I glance around at her. She’s doing something on a phone, but is it mine or hers? For a second, I worry that she’s going to discover the app, but remember that Zeke set it up inside the music app and, even if she opens it, she won’t be able to figure out what it really is.
The man with the gun is hovering next to me, the gun leveled at my head, steady, almost as though he’s a statue. I want to point out that he’s a stereotype, but he might not get it.
‘How long were you in Charleston?’ I ask.
He hasn’t expected me to speak to him, and the sound of my voice startles him. I can tell only by the slight furrow of his brow before he composes himself again.
‘You were at the bar,’ I point out. ‘How long were you following me?’
He barely blinks, staring at me, unnerving me. He remains mute.
I’m having trouble with the app. The two-step authentication is making it more difficult than it should be to reroute the information. I’m distracted by the empty can of Red Bull next to the keyboard. I wonder whose it is. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Zeke drink the stuff, although the young hackers we worked with in Miami seemed to thrive on it.
When I turn my attention back to the screens, what I see makes me catch my breath. It’s not on the screen with the app code, but the other one, the one with my laptop message program.
In between the code, there’s a message for me.
He’s watching you.
A small shiver shimmies up my spine. Who’s watching me? Who sent the message? Whoever did may still think I’ve got my laptop.
Spencer’s going to see the message if he’s monitoring it.
I glance up at the camera in the corner. D4rkn!te has been watching me all along. If he were the one who sent the message, would he admit it? Would he say ‘I’m watching you’? No. It’s a warning. Zeke activated these screens. He’s watching remotely, and he is able to see me.
I want to reply, but in case it’s not him, I don’t dare. If he’s really monitoring these computers, he already knows what I’m planning to do.
I have to disable the two-step authentication program. Easier said than done. This isn’t a typical program that can be turned off and on at will through account settings. Zeke created the source code. I don’t even know what to look for or where. I go back to the screen with the app code and scan it, looking for anything that’s unusual, anything that might jump out at me. But I don’t see anything.
It doesn’t help that I know I’m being watched.
It’s got to be here.
I close my eyes and let Tracker in. What do you see?
When I open them, it’s as though I’m seeing it for the first time. The two-step verification code is buried discreetly, but it’s there. As I study it, I realize I don’t have to disable it. I can use the program the way it’s supposed to be used, even though I don’t have the phone.
I am so intent on what I’m doing that the small ding startles me. It’s similar to an alert sound on a computer, but that’s not it. And then I realize that it’s the elevator. I roll back in my chair a little, trying to see what’s going on when I hear Adriana scream, ‘Now!’
I don’t wait around to find out what she means. I hit the final key and scramble out of the chair and push my way through the plastic sheeting, the gunshot echoing in my ears as I run.
FIFTY-TWO
I’m on autopilot, my shoes slipping on the chalk-covered paper on the floor, but I manage not to fall as I head toward the bright red ‘Exit’ sign. Another gunshot sounds, and I weave back and forth through the plastic. This may have been the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
I hear shouting behind me, but I focus on the sign, the door where I’ll make my escape. I reach it and push it open, skipping down the stairs, praying that I won’t trip. The door slams shut above me – I’m on the fourth floor now – and then I hear it open again and heavy footsteps coming after me.
I can barely catch my breath, again regretting biking and not running. Maybe I need to switch up my exercise regimen.
Third floor.
Halfway to the second.
The footsteps are gaining on me.
I have no endgame, except that I want to be able to get out of here alive. It pushes me forward.
First floor.
The door won’t budge. I yank on the handle, trying to force it, but nothing. The footsteps are closer, and I turn around, my back against the door. I slide down into a stoop, waiting.
I have no gun, no way to protect myself. Adriana DeMarco’s revenge will be realized right here.
I can see him now, in the stairwell just above me. Even though I know it won’t do any good, I jump up and try the door again.
But I have no more luck this time than before.
He’s coming toward me, facing me, the gun aimed right at me. Above him, on the stairs, are two police officers, their guns drawn. And just as he reaches me, the door swings open, startling both of us. He grabs me around the neck and drags me backward, waving his gun around.
I can’t breathe as I focus on who’s come through the door.
Zeke.
‘Let her go!’ he demands, his gun leveled at both of us.
I’m in the way. If I weren’t in the way, he could kill this man who wants to kill me. I try to turn my head, but his arm is wrapped so tightly around my neck that it would take nothing to break it, and I would be dead.
I hear a cracking sound; suddenly, the man’s arm goes slack, and then it’s gone. I haven’t realized he’s been holding me up until I drop down on my knees. The concrete stairwell is hard beneath them. My entire body is shaking. What just happened? What’s going on?
The officers on the stairwell are no longer there. They’re behind me, looking at the man who just moments ago was going to kill me. I twist around, but then Zeke’s arms are around me, and he’s moving me away. ‘Don’t look,’ he whispers in my ear, his breath tickling my neck.
