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

by Allyson Lindt

  There was a diner across the street. She’d use that as a starting point to decipher if Hatter and Hare were telling the truth about security.

  She hadn’t made it halfway across the parking lot, when Blake fell into step beside her.

  “I told you I’d be here.” He matched her pace.

  She glanced sideways, forcing herself not to stare. Unlike the last two times she saw him, he wasn’t in a suit today. His jeans were faded and his button-down shirt sleeves rolled up, and a night’s worth of scruff decorated his jaw. Apparently he was sexy, no matter what.

  Great. She spent the last couple of days literally fucking around with a man who might or might not be her captor, and now she was drooling over the second guy who possibly fit the same description. She needed to get her priorities straight.

  “I slept with him.” She wasn’t sure why she said it. Maybe because it felt good to be the one who knew something for a change. “Hare, I mean.” Or maybe she just wanted the satisfaction of seeing Hatter flinch, which he did.

  “None of my business.” His tone was cool.

  She jammed her hands in her pockets. “Are you here to make a note of everything I say and report to the guy up top?”

  He nodded across the street. “That young lady leaning against the drugstore next to the diner? Looks like she’s probably in her late teens—she may be, for all I know. Dark hair and glasses?”

  “I see her.”

  “That’s Ten.”

  “As in, Ten of Hearts?” Reagan couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. Jabberwock sure took this shit seriously.

  They reached their destination, and Hatter held the door open for Reagan. “Ten of Diamonds. Only the best for you.”

  “Wouldn’t the King of Diamonds be the best? Or the Ace?” The sign near the front said Seat Yourself. We’ll be with you shortly, so Reagan picked a booth at the back of the room that had a clear view of the door. Hatter slid in next to her, rather than taking the seat across the table. She wanted to be dismayed, but there was something reassuring about having him between her and whatever waited outside. “I loathe couples who do this,” she said.

  “Good thing we’re not a couple. And there’s no royalty in Jabberwock’s court, besides himself. Anyway, Ten is the closest thing we have to company. As long as you don’t say anything she can hear, our conversation is between us.”

  “Am I a prisoner?” Reagan asked.

  Hatter knitted his brows and frowned. “No. Definitely not. I told you last night, we’re here to keep someone from trying to either kill or kidnap you.”

  A waitress stopped at their table. “Can I get you two anything to drink? Do you need a minute to decide?”

  “Coffee, please.” Reagan’s request overlapped and blended with Hatter’s.

  He smiled. “A lot of it. Make sure you keep an eye on our cups.”

  “You got it, hon.” The girl turned toward the kitchen.

  Reagan felt like a fairytale princess—stuck in her tower, waiting for someone to come along and rescue her. She’d go stir crazy if she let this continue.

  Last night, Blake said he’d answer any question she had. Time to put that to the test. Hare was good at redirecting half her inquiries. Would Hatter be the same?

  “You said you were here on official business, as a general. This seems like a tame detail, for someone so important. What kind of strings did you pull, to land here?” she asked.

  “None.” He grabbed his phone and swiped the screen as he spoke. “I’m on for twelve hours, and when I leave, Dormouse takes my place. Orders straight from the top.”

  For her? What made her so important? “Hare says no one has met the guy at the top. Not anyone who realizes it, anyway.”

  “That’s true.”

  “How do you know it came from him, if you’ve never met him? Maybe Hare sent it. Or this Dormouse. Or Ten.”

  He slid his phone to her. There was an email on the screen. “We use an app that encrypts messages. His orders come through it, and nothing else. A note here is as good as law in the organization.”

  “How do you even get a job like this?” Reagan wanted to know so much.

  He pocketed his phone. “You know someone who knows someone, and you work your way up from there. I don’t understand why Wayne was so worried about you. Or rather, I do on a personal level, but you’re getting treatment from Jabberwock that no one does. I should ask how you found a gig like this.”

  “You really shouldn’t; I have no idea.” If she did, maybe she could find a way out of all of it.

  Chapter Eleven

  The moment Reagan returned to her room, she picked up the room phone and dialed 911.

  Someone picked up on the third ring. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

  “I’m, uh...” What was she supposed to say? Something pretty close to the truth. “I’m being held against my will in a motel room.”

  “All right Miss, I understand. Are you safe right now?”

  “Yes. I’m not allowed to leave, though. There’s no one in the room with me, but they’re watching me.”

  “I see.” Was that disbelief in her voice or calm professionalism? “If you give me your address and room number, I’ll dispatch someone immediately.”

  Reagan relayed her location. “Tell them to be careful. Maybe send more than one person?”

  “Yes, Miss. I understand.”

  The line went dead. Reagan stared at it. That went too smoothly, and at the same time, it didn’t feel like enough of a conversation.

  Someone hammered on the door, and her heart leaped into her throat. The police weren’t here already. Wrong room? She clenched her hands into fists, to keep them from shaking as she went to answer.

  She looked through the peephole and saw Hatter. Ambivalence spilled inside, and she opened the door. He was scowling as he held up his phone and replayed the conversation she’d just had.

  “Don’t do it again,” he said.

  “How—?”

