Reagan Through the Looking Glass (Hacking Wonderland, #1)

by Allyson Lindt

  “I promise.” She would have sworn to do almost anything, if it meant getting her back on track with her search.

  He stood. “Then we need to update your wardrobe. And dye your hair. That red stands out a mile away to anyone looking for you. How do you feel about becoming a blonde?”

  “The blonde could be fun. But shopping? I don’t have a lot of money in my bank account. Less, considering I quit my job.” Not that she wanted to talk him out of this, after taking the time to convince him to let her go, but she didn’t know if she could afford a five-dollar latte, let alone formal eveningwear and a dye job.

  “We’re not going to the mall, so it’s not as though you’ll be wandering around in public, and the outing is on me.”

  “I can’t owe you for something like this. How do you make an offer of this magnitude without hesitating? In fact, how are you paying for any of this? What’s in it for you?”

  “Another one of my secrets, I’m afraid.” He gave her a smile.

  Twenty-four hours ago, a look like that might have been enough to talk her out of her panties. It was still seductive, but it also made her blood run cold. It seemed as though he had more secrets than truths, especially considering what he knew about her.

  HARE OPENED THE BACK door to a brick building and gestured Reagan through before falling into step beside her. A wash of scents greeted her, spicy, sweet, and a rainbow in between. It washed away the lingering chemical smell in her sinuses—a reminder she’d spent the last two hours in a salon, having the color and identity stripped from her hair and replaced with blonde.

  Her mouth watered, and her stomach growled with the reminder that the only food she had yesterday was greasy pizza, and her breakfast was coffee.

  He held out his arm, and she looped her hand through at the elbow. He led her toward a podium and told the host they wanted a table for two in the back. They were led toward an unoccupied corner of the restaurant.

  She tried to take in her surroundings without staring, as they passed through the room. White linen draped over the tables. The smattering of other diners were dressed more like Hare than Reagan—the men in slacks, button-down shirts and suit jackets, but without ties, and the women dressed in blouses, slacks, and skirts. Reagan wore the department store clothes Hare brought her last night.

  They reached their table, and Hare held out her chair, then scooted it in as she sat. He took the spot across from her. She looked around the room again, before turning her attention back to him.

  “Are you all right?” He sounded concerned. Every time he looked at her, a tender concern hid behind his gaze.

  “I thought we were going dress shopping.” She kept her voice low, not wanting to disrupt the ambient quiet of the room.

  “I’m not doing a fantastic job of keeping you safe if I let you starve. Is that’s all that’s bothering you?”

  She leaned in. “I feel a bit underdressed.” That was an understatement

  He covered her hand with his. The simple gesture sent a blanket of comfort through her. “And you were trying to convince me you’d be fit in tonight without help?”

  “I was grasping.” Her laugh came out shaky.

  He scooted his chair closer and leaned until his mouth was near enough to her skin his breath warmed her cheek. “Fuck what they think,” he whispered. “You look comfortable. Gorgeous even. And I’m not just saying that. Compliments about appearance have consequences.”

  “Thank you.” Heat flooded her cheeks, and she was grateful for the dim lighting. “I know you’re trying to keep your secrets, but you know so much about me. There’s got to be something I’m allowed to ask you.”

  “There are a lot of things. What do you want to know?”

  She didn’t expect him to give in so easily. “Um... how old are you?” It was a starting point.

  “Thirty-two.”

  Only seven years older than Reagan, but it might as well be a lifetime, for how he handled life compared to her. “You’re so experienced.”

  “I suppose I am.” He laughed.

  She nodded at his chest. “That thing”—she didn’t want to say gun out loud in a public place—“you have strapped to you—do you know how to use it?”

  “We’d both be fucked if I was carrying it and didn’t know how.”

  “Touché.” She tried to keep her tone casual, despite the way his answer made her heart hammer. “Can I have one? I can use it. That is, I’m into this deep, right? Or you wouldn’t have yanked me away from my life.” She still didn’t know if she would, if it came down to it, but she wanted to believe she’d act, rather than being shot.

  The waiter interrupted. “Are you ready to order?”

  Hare looked at Reagan. “May I?” he asked.

  She felt enough out of sorts that letting him order for her might be easier than deciding if she should ask for anything other than the cheapest thing on the menu. “Please.”

  “We’ll have the brunch tea assortment.” Hare handed the waiter back the menus.

  That sounded vague.

  He patted his chest. “Knowing how to use this won’t make you comfortable pulling it on someone.”

  “I realize that, but if I have to—if I’m in that situation—I’ll have more options being armed than not.”

  He smiled. “You will. After the tasting tonight, I still need you someplace new and safe for a few days. But when I’m done, lessons will be a top priority. Deal?”

  She didn’t like that he put off her request, but at least he wasn’t talking down to her. “Deal. And thank you.”

  “I wish this thing wasn’t so disruptive to your live.” He traced his thumb over her knuckles. “I hate it that it came down to extracting you, but I’ll do what I can to help you adjust.”

