Kiss Me, Kill Me

by Allison Brennan

  It took her an hour to log all the temp files, and then she created a graphical representation of the data. It was clear that the video chats all originated from the same host. Most of the chats were between ten and twenty minutes, with a few longer than half an hour. Most of them had taken place between four and six in the afternoon, with about 20 percent at night. The afterschool hours were when sexual predators did most of their work—when kids were home without parents and could freely chat on the computer.

  Lucy frowned. Kirsten was seventeen, a high school senior. There was no way of knowing whether she was chatting with the same person or different people, because the temp file logged only Kirsten’s computer and the server that hosted the chats.

  Kirsten might very well have a boyfriend, and maybe they talked nearly every day over webcam. If that were the case, then she most likely ran off to meet him.

  Had she been meeting with the same person the past weekends she had disappeared? Had she gone off with someone voluntarily, or was she being held against her will?

  Was Kirsten already dead?

  Because no matter how careful you thought you were being, whenever you met an online friend in person, you put yourself at risk. Especially in the world in which Kirsten was playing around.

  Lucy consciously focused on the task at hand. She wanted to shake sense into Kirsten, but more, she wanted to find and protect her, to shield her from the depravity she’d probably already seen and experienced.

  “You can’t save the world,” Lucy said aloud. Her brother Dillon constantly reminded her that she took things too personally, that she wanted to help everyone, and some people didn’t want help.

  Lucy put her charts aside and went through the other files. She saw the empty .mov files that Sean had mentioned, and realized they were time stamped to correlate to the chat log files. That was odd, because there shouldn’t be two files created with one exchange. But there was definitely no data in them, and no way to re-create the images.

  One file stood out because it was in a completely different directory. She downloaded an undelete program to Kirsten’s computer, then ran it, watching the computer screen as files were re-created. Many were corrupted or unable to be rebuilt—a common problem if they’d been deleted long ago. Some of those could be recoverable by law enforcement—the FBI had a state-of-the-art recovery process that could re-create more than 90 percent of deleted files, unless the person went to extraordinary lengths to permanently delete the data through a multistep process.

  While she waited for her program to finish the laborious process, she wrote up a report for Sean with her ideas as to what the data meant. She was about to send it off when she saw a .mov file undelete. She opened it.

  The webcam footage was clearly of Kirsten’s room. Kirsten and a male teen were naked on her bed, his mouth on one of her breasts, her hands holding his head.

  Lucy stared, stunned. Why was she surprised? Maybe because she had thought that the generic room was for sex chats only—but an amateur sex video was simply one more step down the same dark path.

  And while Kirsten and her young companion were definitely amateurs, both teenagers knew the webcam was on, as they moved and adjusted their positions to make sure it caught all the action. It appeared consensual, the two intentionally creating an amateur sex video; Lucy couldn’t pretend that Kirsten didn’t know.

  She couldn’t watch anymore. Her hands were shaking when she clicked stop, and she got up and paced, her legs weak; she would have puked if she had anything in her stomach.

  “What have you been doing, Kirsten?” she whispered to no one.

  She couldn’t stop shaking. Her fears of being watched by unknown people crawled under her skin like microscopic worms, making the hair rise on the back of her neck. But she wasn’t being watched. And this wasn’t rape; this wasn’t a hidden camera. These were two teenagers voluntarily having sex for the world to see.

  Lucy became angry, not at herself, but at Kirsten and her boyfriend. What possessed them to do such a thing? Did they even consider the consequences? That once that video was out, it was in cyberspace forever?

  They could have recorded it just for themselves.

  Lucy sat back down and considered how to approach searching for this video online. She didn’t want to search the known amateur sex sites—she knew what would happen to her if she went too deep into that world. Verbal chats she could manage because they were just words, but images brought back her nightmares, and with everything that had happened in the last five weeks it was all she could do to keep those memories at bay. She knew herself well enough to know that going to the sex sites would be the tipping point.

  Yet what kind of FBI agent would she be if she couldn’t conquer that fear? Because she would likely have to conduct just this sort of investigation if she were assigned to cybercrimes, which was her expertise and her dream job. She had to either find a way to defeat the nightmares and make sure they never returned or learn to live with them.

  They’d gone away before; they would go away again. She had to believe this.

  Taking another gulp of water as if to fuel her courage, Lucy scrolled through Kirsten’s browsing history, which she knew should have a log of all uploads. Though Kirsten’s history was set to erase every time she logged off, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be re-created. Such a log would be the best bet to find out where if anywhere Kirsten had uploaded the video, rather than randomly scanning known amateur sex sites.

  It took Lucy only fifteen minutes to re-create Kristen’s browsing history and find a promising site called Party Girl.

  Lucy clicked the link. Party Girl was a social networking site obviously aimed at men interested in online sex. The ads alone promoted live sex cams, sexting, and pornographic videos. Repugnant to Lucy, who knew too much of what went on behind the scenes, but all legal—at least on the surface.

  Both men and women—ostensibly all over eighteen—had profile pages where they could post their personal videos and photographs. There were links to group chats, private chats, webcam chats, and more.