  “Don’t. I won’t always be the one to intercept, and regardless of what he wants you for, I’m sure there are limits. While we’re on the topic—when we go out to eat, don’t try anything like slipping someone a note or sneaking out the bathroom window. We have shoot-to-kill orders if we’re concerned about someone approaching you. The directive is fairly open ended. I promise I’m working on a way to get you out. You need to play along until then.”

  She had no words for that, so she let the door slam shut in his face. “Fuuuuuuuuck,” she screamed at the wall.

  The next meals were a repeat of breakfast. Reagan tried to mix up the monotony by leaving through one of the other exits. Hatter always fell into step beside her within a few minutes of her walking outside. For breakfast the next morning, she tried grabbing an oversized set of clothes from the gift shop and using them and baseball cap to hide who she was as she left.

  He was still there. “Same place for breakfast?” he asked, strolling next to her.

  “Do have a choice?” She was irritated by the restrictions on her activities, but she could think of far worse ways to spend the time. Hatter was good company. She didn’t believe for a second that he was trying to help her, but at least the playing pretend-friends was a distraction.

  “I’m supposed to follow you wherever you go. We can hop a bus and ride downtown if you’d like. Or there’s a Mexican place a few blocks away that’s open twenty-four seven.”

  She knew the place he was talking about. Her stomach couldn’t handle peppers this time of the morning. “McDonalds?”

  “Sure.” His scrunched-up expression defied his casual acceptance.

  Fifteen minutes later, they sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant, him with coffee, and her with pancakes and the largest, sweetest caramel mocha they offered.

  “You could have gotten those at the diner,” he pointed out.

  “Not the drink. Besides, I wanted a change of scenery.” And to figure out how far her leash stretched. “D
o you really have to go anywhere I say?”

  “In the city. The goal is to keep whoever shot at you from doing it again. Don’t push your luck. Dormouse isn’t as forgiving as I am.”

  She was willing to test that limit, too. She kept the retort to herself, and dug into her breakfast.

  “Question for you.” Blake held his cup but didn’t take a drink. “Why were you with Hare at the wine tasting?”

  She’d been trying to figure that out herself. “Because I asked nicely and batted my eyelashes?”

  “Really.” His voice was flat. “We’re supposed to be keeping out of trouble, and he got the okay to drag you into an affair where we had limited ability for crowd control, and were studying a perspective contact. How does that work?”

  “I wish I knew. He told me he wanted me to watch for something, but refused to say what. It was all hyper-cryptic.” The longer she thought about it, the less it made sense.

  “Hmm.”

  They didn’t say anything else as she finished her food. She pushed her tray away and grabbed her coffee, but she wasn’t ready to go back to her room yet. “You got a question, can I have one in return?”

  “Depends on what the question is. You won’t know until you ask.”

  She’d take that. “Who do you work for?”

  “Jabberwock.”

  Not the answer she hoped for. When Blake mentioned extraction, he implied it was someone else. “How do you know Wayne?”

  “That’s two questions.”

  “Fine.” She puffed a breath up, to blow her bangs out of her face. “Keep a tally and ask me in return.”

  His shoulders seemed to relax, and he leaned back in his seat. “Same way you do. I found him in a conspiracy theory forum, and after several months of talking, we decided we trusted each other enough to meet.”

  “Except you neglected to tell him who you work for.”

  Blake shrugged. “We keep an eye on anyone who’s digging into the guy up top. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they don’t know enough for it to matter. They fuel the rumors, rather than threatening them.”

  “So what did Wayne do differently that cost him?”

  He scrubbed his face, and when he finished didn’t meet her gaze. “I wasn’t involved in that. Wayne was a good guy. I liked him.”

  If the orders come down from the top to kill me, will you step in? She swallowed the question, unsure she could handle any answer beyond a resolute Of course, and certain she hadn’t earned that kind of emphatic response.

  “I get another question.” Blake’s tone shifted to something too bright.

  “Okay.”

  “Your thesis, all the things you’ve learned about digital security, was it all because of what happened to your brother?”

  The reminder of Alex weighed on the memories of Wayne, and a fist clenched around her heart, until she almost gasped at the pain.

  “I’m sorry.” Blake shook his head and leaned in to rest his elbows on the table. “I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”

  “It’s okay.” She could talk about school without dwelling on Alex. She counted to ten, and stashed the past away as best she could. “I can’t say for certain, since I picked my major after... it happened. But I was heading in this direction anyway. The events gave me a little extra motivation, is all.”

  “I get that.” He worked his jaw up and down, then shook his head.

  She wanted to pry for more, but had a feeling he wouldn’t give her an answer anyway. “How about you? Did you always know you wanted to be a super-secret, double-employed general for, well, you know?” She swallowed the phrase crime syndicate. The restaurant was almost empty, but that didn’t mean she wanted to draw attention from the smatter of people who might overhear them.

  His chuckle was dry. He fiddled with the label of his cup, shredding tiny pieces of the paper where they met Styrofoam. “When I was little, I wanted to be a super hero. Spiderman, specifically. Normal guy, stuck in an unfortunate situation, who doesn’t seize what he’s got until he loses someone who matters.”

