Emily wore a micro–denim skirt. Her chubby legs were clad in black tights that slid into a pair of low, combat-looking boots. The plunging neckline of her shirt revealed more than just her butterfly tattoo as she strode down the stairs, hands dangling loosely at her sides.
She spotted him and, angling her body away, stopped, waiting for the last of the students to filter past. Finally she looked up through the unruly fringe of her dark hair, lips twisted into a slight pout, and heaved a long, inevitable sigh.
“I don’t suppose it’s a coincidence that you’re here,” she said hopefully. A note of dark irony touched her voice. Alex smiled.
“I’m afraid not, Emily. Listen, I’m starving, so what do you say I buy you a burger and we talk?” He inclined his head toward the diner across the street and waited.
“I don’t suppose you’ll take no for an answer?”
“Well, we could talk before or after I eat. Your choice.”
Emily did not say a word but turned instead in the direction of the crosswalk. Alex fell in step beside her. Her makeup was lighter today. Yesterday, her style bordered on Goth. But today, it seemed she was in the mood for something lighter. Her puffy eyes hinted at a restless night, and he wondered if Natalie’s disappearance was wearing on her. He hoped it was and that it would provide him with an opening. At this point, it was obvious to him that Natalie’s disappearance was not just a fit of teenage rebellion.
“How are you, Emily?”
They stepped over the thinning grass and onto the sidewalk. She shrugged without looking at him.
“Okay, I guess.”
They found a booth at the back of the restaurant. The noisy chatter from the tables surrounding them provided an odd sense of privacy. A waitress stopped by to give their table a cursory wipe with a grimy cloth before taking their order.
Alex crossed his arms casually on the table and leaned forward, his eyes meeting Emily’s. She looked away.
“So, Emily,” he started in a quiet voice. “What can you tell me?”
A flurry of emotions crossed her face as she struggled to decide what to say, or perhaps what to feel. Finally, she sighed and shook her head.
“You know, Emily, secrets are funny things. I’m sure you don’t want to betray your friend’s trust. But I’ve got to tell you, some lies are deadly. And when it comes to finding Natalie, the sooner we know where she was going, the better.”
Emily propped an elbow up on the table and rested her lips against her clenched fist for a long moment before she spoke.
“I don’t know where she is,” she finally blurted out in her gravelly voice. “But I do know where she was going. Well, sort of.”
Alex nodded, a prickly sensation burning across the back of his neck. He remained perfectly, deliberately silent. A stream of questions queued up in his mind, but he stopped them before they escaped his lips, determined to listen.
It was a long time before she spoke again. When she did, her voice faltered, as if she didn’t know quite where or how to begin.
“Natalie wasn’t allowed to date. Her parents are kind of strict, and really, there wasn’t anyone in school she had a thing for anyway. Boys.”
Emily rolled her eyes in disgust.
“But there was someone,” he prodded gently. Slowly, he cautioned himself. Too much pressure and she might shut down.
Emily turned to look out the window, and nodded.
“There was someone.” Then she added quickly, “But I don’t know who. I mean, I don’t know his name.”
“Do you know anything about him?”
She slouched back in the booth. A mist of tears clouded her eyes, and she stared hard at the empty table.
“Not much. I know she met him online. They chatted a few times, and she said that he was older. Liked motorcycles, you know?”
Alex’s heart jolted as he got the first real lead in the case. He pulled out his notebook and started taking notes.
“Do you know how they met online?”
“Um, I’m not sure. A chat room maybe? She mentioned something about him a few weeks ago.”
“Did they email?”
“I think so.”
Alex frowned and considered this new information. He hadn’t found anything unusual in her email correspondence. Surely he wouldn’t have missed emails like this in his search. He’d need to look for secondary accounts. She might have accessed other accounts on another computer, at the school or library perhaps.
“Do you know his email handle?”
“Not really.” Emily shrugged. “God. Natalie mentioned it once. It was stupid. Something to do with motorcycles, but I don’t remember what it was.”
