread in my gut said otherwise.

  “Where is it now?”

  “In the lounge on the coffee table. I don’t even know anyone in New Zealand. I’ve never even been there.”

  Oh good grief. More meat from overseas. “New Zealand?”

  “The doorman was all thrilled about the box having come from New Zealand.”

  “Were you in New Zealand with Grange?”

  Seemed like a weird question coming from me. You’d think I’d know which members of my boyfriend’s band were on that tour. It was horrific and very traumatic for me and Rowan.

  “No, I went home from Australia. I was sick. I didn’t do New Zealand.”

  “You need to give me your address. I’ll have someone collect the box and talk to the doorman.”

  “Not you?”

  I looked at Carla who was watching cartoons and picking at the few remaining pancakes.

  “I’m busy this morning. I’ll have someone pick it up. Someone from my team.”

  She sighed. “All right,” Gracey replied then gave me her address. Color me surprised.

  “You’re in Virginia? I thought you all lived in New York.”

  “Tony is in Maryland and Derek lives in New Jersey. Martin lives in Connecticut. We all have New York apartments. Guess you know where Rowan lives.”

  I didn’t know Grange was so spread about the eastern seaboard.

  “You’re fairly close to at least two members of my team in Merrifield. Have you met Lee?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You’d remember – he looks like Tony.”

  The longer you look at him the worse it gets.

  She
laughed. “I heard stories from New Zealand about Lee. Is he going to come get this box?”

  “He will. He’ll be there within the hour.”

  I hung up and called Lee. I gave him Gracey’s address and a quick rundown on the box.

  He wasn’t impressed either.

  And the song was back. ‘Rockin’ Robin’ was playing so loud I started tapping the beat with my foot. I closed my eyes and listened to the song. It was something. My laptop sat on the small desk in the room. I clambered over the bed and sat at the desk. I typed Jaybird Street, Robin Conway. There was no Jaybird Street in Washington DC but there was Jay Street and a Conway family lived there. I called the office.

  “Sandra – get someone to Jay Street Northeast. A Robin Conway lives there. Check she’s still alive.”

  “Sure,” she replied and hung up. I loved that she didn’t question why or how I knew, just that it had to be done.

  I took a few minutes to check Twitter. Ah, the joy of surfing the internet on cell phones. I could tweet from anywhere. I didn’t even have to sign into Twitter to tweet. I could text tweet. Today I used the Twitter application on my phone. That way I could see all the tweets in my timeline. The hash tags I’d been using were still going strong which meant there was still a lot of undelivered mail out there. How bizarre, real mail doesn’t get through but boxes of ass have no trouble being delivered. Maybe the ass bandit should set up a rival postal company.

  Several people on my ‘friends’ list were tweeting about current events. It was interesting. I joined in for a moment or two. A loud knock came from the door. Carla bounded from her bed and rushed for the door. Was I that bad?

  Noel’s voice drifted toward me with the smell of excellent coffee.

  “Mom, Special Agent Gerrard is here to see you,” Carla announced and bounced back across the room to her bed and the television.

  Noel poked his head around the wall. “Hey, El, okay for a guest?”

  “Sure,” I replied putting my phone down. “Have a seat.”

  Noel sat on the end of the bed and grinned at me. “Nice room.” He bounced a few times. I heard the coffee slosh in the polystyrene takeout cups. “Comfy.” He passed me a cup.

  “Thank you. And you found me how?”

  “Caine. Have a few things you might be interested in.”

  I sipped the coffee and nodded. “And they are?”

  “Do you know Ameer Reza Sedghian?”

  My coffee forced its way back up my gullet bringing pancakes with it.

  He smirked. Had my life not depended on him I would’ve slapped him, good and hard. I had requested another liaison but no one wanted this job and now I was stuck with Ameer Reza Sedghian – the one person who had volunteered. I conjured a mental image of my finger marks glowing in red welts on his face. The picture in my mind soothed the annoyance that had wormed into my consciousness, building during the morning, as time ticked by. The waiting grew unbearable.

  “Well?”

  Fake charm oozed as he spoke, “Of course, my dear. My sources are good. I am very thorough.”

  I muttered under my breath, “I just bet you are.”

  “Please repeat, I did not hear.”

  A cold smile crossed my lips. “It was nothing.”

  The steady thud of running footsteps halted our conversation. Ameer held his finger to his lips. I tensed.

  I swallowed hard.

  “No.”

  “You sure about that?” His blue eyes searched mine, as if he expected another answer.

  “Yes.”

  He was a dead man walking and now he walks nowhere. It was a long time ago. I thought the packages from New Zealand stirred some memories but not anything like the torrent stirred up by Noel. It’d been a long time since I’d heard Ameer’s name.

  “Then I don’t suppose you can help me.”

  I took another drink from the coffee cup and hoped I wasn’t as pale as I felt. “Don’t suppose I can.”

  “You ever heard of Habib Faisal Arbab?”

  “No.”

  I felt a cold chill slice through my bones.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket, took his picture, and sent it to Jonathon. Long silent minutes passed before I received a text response.