  Each light touch or gaze helped her feel more normal, and sent pleasant shivers of affection through her. “I guess I brought this on myself.”

  He shrugged. “Back to questions you have for me. By the way, you sure do dive into the deep stuff first.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is a getting-to-know-you chat,” he said. “I thought maybe you’d lead with something like what’s your favorite food or what kind of music do you like?”

  “Those seem a bit tame, given the situation.” A man shot at her yesterday, and she’d cut herself off from her past, to avoid it happening again. Favorites didn’t seem important.

  He shook his head. “If you abandon everything you love, there’s nothing to look forward to. Besides, you can tell a lot about a person by how they hold a basic conversation. I’ll go first. What’s your favorite food?”

  “I don’t know. I like a lot of things.”

  “In that case, what’s your go-to? If you’re tapped for ideas, and nothing else sounds good, or you want that one thing that gives you comfort, what do you turn to?”

  “Neapolitan ice-cream sandwiches.” The answer tugged loose memories she’d rather not linger on. She shoved aside the sharp sting of the past.

  “Why?” He sounded genuinely interested.

  Because Alex used to buy them for her whenever he took her to the park. He’d always make her promise not to tell Mom, especially if it ruined Reagan’s dinner. The answer was too personal to share. “I like the three flavors all at once, I guess. What about you? Favorite food?”

  “Plum cake.”

  “That’s an odd answer.”

  “I’m an odd person.” He winked. “But it’s good. Have you ever had it?”

  She wasn’t even certain what it was. Cake made with plums? Cake with plum frosting? Plums drizzled on the top? “I haven’t.”

  “Then we’ll have to change that at some point.”

  “I’d like that.” The exchange was simple, but his offer tugged at an underlying thought she’d been trying to ignore since yesterday. “When does all of this end? Or do I run and hide forever?”

  He furrowed his brow, and his smile slipped. “I don’t know. I wish I had a better answer than
that. You poked a dangerous monster, and I don’t know what happens next.”

  “That makes sense.” As much as she wished there was a different way.

  “I understand why you made the decision to find this man. That you probably didn’t consider the consequences. I don’t say that to be rude or dismissive; this isn’t the kind of thing you can anticipate unless you’ve lived it. But you’re here now. The only way out is to pick a direction through.”

  “I get it.” And she did. If she was willing to drop this search for Jabberwock and walk away, she might be able to hide. Vanish off the grid and become someone else. It was hard to do in a society as plugged in as this one, but she could find a way.

  That meant more running, and if she was going to do that, she wanted answers first. She might not have known what she was getting into when she started looking for Jabberwock, but the big picture was coming into focus. Before she hid, she had to know who this asshole was that he could have people killed on a whim—that had the power to make living life dangerous, no matter where she went.

  Chapter Seven

  Reagan lingered near the benches against the wall, by the front entrance to the restaurant. Hare had excused himself after brunch and told her he’d join her shortly, before heading toward the restrooms.

  Her pulse ticked in her ears. Could anyone else see she was on edge? Each time someone coming or going glanced in her direction, she gave them a tight smile, then went back to trying to survey the entrance and the dining room simultaneously.

  Someone pressed against and grabbed her arm, their fingers digging into her skin. The scent of cloves assaulted her, and she blinked away the blur in her vision.

  “You’re a hard woman to track down.” His voice sent ants crawling over her skin. It was the shooter from the church. He stepped closer, and something hard dug into her back, just above her ass. “That’s a holstered pistol. I haven’t drawn it because I’m not an idiot and there are a lot of witnesses. However, your safety isn’t as important as mine. The gun is loaded, and if you scream, if you run, if you try to leave, I will shoot you in the back.”

  She tried to jerk away, but he held her tight. If she screamed, would people come to her aid? Could she run? Where the hell was Hare?

  “Do you understand?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She forced her voice to stay calm, despite the gallop of her heart against her ribs. As long as she was alive, there was a chance of breaking free. She needed to wait for an opportunity. If he was taking her to a car, she could twist away. Grab his gun. Run and hide outside. Find more avenues for exit. Give Hare time to find her.

  Her blood rushed so hard in her ears, she wondered how she heard anything else.

  “We’re going outside.” His tone was casual. He slipped an arm around her waist and pointed her toward the door. “Remember—it only takes a second for me to draw and pull the trigger, and I don’t miss.”

  “I understand.” She gave a tight smile to the couple passing in the other direction. Notice us. Do something. Call someone. Too bad her telepathy was nonexistent.

  He guided her toward the parking lot, and she scanned the rows of cars, looking for the best place to dive the moment she had an opening. Instead of stopping near a vehicle, they walked toward an abandoned lot and a patch of weeds, across the street.

  If she didn’t bolt soon, would she lose her chance? Each step he took her further from the familiar, the dumber it seemed to let him keep leading. She should risk it now and bolt. There was a car a few feet away. Could she reach it and then duck and run behind the nearby building before he hit her? Would he chase her? If his safety was more important than hers, would he risk something like shooting anyone between her and him?

  Her stomach dropped into her shoes, as her imagination treated her to images of what it could look like to find out.

