‘How much of this is saving our own asses and how much is it about finding Tony DeMarco’s site and making sure that he’s locked up forever?’ I ask.
‘It’s about both.’
I think about this for a few minutes. Both are intertwined; one will lead to the other, but I’m uncertain which will come first. Or if it even matters. Sort of like the proverbial chicken-and-egg question.
‘Tell me where we’re going.’
‘To the airport.’
He lets that settle between us for a few seconds before he starts the car up again and we head back into the traffic.
‘I can’t believe you’re going to let me use fake documents to fly. What if I get caught?’ I ask.
‘You won’t.’
He sounds so sure.
‘Listen, Tina, we make fake documents for people all the time.’
He probably means people in witness protection. Maybe that’s what I am now. Perhaps not a witness, but I definitely need protecting. At least until Tony DeMarco is taken care of.
‘Where are we flying to?’ I ask.
He is not stupid enough to think that I have let this go, but after a moment he speaks.
‘We’re going back to where it all started.’
EIGHT
I have not been back to Miami since I left more than sixteen years ago, yet when I step outside and breathe in the warm, tropical air, the first thought I have is ‘I’m home.’ Immediately, I feel as though I have betrayed my adopted home of Block Island, where I lived for fifteen years under the radar: no Internet, only my bike tours and paintings and Friday nights at Club Soda with Steve.
I push the memories aside and consider the reason we are here.
Tony DeMarco lives here.
We are in a nondescript rental car heading south on the South Dixie Highway. The road runs parallel with the monorail; the concrete landscape is flat and stretches as far as I can see. Pale pink-and-white stucco strip shopping malls, gas stations, and palm trees tell me that I’m not on Cape Cod anymore, but I could be anywhere in Florida. We are nowhere near the bustling, vibrant, neon South Beach. Outside the car’s air-conditioned cocoon, the air is familiarly damp; it’s still hurricane season, although it’s late enough in the season that the risk is low.
I watch Zeke’s profile as he drives, staring straight ahead. He’s wearing sunglasses; he pulled them out from his duffel bag when we got to the car. He notices me staring at him, and he glances over, a broad grin breaking across his face. It is so familiar, just like the air, and brings me back to the days more than sixteen years ago, when he would come to my father’s house and take me to the beach on the back of his motorcycle.
For a moment, I allow myself to remember how that smile wrapped itself around me and made me feel safe. I went into the relationship with Zeke for all the wrong reasons, and I was never head over heels for him as I was with Ian, but from the first moment Zeke stepped across the threshold into my father’s house, there had been an attraction, a sense that when I was with him I didn’t have to be anyone but myself.
Just like with Tracker.
I take a deep breath and look away, folding my hands over each other and tightening my grip. Did I somehow subconsciously know who he was back then? Is that why I allowed myself to get caught up with him, convince myself that to find out for sure whether Ian loved me, I needed to have an affair with an FBI agent – three weeks after we’d stolen ten million dollars?
‘You knew who I was,’ I say flatly as I stare out the front windshield.
‘Yes.’
‘And you were married.’
‘Yes.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I see his jaw tense.
‘Do you still keep in touch with her?’
‘No.’ His monosyllabic answers indicate he doesn’t want to take that trip down memory lane, but my curiosity is piqued. Who was she? Why was he so willing to throw it away for me?
I remember something. ‘You told me she was a teacher. You were trying for kids.’
‘She was.’ His tone is terse, and I need to give it up, but I’m not ready yet. He’s taken me for this ride, and I have an uncanny urge to pick at this like a new scab. ‘We were very young. Too young. I was trying to be someone I wasn’t.’
‘Why?’
He grips the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white. ‘You really want to do this now?’
I don’t, not really. But there have been so many lies. I lean my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. Before I can stop myself, I say, ‘I loved you.’
‘No. You never did,’ he says roughly.
He’s right about that, and I am instantly sorry, because I wasn’t talking about Zeke.