  Kirsten had a profile on the Party Girl site, but not under her own name. Her browser led to the Web page of Ashleigh, though Ashleigh’s pictures were clearly Kirsten’s. They were revealing, but not pornographic. Ashleigh’s Web profile indicated that she was “into” meeting men online and stated that she was nineteen. Lucy would have to create a membership on the site to access further private information on Ashleigh.

  She debated her options. Sean could hack Kirsten’s Party Girl password, but it would take time. If Lucy registered, she could find out now what exactly Kirsten had posted on the Internet. Lucy’s computer had extensive firewalls—not only because of her own personal security concerns, but also because Kate taught cybercrime at Quantico. They probably had the best-protected computers outside of the FBI offices.

  Creating a profile cost nothing, though if Lucy wanted to view videos or post anything she’d be required to pay a monthly or annual fee. She opted for the free profile and created a false identity, similar to many she’d created in the past while working for WCF. She didn’t post a picture, and a pop-up told her that to receive the full benefits of social interaction on Party Girl, posting photographs and videos was encouraged. She exited the pop-up and continued with the brief questionnaire.

  She became “Amber,” a blond nineteen-year-old college student from the East Coast who was interested in friends and relationships. As soon as Lucy received the confirmation email, she logged on.

  The site was everything she’d feared. Not only had Kirsten posted part of the video of her having sex, it was clear that she was popular. Ashleigh’s page had thousands of hits since going live eight months ago.

  Lucy viewed her own page. She had a private Party Girl email and the option of having personal messages go to that “blind” email or her personal email. She opted for personal, because she’d created it just for this site and wanted to know if anyone contacted her without having to
log onto Party Girl every day.

  There was also an option to activate “selling,” which she almost clicked, then went back to Kirsten’s site and scoured it. Sure enough, she had videos that could be purchased individually, or viewed for free—with a paid Party Girl membership. Chat rooms were also available, both free and paid.

  Sean was going to want to access Kirsten’s profile as soon as possible. Lucy sent him the information she’d thus far uncovered and added a message.

  I think you’ll find the answers you need in Kirsten’s profile. I can’t tell if her video chats were with the same person, or upward of fifty different people, but you’ll definitely want to track down the guy she was having sex with on the video. I saved it on her desktop so you can look at it. I’m going to look into this Party Girl site some more. There’s nothing illegal with these types of online sex sites; they’re akin to 900 numbers. If you get into her profile, see if you can find a log of who she has chatted with. It may be in her private PG email, and also see if there are any message archives. If you’re busy, send me her password and I’ll go through her profile myself.

  She sent Sean the message, then realized she was still in her bathrobe and it was well after noon. She quickly dressed in jeans and a sweater, then jogged down the stairs to make a sandwich. She’d just taken her first bite when she heard the postman drop the mail into the box outside the front door. She retrieved it, sorting through bills and junk mail. In the middle of it all was a letter addressed to Ms. Lucia Kincaid from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  Heart racing, excited and nervous, she quickly opened it.

  Lucy stared at the single page. She didn’t blink; she didn’t move; she didn’t even read it twice. Her eyes were fixed on one phrase in the middle of legalese:

  your application is denied

  She refolded the single piece of paper, slipped it back into the envelope, and slowly walked up the stairs to her room, each step a small mountain, hands shaking, sandwich forgotten.

  She’d failed. The FBI didn’t want her.

  She fell onto her bed and stared at the ceiling, hope washed away along with her future.

  She wasn’t going to be an FBI agent. Everything she’d been working toward for nearly seven years, gone. She was twenty-five years old and she had no idea what she was going to do with her life.

  It’s not fair!

  She squeezed back tears. How dare she even think about fairness! Her life had never been fair, but who in the hell had promised her it would be? Lucy could blame no one but herself. Kate and her friends and family had been fully supportive, doing everything they could to prepare her for the FBI. She’d taken mock written tests, gone through practice interviews, used the recommendations of high-ranking FBI agents to get her in the door—she had more advantages than most applicants, and she’d still failed.

  They’d rejected her.

  It was on her, only her.

  FOUR

  Trey Danielson slumped into a kitchen chair in the Bentons’ kitchen and glared at Sean and Patrick. “You tricked me,” he said.

  Sean sat across from Trey, still angry about the video Lucy had uncovered on Kirsten’s computer. Lucy should never have had to watch it, but more than his concern about Lucy’s sensitivities, Sean was furious that the high school senior had done such a dumbass thing in the first place.

  “Where’s Kirsten?” he demanded.

  Trey shook his head. “I thought she was here! She emailed me—I thought she emailed me.”

  “Kirsten has been missing since Friday afternoon. It’s Wednesday.”

  Trey frowned and looked at the table. Sean wondered whether he was trying to think of a lie or was sincerely worried about his girlfriend.

  “You emailed Kirsten several times,” Patrick said. “You posted concerned comments to her Web page, wanted her to call you ASAP, and you have no idea where she might have gone?”

  “I wish I did. God, I think something’s happened to her.”

  “Why do you think that?” Sean demanded.