“Did she chat a lot?” His pencil started to scratch on the paper as he focused on what she was saying.
“Sure, we all do. She used her email account.”
Emily paused to take a sip from her Coke and then continued. “I could tell she was excited about him. She said something about meeting him for coffee on Saturday. Asked me to cover for her.”
Alex stopped writing, fixing his piercing stare on Emily.
“Her email account?” Bingo. There it was. The missing piece.
“Sure. Free sign-up.”
“How does she access it?”
“God, what do you mean?” she shook her head. “She logged onto it through her Me page.” Emily rolled her eyes.
“But I looked and didn’t find her on a Me site.” The search Alex had made of all the social-networking sites had turned up nothing on Natalie.
“She didn’t use her real name. She wasn’t dumb. Her parents were just the type to go snooping around in her stuff. They’re like that, you know? My mom wouldn’t have a clue. But Natalie’s parents …” She trailed off and looked back at Alex. “God, she’s smart with computers.”
“What is the address she used?”
“[email protected].” Emily shrugged, and a faint smile touched her lips. Alex’s brows creased together in a frown, and he scribbled some notes. “Slipstream … cycling jargon. That’s pure Natalie—nothing flashy.” Emily’s voice trailed off.
Her fingers pressed against her lips, and Alex noticed the brutally short fingernails coated in a fresh layer of black nail polish, the evidence of her nail-biting habit effectively camouflaged.
The waitress stopped by the table to deposit their food and then skittered away. Emily reached for the ketchup and spent a long time creating a red pool beside the large order of fries heaped on her plate. The black-tipped fingers pinched together to capture a fry, then hesitated and fell back to the table.
“When she didn’t call on Saturday night—” Her voice suddenly choked off. She stopped, cleared her throat with a wet, noisy sound, and continued. “I figured maybe things had gone well. She made me promise not to tell anyone. I thought maybe she had spent the night with him, and I didn’t want to blow her cover.”
Alex nodded as if in agreement. Misguided loyalty was something he understood. The fact that she was talking to him now, spilling Natalie’s secret, was proof enough that her indifference yesterday had been a well-crafted act. She played the part so well, in fact, that he had to wonder what things in her life had caused her to shut down. He recalled the dirty kitchen, the half-empty vodka bottle, and her mother’s watery expression. Compassion for the girl flooded through him.
As he silently reviewed the information Emily had provided, he found himself doodling on the page where he had written his notes. The face of a teenage girl quickly took shape, her features mostly hidden by an unruly fringe of bangs. Dark eyes downcast. Expression pensive.
Alex looked up and saw Emily studying the page, too, and his pencil stilled. He loved to draw, had ever since he was a kid. Even though the sketch was rough there was no mistaking Emily’s face. He turned the page.
“Weren’t you worried when you found out she didn’t show up on Sunday?”
“Sure, but I thought she’d come home.”
“Anything else you can
tell me?”
“No,” she said. “That’s all I know.” Her eyes met his. Fear glimmered in their depths. “Please find her.”
Alex nodded and closed the notebook. He took a sip of his milkshake, then quietly thanked Emily. Hope fluttered within him for the first time all day. A secret meeting. An email account. It was a damned good place to start.
7
Jill Shannon’s fingernails clicked against the hard shell of her computer’s mouse. Jamie had been maddeningly unavailable. During the long week she spent in San Jose trying to corral the burgeoning number of project issues, he was holed up in meetings and otherwise occupied. Or so his administrative assistant claimed.
Lost in thought, she started at the sound of a knock on her door. Dana Evans glanced down at her through eyelashes so ridiculously thick, they had to be fake. She wore a knee-length black skirt, a sleeveless olive-green scoop-neck blouse, and high-heeled black boots. The look suited her, Jill grudgingly admitted to herself.
“Got a minute?” Evans asked.
Jill made no attempt to hide the scowl on her face.
“Sure.”