‘Tracker,’ I whisper, just to say it, to hear the way it sounds in my throat.
He is quiet for a second, then says, ‘I was a fantasy to you, Tina. I wanted to be real. I was real. For a while.’ There is a catch in his voice, and I don’t want to open my eyes because I don’t want to see it in his face.
‘After this, will you let me go?’ is all I ask.
‘You can do whatever you want.’
We don’t speak again until we pull in behind a bright pink stucco apartment building which, at a distance, looks fresh and new, but the closer we get, appears to be more worn around the edges. I have made a pact with myself that I will lay off Zeke. Right now it’s all about finding out who put the hit out on Tony DeMarco and who set us up. Granted, Zeke has a broader goal, but I’ll deal with that when I have to. With any luck, both birds can be killed with one stone.
Zeke looks tentatively at me as he parks. ‘Are we good?’ he asks. It’s as though he, too, has decided to call a truce with the past and let me off the hook.
I nod, and we get out of the car. He goes around the back and takes my backpack and his duffel out of the trunk. I hold out my hand to take the pack, but he shrugs me off. ‘This way.’
He leads me through an archway and into a courtyard. What used to be a fountain sits in the middle. It is round, covered in multicolored small mosaic tiles, and a stone dolphin looks to be leaping out of it. It is quite likely the ugliest fountain I have ever seen, although perhaps with water it might be a little bit better. I peer over and see about two inches of mucky water and a couple of dead goldfish.
‘Does anyone ever clean this out?’ I ask, but Zeke is already heading toward a staircase on the opposite side of the courtyard. Palm trees adorn all four corners. They are old and tall, and their fronds reach out toward each other, keeping the sunshine out.
I follow him up the stairs, noticing orange stains in the pink stucco. A small lizard scurries across the floor when we reach the hallway, its tail flipping up behind it. I begin to wonder how long I’m going to have to stay here. I hope it’s not too long.
Zeke stops at a door, taps twice, then turns the knob.
‘Welcome home,’ he says, pushing the door open, letting me go in first.
NINE
It’s nothing like what I expected.
It is a normal living room with a couch, a couple of chairs, a coffee table. A small galley kitchen is to the left. A sliding glass door leads out to a small balcony overlooking the parking lot. At least it’s not the sad fountain in the courtyard. There are no pictures on the walls, no decorations.
Music emanates from somewhere down the hall. I raise my eyebrows at Zeke, who nods and moves ahead of me again, carrying our bags. He tosses his duffel in one bedroom to the right, across from the bathroom, and takes my backpack into a larger bedroom at the end of the hall. This is where the music is coming from.
I reach the doorway and stop. The girl – or, rather, young woman – is dancing in the middle of the room. She wears a short pink sundress that only grazes the tops of her thighs; her feet are bare. Her hair falls in a long, thick blonde braid down her back. When she turns around, I am struck by her bright green eyes and rosy cheeks. She looks like someone’s little sister.
She does something with her phone and the music halts. ‘You m
ust be Susan,’ she says, but the innocence falls away for a moment and I see her gaze flit from me to Zeke. She’s not happy I’m here.
I give her a stiff smile, uncertain how to navigate this situation. Zeke flashes me a look that says I need to get over whatever I’m feeling, because it’s pretty obvious that she and I are going to be roommates. And then I remember Zeke’s bag in the other bedroom. Great. Three is most definitely a crowd.
‘This is Heather,’ Zeke says to me as he puts my backpack on the twin bed across the room. A twin bed. I only slept in a twin bed once in my life: that one semester in college. I am not enjoying this.
But it seems as though Zeke is, and I resent him for it. He’s talking to Heather about the music, which I don’t recognize, distracting her from the fact that I have still not said a word.
I go over to ‘my’ bed and survey the rest of the room. There is only one dresser, one closet. Again, no decorations, no artwork on the walls. It’s going to be like living in a monastery.
‘It’s not so bad.’ Zeke is suddenly next to me. ‘Anyway, you won’t be here too much. Heather, why don’t you head over, and we’ll meet you there in a few?’