We go through the doorway. We’re in the lobby of the building and there are people – police – everywhere. Not like when I came in earlier. I can’t think straight. How did they know where I was? And then I realize: the cellphone. Agent Tilman gave it back to me, knowing full well that there was a GPS in it. That’s how he’d found me in the first place. Where was the phone now? Oh, right. Adriana.
Adriana. My heart pounds as I think about how close she came to having me killed. But before I can ask about her, Zeke puts his finger to my lips and traces them. ‘Sssh,’ he whispers, and I think he’s going to kiss me, but then I realize it’s more practical than that.
His beard scratches against my cheek. ‘Did you transfer the information?’ he whispers.
I shake my head. ‘I reprogrammed it. All the information looks like it’s going to the server, but it won’t. I got the idea from the bank job. You know, how you funneled all the money back into the original accounts. That’s what I did.’
‘You’re a genius.’
I don’t feel like I’ve done anything except cause trouble. What business did I have even coming here? I put him in danger. I put myself in danger. Adriana. ‘Where is Adriana?’ And I remember: ‘I heard her scream.’
‘We’ve got her, don’t worry.’
Relief rushes through me, and I take a deep breath.
‘Where have you been?’ I ask. ‘I’ve been so worried about you.’
He reaches up and touches the bruise under my eye, his lips brushing mine. ‘You shouldn’t be.’ He gives me a small smile. ‘I’m FBI.’
That’s what Spencer keeps saying. ‘That doesn’t mean you’re immortal.’
‘No?’ His expression grows dark and the smile fades. ‘I didn’t think that she’d go as far as to kidnap you, but when I got the video feed from d4rkn!te, I …’ His voice trails off. ‘I sent you that message to warn you. I let Tilman know what was happening. He was already almost there, too. I had the feed on my phone when he shot at you and saw where you were going. That’s how I knew yo
u were in the stairwell.’ He pulls me closer and I can feel his heart beating fast as he kisses me, and for a moment everything slips away as I melt into him. He pulls away too quickly, and I reach for more. He puts his finger to my lips and smiles. ‘There’s a lot of time for that later,’ he whispers.
I take a deep breath. ‘I’m going to hold you to that.’ But then, ‘You said d4rkn!te sent the video feed to you? Where is he, anyway?’
Zeke shakes his head. ‘No clue. He could be halfway across the world for all I know.’ He stops for a second, then says, ‘I approached him about the carding forum. He’s the one who set up that kiddie porn site we found six months ago that we couldn’t nail DeMarco on.’
‘When did Adriana figure out that you were involved?’
‘He told her he was working with Tracker.’
Ryan Whittier knows that he’s a fed. He knows about me.
Zeke knows what I’m thinking. ‘Don’t worry. He’s got a bigger agenda than you or me. He’ll find something else. Some way other than Adriana to raise the money he needs.’
I pull away a little. ‘I heard something about Spencer. That he’s working with Ryan Whittier.’
Zeke’s face clouds over. ‘Spencer doesn’t know him.’ He says it so definitively.
Agent Tilman is walking over to us. He’s shaking his head. ‘You were just supposed to hack into the computer and find Ryan Whittier.’ I think he’s talking to me, but I realize he’s talking to both of us. ‘You’d better come with me. We need to debrief you.’
For a second, I can see that Zeke is considering arguing with him, but after a few seconds, he nods. He folds his hand around mine as we follow Agent Tilman. I have shut out the sounds and everyone else around me and move closer to Zeke, tightening my grip on his hand. He looks at me and gives me a small smile, squeezing my hand back. The adrenaline of the last hours has dissipated, leaving me exhausted.
I am about to ask Agent Tilman how long he thinks this debriefing will last when a French police officer approaches, a stern look on his face. He starts speaking rapidly in French. Agent Tilman and Zeke both wear frowns, because neither of them speak French. But I understand.
Adriana DeMarco has escaped.
EPILOGUE
Tony DeMarco is dead.
I read the story online and try to conjure some sympathetic feelings, but it’s futile. He wanted me dead and tried to kill me up to the end of his own life.
You’d think that I’d feel relief, at least. But I’m still not safe. His daughter, my half-sister, Adriana, isn’t letting go. She’s vowed to exact revenge for her father. She’s taken over his empire, and she’s proving to be just as ruthless. And she’s also proving to be as adept at hiding as I am. She’s vanished. She was clever enough to have one of her lackeys pose as a French detective, The two of them drove away from the crime scene and haven’t been seen since.
I feel his hands on my shoulders, and I shut the laptop cover. ‘He’s dead.’
Zeke nods. ‘I know.’
Of course he does. He probably knew the second it happened. I stand up, and his arms encircle me, pulling me toward him.
‘I thought I was keeping you safe,’ he whispers.
I nestle deeper into Zeke’s arms. ‘I’m fine.’ But am I? I don’t know. Tony’s death is the least of it. Everything that’s happened in the last few days, the last week, has jolted me. I have discovered things about myself, about my sense of survival, about my loyalty to this man that I never realized before. I am willing to risk my life for him, just as he’s willing to risk his life and career for me.