Dana strode in and closed the door behind her. A nauseating cloud of floral perfume filled the office, almost choking Jill. A closed-door meeting? Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Jill swiveled in her chair, facing her unwelcome guest.
“I came to apologize. My feedback the other day was rather blunt.”
Jill nodded. Blunt was one way to put it. She had other words for it.
“It’s fine.”
“So, that’s it. We’re square?” Dana asked.
“Sure,” Jill said, hitching her shoulders in a casual shrug. Whatever. She had no interest in airing her opinion on Evans’s unprofessional behavior. That was Jamie’s job.
Still, the way Dana stared at her caused her hackles to rise. There was more to Dana’s visit. She could feel it. Whatever it was, she wished Dana would just cut to the chase and get the hell out of her office. The woman gave her the willies.
“Is that it?” Jill prompted, keeping her gaze locked on Dana.
Dana smiled then, a rather unpleasant smile. Though at first glance she’d thought Dana attractive, on closer inspection Jill found the woman’s features coarse, her hazel eyes a little too far apart. Dana spent hours at the gym, no doubt about it. The thick muscles of her arms testified to the number of pull-ups she could do. It was all a little mannish for Jill, who preferred her own sleek runner’s build.
“Jamie thought I’d upset you.”
Jamie. The hairs on Jill’s arms prickled. She forced a smile of her own.
“So Jamie told you to apologize? Do you always do what he tells you to?”
Dana’s expression hardened. Jill could see the cracks in her makeup as her mouth flattened into an angry line.
“I’m not his lap dog.”
“What are you then?”
Dana cocked her head. Wry amusement lit the woman’s hazel eyes. A smile curved her thick lips.
“A colleague.”
“Nothing more?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” Jill lied. “I just want to understand the political landscape.”
“Hmmm,” Dana said, skeptically.
With slow, deliberate strides, she sauntered toward the door. Her hand gripped the knob, and then, turning back toward Jill, she paused.
“Just a little word to the wise about Jamie,” she said, her voice dipping low, into a conspiratorial purr.
“What’s that?” Jill asked, feigning boredom.
“Jamie’s fickle,” she answered, and turned on her heel.
Jill stood up and watched Dana’s retreating form slither down the hall. Was that a warning? Was Dana trying to mark her territory? The idea rankled Jill, and she decided there was only one way to find out.
Her heels clicking on the tile floor, Jill stopped outside Jamie’s door. He looked up at her soft knock and cast a subtle glance over her shoulder, as if checking the hallway to see if they were alone.
“Jill.”
“Mind if I interrupt?” Her smile was disarming.
“I’ve got ten minutes,” he said, letting her know that it was not an open-ended invitation.
With a nod, she entered, closing the door softly behind her. He swung his chair around to face her, and her heart jolted in response to the intensity of his blue eyes. There was something electric about his presence that set her on edge.
“Apologies. I haven’t had much time for you this week. My schedule has been a bloody mess.”
Her lips twisted as she stared at him. His attempt to disarm her was not going to work.
“You’ve been busy,” she said,
“It’s been a right mad week.” He glanced past her toward the door, as if worried that they might be interrupted, before returning to her face. “So what can I do for you?”
“I just had a visit from Ms. Evans.”
“Oh, good. Did the two of you patch things up?”
Jill frowned. Patch things up? He made it sound like they were two girls having a catfight on a playground, not grown women. Professionals. Colleagues. Would he have phrased it this way if they had been men? She thought not. An awkward silence stretched between them, and a bitter smile crossed Jill’s face.
“Well, she apologized for being blunt, if that’s what you mean.”
“Good. Dana is very results driven. She’s a little too aggressive at times.”
“Aggressive.” Jill cocked an eyebrow. “She’s that, all right, but I don’t think she came to my office to apologize.”
“Oh?”
“Time for a little truth now, Jamie. Is there something going on between the two of you?”
Jamie’s gaze shot past her. His eyes narrowed, and she saw a flicker of irritation flare in his blue eyes.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said, the last vestige of warmth stripped from his voice.