‘It’s nice to meet you,’ I say. Even though I try to sound friendly, I don’t think it’s convincing.
Heather merely gives me a nod, confirming that I’m right, and turns to Zeke. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she says, flashing a bright smile at him before she disappears down the hall. I see enough in that smile to know that three truly may be a crowd – at least as far as Heather’s concerned.
‘She’s got a crush on you,’ I say, my tone light as I tease him.
‘She’s a kid.’ He pauses. ‘Maybe you’re jealous?’ He gives me a sly look.
I give a short chuckle. ‘You’re right. She’s a child. Nothing to be jealous of.’ However, I am oddly aware of an irrational competitiveness. I shake it off and change the subject. ‘What happens if you slip up and call me Tina in front of everyone?’
He narrows his eyes at me, giving me the impression that he is not fooled. But he leaves it alone. ‘You’re right. Maybe you should have just stayed Tina Adler.’
Again I wonder if I could ever go back to her. I push the thought aside. ‘So Heather doesn’t know who you really are?’
He gives me a quizzical look, one of the first times he hasn’t known exactly what I’m asking, but then the light bulb goes on. ‘Oh, you mean about Tracker?’
I’m a little uncomfortable with him talking about himself in the third person, but it does sometimes feel as though another person is standing here with us. ‘Yes.’
‘No. She doesn’t know. No one else knows.’ He says it as though I’m special because I’m privy to his alter ego. I don’t feel special. I feel trapped.
I try to ignore the claustrophobia. ‘How many of us are there?’
‘Counting me, there are six.’
‘Only two women?’ I almost say ‘girls,’ and I mentally slap myself. I’m hardly a girl, although I’m not sure just how old Heather is. She may not even be twenty yet, but I’m not great at guessing ages.
‘You know the odds.’
That hackers are mostly boys or young men. ‘Yeah. But Heather looks like she should still be in school or at the mall with her girlfriends. She’s really a hacker?’
‘She’s good.’
I let that hang between us a few seconds. We’ll see.
‘So what’s the deal here?’ I look reproachfully at the bed again.
Zeke chuckles. ‘It’s not that long, Tina. You won’t be here that much anyway,’ he says again.
‘Where is the hub of all the activity, then?’
‘Corner apartment. It’s a lot bigger.’
‘Servers?’
‘Off site.’
‘Safe?’
‘Of course.’
‘We’re going to be inside a lot of code that we’re not supposed to be inside,’ I point out.
‘No kidding.’
‘So why didn’t you just get your own apartment? Why are you staying here?’
He stops smiling now. ‘I have to keep an eye on you.’
‘So I don’t take off.’
‘So you don’t take off,’ he repeats. ‘You’re pretty good at that.’
I can’t help but smile. ‘Yeah, I am, aren’t I?’
‘Do you want to shower or anything before we go?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Then let’s get to work.’
He’s right about the corner apartment. It is much larger, and even though it doesn’t have any artwork on the walls either, it doesn’t matter here. The moment I walk in, I can concentrate only on the tables of computers and the wires that snake around between them. In a way, I’m a little disappointed because it’s just so clichéd, but it does work.
Heather is hunched over a keyboard across the room, and I study the other three who haven’t even looked up. They all wear headphones, music filling their heads while their eyes are glued to the screens filled with code. My fingers begin to itch.
Zeke brings me over. ‘This is Susan,’ he says loudly, and only two pull off their headphones and look at me. Heather gives me a sidelong glance before turning back to her screen.
One of the hackers is scruffy, with a day-old beard and greasy hair, wearing a bright orange T-shirt. Zeke tells me his name is Jake. The other, called Charles, is Asian, his black hair sticking up straight, although it looks clean. He has a wide face and broad nose, with glasses perched on its end. Both of them look to be in their late teens, maybe early twenties. I assume they have to be eighteen and legally adults, but then again, Zeke had documents made up for me, and I’m probably not the only one.