  “How close are you to living the dream?” She couldn’t ignore the hint of sadness in his reply.

  “I think I’d have to be the good guy for any of the rest to matter.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He shook his head. “Once upon a time, I thought so. Now, I’m pretty sure the answer is no.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s enough.” He stood and tossed his cup in the trash. “I should get you back to your room.”

  You mean my cell. She kept the response to herself. The venom for her situation was still there, but she couldn’t bring herself to direct it at Blake.

  When she returned to her room, a padded envelope sat in the middle of her bed, with her name in a neat script on the front.

  She tore the flap open. When she upended the envelope, a cell phone dropped to the bed, and a card fluttered out after.

  The phone was identical to the one Hare took from her, minus the smears on the glass and scratches on the plastic. She reached for the power button out of instinct, and then paused and read the note with it instead.

  I cloned the data on your phone. This one doesn’t have a SIM card. You can’t use it to make calls, and it can’t be traced back to you, but I thought you might want your data back. I promise I didn’t go through any of it.

  I’m sorry to be away so long. We’ll talk soon.

  Hare

  She didn’t know what to make of the gesture, or even if the note was genuine, but she needed to do something. She powered on the device, and a moment later was sifting through the documents and photos on it.

  Some of her notes about her thesis were there. Not all of them, but the ones she’d worked on most recently. Reading material for tonight. There had to be something to point her toward Jabberwock that she’d missed. She couldn’t fathom any other reason he’d go to so much trouble to remove her from her life and imprison her in limbo.

  She flipped to the pictures next. There were some from Las Vegas, a bunch from Mindy’s last birthday party, and oh... Her throat tightened up when she landed on one of Alex. It wasn’t one she took. Right before he vanished—died—he sent her a batch of them.

  She was never able to look through the complete set before. It hurt too much to see him smiling at the camera, knowing she wouldn’t see his face in person again.

  Today she kept swiping the screen, even as grief forced tears to her eyes and made her sniffle every few seconds. She was having trouble seeing, when a blur of pale caught her attention. Dragging the back of her hand across her cheeks, she forced herself to focus and backtracked to the image.

  Hare. Clear as day. Blond hair pulled back, clothing immaculate, and standing next to Alex, their arms draped over each other’s shoulders.

  “What the fuck?” She flipped faster through the images, until she found several more of the two of them together.

  What did it mean? Hare said he knew her brother, and Blake was right—she never told Wayne about him.

  When Hare said, We’ll talk soon, what did that mean? Because God damn it, if Reagan didn’t have more questions than ever.

  She needed to do something, or she would pace a rut in the carpet. Inspiration struck, and she went to the closet, where she’d hung the dressier clothes Hare bought her. She grabbed the corset and skirt from the back of the short row. When he bought her the outfit, she had no idea what she was supposed to do with it. The blue top was trimmed with gold and had a white, satin panel running down the middle of the front. The skirt was the same blue as the top, and ended halfway down her thighs.

  It was almost cosplay ludicrous and perfect for what she wanted to do tonight. She’d stand out in a crowd, even if she went to a place where people were in flamboyant outfits. So when she found her chance to duck into the restroom, change into the shirt and shorts folded into her purse, and hopefully pawn her clothes off on someone else, she could vanish.

  She dressed, pulled her hair into
a twist on the back of her head, and headed toward the exit. She made a quick stop at the front desk, wearing her brightest smile for the clerk. “Excuse me.” She poured sugar into her voice. “I need a cab. Could you call someone for me?”

  “Sure.” He reached for the phone, gaze never leaving her chest.

  “Thank you,” she called as she turned away. “I’ll be out front.”

  She stepped into the warm evening and moved away from the entrance to wait, as she counted. She was on forty-Mississippi, when a woman stepped up by her side.

  “You’re not really dressed for loitering,” the woman said.

  Reagan looked her over. She wore a silk blouse and pressed slacks and definitely didn’t look like she was blending. “Are you Eight? Or Red Queen?”

  “I’m Dormouse. There is no other royalty in his court.”

  Almost exactly what Hatter said. “Dormouse. Doesn’t really roll off the tongue like Hatter or Hare.”

  Dormouse raised her brows. “Tell me, which of the two rolls off your tongue more easily?”

  Reagan should be offended by the snark, but it was nice to talk to someone who wasn’t pretending they cared about her. “Haven’t decided yet. The way I understand it, if you’re Hatter’s equal, do you follow me wherever I go?” It felt odd to call him by that name. When did he become Blake to her?

  “That’s the decree.”

  “I’m going dancing.”

  “No crowded places.”

  Reagan scoffed. “The street is a crowded place the right time of day. I want to go dancing. Desk guy called me a cab—which I assume you already know. Go with me or stay here.” Or find some new way to physically restrain Reagan. Please don’t let it come to that.

  “I pick the club,” Dormouse said.

  Not the answer Reagan expected, and far better than she hoped for. “Fine.”

  Reagan wasn’t interested in making conversation with Dormouse during the ride. The sarcasm might be fun, but she had too much to sift through and determine truth-or-not. She didn’t need to add another flavor to the mixture.