All those years sequestered on Block Island, daydreaming about my friend Tracker on the other side of the computer screen, always half in love with the idea of him. And now he’s here. He’s real, and I never want to let him go.
‘None of this would have happened if I hadn’t put that damn GPS into your phone.’ He’s angry with himself.
‘None of what? You’d still have been compromised.’
‘I’m talking about you. You could have been completely safe. No one would have known where you were.’
‘Except for Madeline Whittier,’ I remind him. ‘She recognized me. And if it weren’t her, it could’ve been someone else. Someone else my father ripped off. Someone else I ripped off.’ I pause a second, then add, ‘I didn’t even know anyone was watching me. You were doing what they wanted, so I would’ve been OK.’ But as I say it, I wonder. Would I have been? Or would killing me be the last thing Tony DeMarco did before he died?
I shift a little but he holds me tighter, as though I’m going to disappear again.
‘What do we do now?’ I ask.
He gives me a grin and kisses me. When I’m able to catch my breath, I pull away a little. ‘You’re distracting me.’
‘That’s the idea.’ He runs his finger along my jawline and leans in again, but I try to keep my distance – as much as I’m able to. He gets the message this time. ‘Let’s get away.’
My whole life has been ‘getting away.’ I’m not quite sure what he means.
‘Mallorca, a Greek island somewhere. French Riviera. Italian Riveria.’ He smiles. ‘Somewhere we can escape to.’
The idea of it appeals to me. Especially the islands. I have an affinity for islands, and he knows that. But we aren’t exactly free and easy.
‘You still have a job,’ I remind him.
‘For now.’
I let that hang between us for a few seconds. He’s on thin ice with his people at the FBI. He went further than he was supposed to, and it doesn’t matter that it was to keep me alive. It doesn’t matter that he developed that software that would prevent the immediate transfer of information. We managed to keep some of it from being compromised, but not all of it. And d4rkn!te – Ryan Whittier – is still out there; he wasn’t able to bring him in.
‘Is he really a terrorist?’ I ask.
‘We’ve found communication between him and some radical groups. He went to Syria a year ago, was under the radar until he showed up in Paris and I hooked up with him about the carding forum.’ He doesn’t elaborate, which makes me think that there’s more to it, but I’m not sure I want to press the issue.
‘Do you think they’ll fire you?’
‘No. But the vacation? Let’s say that it’s not exactly my idea.’
So there were repercussions. That explains where he’s been for the last two days. His debriefing lasted a lot longer than mine. I ignore the implication that he’s on some sort of suspension or leave and say, ‘How about going somewhere that doesn’t have the Internet?’
He makes an exaggerated shocked expression. I lightly slap his arm. ‘You can do it,’ I promise.
‘I know you can. Me, I don’t think so.’ I look for the teasing, but he’s serious. ‘We still have someone to track down.’
‘He’s gone,’ I say. ‘He’s more used to being underground than I am. We won’t find him.’ I hate myself for doubting, for thinking that Spencer really is working with Ryan Whittier.
Zeke doesn’t want to believe it. ‘Nothing ever vanishes on the Internet.’ He turns the laptop toward me and shows me what he’d been looking at while I was reading about Tony DeMarco. ‘He’s not as far away as we think.’
Spencer’s still got my laptop, and he hasn’t gotten rid of the remote access Trojan. He knows we’re watching him. A photograph of a young man is on the screen. The image is a little fuzzy; it’s been taken from a security camera outside an S-Bahn station. He’s looking straight up at the camera with a defiant expression. There’s no mistaking who it is. It’s Ryan Whittier.
Zeke is already booking tickets.
So much for an island. I guess we’re heading to Berlin.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a series about computer hackers means a lot of research hours online, but I am not a hacker or even as remotely computer literate as my characters. I try to be as realistic as possible, yet at the same time, I do make things up – this is a work of fic
tion, after all. If my characters do something online that isn’t exactly possible right now, it might likely be possible sometime in the future, considering how quickly our Internet world evolves.
There are a couple of people I need to thank for their help with certain plot points in this book: Elizabeth Medcalf, one of my favorite partners in crime, for her extensive knowledge of Amtrak trains and railroad sidings. If it weren’t for her, Tina and Spencer might still be riding the rails. And Joe Calamia, one of my colleagues at Yale University Press, for not freaking out too much when I asked him – perhaps a little too seriously – if an explosion would destroy a hard drive. I didn’t even know that such a thing as a degausser even existed until he told me about it.
My editor, Kate Lyall Grant at Severn House, is wonderful to work with, and I have to thank the entire team in London for the amazing cover designs, great copyediting and overall support.
My agent Josh Getzler is a superstar.
I couldn’t do any of this without my husband, Chris, daughter, Julia, and their support and patience when I have to sequester myself in order to get my word count for the day.
And finally, I want to thank all my readers and those fans of Annie Seymour and Brett Kavanaugh who have taken a chance on this new series. I’m so pleased you’ve come along on this new adventure. Without you, I’d just be writing for myself, and it’s so much more fun this way.
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