Despite my age and gender, they don’t seem very curious about me, simply stick their headphones back on and return to their screens.
Zeke goes over to the third hacker, who still hasn’t glanced up, and taps his shoulder, startling him. I know that feeling, and I suppress the urge to chuckle. He isn’t like the other two, even though he looks younger – maybe not even old enough yet to shave. He is dressed as if he’s older, however; as if he’s got a real day job somewhere other than in a corner apartment in a worn-out apartment building: white button-down shirt, chinos. His hair is short, slicked back, and he’s got a rich-boy air of arrogance around him. I am struck by a sense that I know him, but I chalk it up to growing up with privilege myself. Hacking doesn’t discriminate.
‘Meet Daniel,’ Zeke instructs.
‘Hello, Daniel,’ I say.
Daniel doesn’t respond; he merely turns back to his screen. I’m not offended; it’s what he does. I was hardly socially competent when I was his age and had no use for real human beings, either.
Zeke is clearing a place for me in front of an extra desktop I hadn’t noticed next to Heather. She flashes a bright smile at him, but barely registers that I’m in the room.
There is suddenly too much togetherness. It’s almost as though the walls have begun to close in on me. I grip my hands tightly in front of me as Zeke boots up the desktop, and my gaze wanders to the sliding glass door that leads out to a small balcony, similar to the one in the other apartment. It’s turned dark outside; this morning at the police station feels like a million years ago, and exhaustion overwhelms me.
Without a word, I cross the room, open the door, and step outside.
I can’t stay.
TEN
I am at the door to the other apartment by the time Zeke catches up with me. My heart is pounding within my chest. My head tells me I’m having an old-fashioned panic attack, while at the same time it’s as though I’m going to die right here, right this very moment.
‘What’s wrong?’
I take a couple of huge gulps of air into my lungs, willing myself to calm down.
‘Are you OK?’ Worry laces Zeke’s tone, and he takes another step toward me.
I hold up my hand to keep him at bay and shake my head. ‘I can’t work in there. I can’t wor
k like that.’
I expect him to scold me, tell me that I’m being unreasonable. Instead, he unlocks the apartment door and leads me inside. He doesn’t say anything, just goes to his room, leaving me in the living room, wishing I’d stood up to him, told him I wouldn’t come with him.
‘Maybe this is better.’
I twirl around at the sound of his voice and see him standing behind me, holding the laptop. I shake my head. ‘I don’t know.’
He holds it out closer to me now. Reluctantly, I take it from him. Its weight feels comfortable in my hands, and I pull it to my chest, clutching it.
‘I don’t care where you work,’ he says, ‘as long as we get the job done.’
I don’t believe him. He brought me here, to Miami, for a reason. To be on that team.
‘It’s fine,’ he assures me, and I can see he understands what’s happening to me.
Still clutching the laptop, I sink down on to the couch and put my head between my legs.
‘You’ll be OK,’ he says. ‘Do you want me to stay?’
Without looking up, I shake my head. I feel his hand on the back of my neck. I wonder if he’s making sure I’m not really dying, and as if to prove that I’m not, he says, ‘I’ll be down the hall.’ And just like that, Zeke is gone. He has left me alone here.
I slowly pull myself up and lean back on the couch, taking a few more deep breaths. After a few moments, I begin to feel a lot better. Enough so that Zeke’s sudden disappearance strikes me as a little odd. So much for keeping an eye on me. Instinct makes me glance around for some sort of device – a camera maybe – that is spying on me, that will tell him whether I’m staying or leaving. I do a quick search of the room, the kitchen area, but nothing. That doesn’t mean it’s not here, though.
And then I see it. The lamp in the corner is on, and a small wire is visible in shadow behind the shade. On further inspection, it has come a little loose, which is why it’s no longer completely hidden.
If he is watching, then he will see my face peering into the camera. I don’t really care. He brought me here because I’m smart, maybe sometimes smarter than he is.
Betrayed Page 4