  “Ah, your name is Habib Faisal Arbab. Does daddy know you are mixing with such dangerous company?”

  Habib didn’t react.

  “Your father Sheik Arbab is an old friend of ours. I do not think he will be pleased with his son and only heir.”

  Habib remained stone-faced and unaffected. I flicked open my phone and dialed the office, “Jonathon can you get the Sheik on the line? Let him know we have his son.”

  Habib threw himself to the floor, “Please, no!”

  Saleh dragged Habib to his feet. Ameer snorted in disgust at Habib’s behavior.

  “Never mind,” I said, and hung up on Jonathon.

  “So you speak English and are willing to have a conversation?” I said to the shaken young man.

  “Yes.”

  I shook my head at Ameer. “You chose badly, if this is the caliber of your little play group, you won’t be much of a threat.”

  “Stupid American girl,” he hissed half under his breath.

  Saleh grimaced. I knew he was suppressing the urge to smack Ameer around the head.

  “Ameer! Pay attention!” I said, rapping him on top of his head with my knuckles. “How many in this organization?”

  He sneered but didn’t answer.

  “How many?” I repeated.

  “There are four I know of.” Habib paused as if unsure if he should continue. “And a fifth who gives Ameer his orders.”

  “All Saudi?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Your first lie.”

  “El?” Noel spoke, forcing the unwelcome memory aside. “Where did you go?”

  “Nowhere; I’m right here.”

  “Uh huh, and you don’t know Habib Faisal Arbab?”

  “Nope.”

  “And yet I get the feeling that’s not entirely true, El.”

  I tested my smile. “Really? Sorry I couldn’t help.” It occurred to me that someone who didn’t know who Sedghian and Arbab were, might have some questions. From the depths I dragged up an innocent voice. “Who are these men?”

  “A dead man and someone the system says was involved with him, prior to his death.”

  “And this concerns me how?”

  “Habib Faisal Arbab is a person of interest in the missing JAG lawyer case. We found laptops belonging to both Mr. and Mrs. Conway. His contained emails from someone calling himself Habib Faisal Arbab. Arbab said he had kidnapped his wife and wanted hundreds of thousands of dollars in return for the woman.”

  “Why?”

  “He believed Gabrielle Conway was someone he used to know, a woman called Demelza.”

  “Just Demelza, no surname?”

  He shook his head. “He only referred to her as Demelza.”

  My insides were like jelly being whipped into a maelstrom. The more he talked the more memories surfaced and the sicker I felt. I finished the coffee and threw the cup into the trash. My fingers massaged my temples hoping to stem the brewing headache. It’d been a long time since I’d heard that name. That name hung on the desperate voice of a colleague and warped with memories of Ameer Reza Sedghian.

  I started to relax when I recognized Dion’s voice. He was back. I peered out the small window nearest me. He stood in the middle of the courtyard, sweat running from his brow, created shiny rivers in the dusty dirt that clung to his skin.

  Ameer’s hand grasped the thick fabric of my camouflage jacket; his fingers blending into the desert colors. His head shook. “No.” His voice was a harsh whisper in my ear.

  “It’s Dion,” I replied, thrusting his hand off my sleeve.

  “No, wait.”

  I watched from the window as Dion doubled over, hands on hips. Deep breaths shuddered through his body. He’d been running. His pack and sidear
m were gone.

  With great effort, he called my name again, “Demelza!” then dropped to his knees.

  Ameer’s hands clamped down on my shoulders. The force stopped me from moving toward the door. “No,” he growled. “See?”

  I felt my eyes widen as if to take in as much of the scene in front of me as possible. I looked from Ameer to Dion. At first, I could see nothing and then noticed his jacket pockets appeared bulky.

  “Oh my God.”

  “He found them,” he said with a sigh. “He has a message.”

  “What?” My gaze remained fixed on Dion.

  “He is a dead man.”

  “No!” Determination resounded in my voice. It was just wrong. “No! We help him!”

  “Woman – he will have a camera on him – he is wired. They are watching, waiting for the target to approach him. Then ka-boom!”

  “You okay?” Noel asked. He missed nothing.

  I knew my head was shaking no. “I’m okay.” I lied. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d done so. With my job it was a necessity. But it was the first time I’d done it so badly.

  “El?”

  “Stay with Carla for a few minutes. I need to do something.” I grabbed my cell phone and the key card and left the room.

  I paced. Of all the fucktards in all the world, I had to be the biggest. If I hadn’t channeled so much righteous indignation and dropped so many agents on the television channel, Habib would be thinking he’d killed the right Gabrielle Conway. Or at least would have more trouble locating the one he wanted. Me.

  I paced back to the door. It wasn’t helping. Dammit.

  From a window I could see the sky. A cloud bumped into another cloud. For a moment it looked like a butterfly. My eyes closed for a second. When they opened Mac’s face looked down at me. I blinked and the clouds drifted apart. Mac was gone.

  I paced again. Wearing a track in the recently vacuumed carpeting. I thought if I worried the carpet long enough Mac might join me. He didn’t.