  Trey didn’t answer.

  “Trey,” Patrick said, “you had a physical relationship with Kirsten. If something happened to her, the police are going to look at you first.”

  “That’s insane!” Trey said. “We broke up months ago! We’re friends.”

  “When we show the cops the sex tape you made,” Sean said, “you think they’re going to believe anything you say?”

  Trey’s face paled. “What?”

  “I saw most of it; don’t bother lying.” Sean couldn’t keep the anger from his voice.

  “But—I—” The kid was practically blushing and he looked down at his hands. “You can’t show anyone. My parents—shit, they’ll kill me. I thought she deleted it!”

  “She did,” Sean said. “We undeleted it.”

  Trey looked at him skeptically. “Really?”

  “Let’s backtrack. When did you and Kirsten start seeing each other?”

  “We’ve been friends since she moved here.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Trey shrugged. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, we were friends, and then we went to homecoming last year and started being more than just friends.”

  “And you broke up when?”

  “Right before school started.”

  “Why?”

  “Who the fuck cares why?”

  “We do.”

  Trey scowled. “That has nothing to do with this.”

  Sean pushed, trying to get the truth out of Trey. “Did you put that sex tape on the Internet? Or pressure Kirsten to do it? Is that why Kirsten broke up with you?”

  “I broke it off with Kirsten. I didn’t want to, but—” He cut himself off.

  Sean grew irritated. “Look, Trey, I’m tired of twenty questions, so I’m going to lay it all out for you. I’m a computer security specialist and I’m retrieving every single piece of data off Kirsten’s computer, even files she deleted.” Sean might not be able to re-create all the files, but the kid didn’t need to know that. “We know Kirsten has skipped town at least five times since the start of the school year—which, according to you, is right after you broke it off with her. But this time, she didn’t come back. Some people think she ran away, possibly with a boyfriend, but her mom and dad deserve to know the truth. And I think you know where she went.”

  Trey set his mouth in a tight line. He stared at the back of his hands as if counting the hairs.

  Patrick picked up where Sean left off. “You made a big show of concern on the Internet—on Kirsten’s Web page, in her email. I’ll bet if we pulled your phone records it’d show you called her number a dozen times. You know, I used to be a cop, and I worked a case where a guy killed his wife, then made a big show of trying to reach her—calling her friends, calling her cell phone that he’d tossed in the lake along with her dead body—all before filing a police report the next day. But his cleverness tripped him up. The police traced his outgoing cell calls back to the lake where he dumped her body—he made the first so-called worried phone call right after he killed her.”

  Trey stared, pale. “You think Kirsten’s dead?”

  “The jury’s still out,” Sean said, “but we’re concerned.” He considered what Lucy had said about the layout of her room, and bluffed based on the evidence. “We found a log of multiple deleted video files, and considering the layout of her bedroom and the digital recording of you and her getting down and dirty, we don’t believe that was a one-time show.”

  “Did you post the video on the Internet?” Patrick demanded.

  “I wouldn’t do that! We just did it for fun.” He bit his lip.

  “You’re lying.” Patrick slammed his palm on the table. Trey jumped. Even Sean was surprised at his partner’s sudden outburst. Patrick was usually the calm, even-tempered Kincaid.

  Reluctant, Trey said, “Kirsten posted it. We recorded us, you know, and then she found this website and thought it would be fun to put it up there.” Trey’s neck
reddened. Physical embarrassment was hard to fake. “I told her to take it down, but she didn’t. I was so mad I broke it off. We didn’t talk for a couple months, but after she and her mom got in this huge fight she came to my house and we just, I guess, made up.”

  “You mean you had sex?” Patrick said.

  “No! Kirsten is really screwed up right now. Her mother was lying to her about a bunch of stuff, and when she ran away the first couple times I thought she’d gone back to California—but she didn’t want to be with her dad, either. She couldn’t wait until she turned eighteen and could leave.”

  “What did Kirsten think her mother was lying to her about?”

  “It’s not my place to say.”

  “If it factors into why Kirsten ran away and where she might be, spill it,” Sean said.

  Trey relented, as if relieved to get the information off his chest. “Her mom told her the only good-paying job she could get was here in Virginia. But Kirsten found letters in her mother’s desk that proved she’d been offered positions in Los Angeles, but she’d turned them down. Kirsten never wanted to leave L.A., and she confronted Mrs. Benton. I don’t know what happened, but I think the first time she ran away was right after that.”

  Patrick said, “Mrs. Benton hasn’t told the police that she and Kirsten had a fight.”

  “Big surprise. She’s all about image. She wanted everyone to think she and Kirsten were so happy, but Kirsten was sick of her mother whining about Mr. Benton cheating on her.”

  “Do you know where Kirsten went?”

  Trey shook his head. “I swear I’d tell you if I knew. I’m worried sick about her. She is so wrapped up in that stupid website, her grades are slipping—she flunked a big test in December. And then she told me she wasn’t going to play softball this year. She could get a scholarship, she’s that good, but she said she didn’t care anymore and was even thinking about not going to college.”