  A soft grunt reached her ears, before his touch fell away, and he landed on the ground with a thud.

  Reagan swore her heart stopped.

  Someone grabbed her hand and whirled her. She found herself looking at Hare. “We’re leaving. Now.” He bit off the words.

  She glanced at her would-be captor, lying on the ground. It took the last of her focus to keep from shaking. She didn’t have the will or the desire to argue. She let Hare lead her toward a nearby car—a different one than they arrived in. She slid into the passenger seat and counted the seconds until he was seated and they were driving away from the scene.

  Several minutes passed, with him taking a winding maze of turns and glancing in the rearview mirror every few seconds.

  “Whose car is this?” She was surprised her vocal chords cooperated enough for her to ask.

  “Mine.”

  “But—”

  “Questions later. I need to focus on getting us to safety.”

  An image surged back into her thoughts, of a body, slumped on the asphalt, limp and unmoving. “Is that guy dead?” There was no blood. Even in her frazzled state, she would have seen blood. No gunshot. No struggle.

  Her breakfast surged into her throat, and she swallowed it back.

  “Unconscious. Tranquilizer.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You have a lot of questions.” He glanced at her, sympathy in his eyes, before turning his attention back to the road. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t Wayne’s Cheshire Cat for as rampant as your curiosity runs. Drive first. Explain later.”

  “Okay.” She wanted to argue but didn’t want to distract the closest thing she’d found to a non-threat since this started. The Cheshire Cat reference made no sense. She tried to occupy her mind with figuring out what he meant, but reality shoved the musing aside.

  They drove for almost an hour, taking the freeway on ramps, then exiting at the next spot. He followed back streets that led to crowded main roads, then turned down residential streets. She knew the main parts of this city better than most people, but she didn’t recognize half the neighborhoods he took them through.

  She did recognize the row of brick buildings they parked behind. It was only a few blocks from the spot they’d left a body lying in the parking lot. “Why did we come back here?” It must be all right to speak now. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder every few seconds.

  “This is where we need to be.” He looked at her as if it were obvious. “Besides, whoever was following us isn’t there now. But we need to get inside.”

  He met her in front of the car and guided her toward a plain, dark-brown door, at the back of the strip. He knocked, and they were let in by a woman who could have stepped straight off the cover of Cosmo. Long neck, hair piled on top of her head without a strand loose, and a peach sundress that showed off her long, thin figure.

  Hare smiled. “Thank you, Monique. Give us a moment?”

  “Of course. I’ll be up front when you’re ready.” Monique turned away, and a moment later vanished around the corner at the end of the hallway.

  Hare turned back to Reagan and grasped her fingertips loosely. Placing a finger under her chin, he pulled her gaze to his. “You have a lot of questions, and I understand why.” As he spoke, he searched her face. “I promise I’ll explain everything as I’m able. There are things I can’t tell you yet, and things you’re better off not knowing, but I’ll give you the rest. Are you still up for tonight?”

  “There are people looking for me.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Not there, there aren’t. Jabberwock won’t disrupt a client meeting for whatever it is he wants with you. It’s probably the best place in the city for you to be tonight, especially with me at your side.”

  She wasn’t reassured by his answer. Was she supposed to be? “What about after the wine tasting?”

  “I’ll make sure you’re secure tonight. Do you want to skip the evening? I can find someone to stay with you sooner.”

  The same logic that warred in her head at brunch rushed back. She was already in deep, and never intended to be. She had no idea what to expect at this gathering, but it
was reasonable that it was one of the more secure spots she could be. “If he’s hunting me now, I want it to stop. I’ll attend the event.”

  “Good.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her to the shop. The room they stepped into was a sharp contrast to the nondescript beige carpet and walls they left behind. The boutique was straight out of a movie. Three-fold mirrors stood in different corners of the room, and there were more mannequins than dress racks.

  Monique stepped from behind the counter as they approached, and gave Hare a warm smile. “I’ve set up a dressing room for you. Is there anything the young lady would like to look at first?”

  She made it sound as if she knew they were coming. Did Hare call ahead? When did he have time for that?

  Monique was watching her, and Reagan said, “No, thank you.” At least until she knew what waited for her.

  “Let me know if you need any assistance,” Monique said.

  “We’ll be all right,” Hare answered before Reagan could. “I’ll holler if we need anything.”

  A spike of frustration, carried on a morning of fear that sat heavy in her gut, jolted Reagan. “I can speak for myself,” she said the moment Monique was out of earshot.

  “Do you remember the conversation we had this morning—you do what I say, when I say? That starts now. This is you blending in.” Hare pointed her toward a door a few feet away.

  This was too much. In the last twenty-four hours she’d been shot at, taken at gunpoint, and told more times than she wanted to count. Now she could have answers, but only under some vague, undefined set of circumstances only Hare seemed to know the rules to. She understood his need to not draw attention—she didn’t want to stand out—but the rest gnawed at her tentative grip on reality. “I suppose next you’re going to tell me part of doing what you say is letting you help me try on... whatever’s waiting for me in there.”