Jill inclined her head slightly, her eyebrows arched, her expression knowing.
“Don’t play dumb. You’re a smart guy, it should be easy to figure out.” Sarcasm spilled easily from her lips, and she felt a bitter pool of acid bubble at the pit of her stomach.
Jamie cocked his head as he regarded her with a sour look. She raised her chin, refusing to let him intimidate her.
“I’m not engaging in this conversation, Jillian.”
Jillian. He was pissed. He only used her full name when he was angry. If she had any remaining doubts about how he felt, all she had to do was look at his face. Anger glittered in his hard eyes. Although part of her knew she should stop pushing, she couldn’t. He was going to tell her the truth. He owed her that much.
“Why not? Too personal?”
Jamie’s face flushed scarlet as he stared at her, the thin veneer of tolerance stripped away. She knew at once that she had pushed him too far.
“Personal. Inappropriate. Take your pick.” His words were clipped and icy.
“Is it?” She crossed her legs, eyes defiant. She knew she shouldn’t push any further, but she couldn’t stop the flood of resentment she felt from spilling over. She already played second fiddle to Alex’s career. She wasn’t going to stand in line for him behind another woman, especially not a bitch like Dana Evans.
Jamie leaned so close she could smell his cologne. Leather and soap. Unbidden images sprang to mind—nights in her hotel room, the taste of his mouth on hers. His voice grew dangerously quiet.
“This isn’t the place.”
“Then when? I haven’t seen you all week.” Her voice bumped up a notch in volume, and she cringed inwardly, hearing the whiny tone of a disgruntled teenager. He shot a meaningful glance over her shoulder, and she said, more softly, “You’ve canceled our one-on-one. You’ve avoided me all week. Just when are we supposed to talk?”
“I have a video conference with the team in India this evening, but why don’t we meet for dinner afterward? Say around eight-thirty at A. P. Stumps? We’ll get a
booth, have some wine, and talk things through. Sound good?”
His smile was disarming, and despite herself she felt the frigid wall between them shift. This was more like it. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe Rachel’s paranoia about cheating men was rubbing off on her. Maybe Dana Evans wanted Jamie back and was trying to scare off the competition.
“I’ll wear something nice,” she added with a wicked twinkle in her eye.
Jamie nodded and gave her a tight smile.
“Lovely,” he said.
8
The five-degree drop in temperature was welcome, Alex noted as he opened the door to the lab. The sophisticated cooling system hummed, pumping out cold air to compensate for the cluster of computer servers and workstations running on overdrive.
Alex strode purposefully to the back, anxious to get an update on Natalie’s secret email account. She had been missing almost two days now, and every hour was critical. He went in search of Kris Thompson, the unit’s top technical guy—girl, he corrected himself. Too young to officially bear the title of Guru, Kris was a recent MIT graduate and the most gifted hacker Alex had ever met, although her technical prowess was overshadowed by her innate shyness.
Kris was as straight-laced as they came. Raised Mormon, she had broken with the church and her family when she left for college, but the deep-rooted, conservative morals remained. Her sharp mind was masked behind a shy smile and an assortment of shapeless sweaters. Alex sometimes wondered if her dedication to her job was at the expense of her social life. Or in place of one.
Kris looked up as Alex approached.
“What did we get from Natalie’s hard drive?”
“I found two email accounts. The default one you’ve already seen. Nothing of interest, just friends, school assignments, the usual. The second was linked to her Me account.” This news confirmed what Emily had told him.
Kris’s mouth was set in a grim line. “There’s a handful of emails from a guy who goes by the handle ‘47Knucklehead.’”
“Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.” Alex rubbed his chin. “What does it mean?”
Kris stared at her screen as she shrugged. “I’m guessing that it’s not a nickname from an overly critical parent. I’ve done a lookup on the term, and aside from the obvious, there are a few other references. A kids’ clothing line, brand name for acoustic-guitar strings …”
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