There is No Cloud

by Kat Wheeler

  He nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his scotch and leaning back in his chair. He studied her a bit before asking his next question.

  “All right, Nancy Drew, what about Trey Howell? What’s his motive?”

  “See, you think that’s an insult, but I loved Nancy Drew.” She laughed, a little warm from the wine and finding herself enjoying his company, the bar, and the conversation. It was nice to be out with a man and not have it be for work. She’d forgotten what it felt like. He was interesting and a welcome distraction from thinking about the mess she was in. Losing her job hurt, but the responsibility she felt from losing Casey hurt more.

  “Okay, the motive for Trey,” she said, rubbing her hands together briskly. “This one was a little harder, but I think Casey had the right idea on this one.”

  “Don’t hold out on me now. I can’t wait to hear this.”

  “Trey’s the leader, right?” He nodded. “He is working on a whole other level than the other two. If he was behind this, it has to be a much bigger reason. Casey suggested this was a beta test. Trey would put a few chips in hubs he knew he’d have access to, to see if the data collection worked.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then he’d sell it,” she stated as if it was obvious. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about the far-reaching implications of this device? You could sell it to a foreign nation so fast your head would spin. A way to passively spy on anyone. Odds are you’d get someone important too. Government officials, business leaders, they all have a HomeTech Hub. If those chips were added to every unit in production? It would be unreal. And you wouldn’t even have to do anything. People are lining up to put them in their homes.”

  Will didn’t answer, but she could tell his mind was working overtime trying to absorb what she said. Truthfully, it was the most likely scenario. From her research, everything she read about Trey Howell showed a well-adjusted, successful businessman. He donated to charity, didn’t get into trouble. But his early life was mostly blanks. She knew he’d had a falling out with his family and been cut off. Hence his need to take Mark Minsky as an investor to start SE. But he’d done well. At this point, he’d far outpaced his family fortune. From the outside, he seemed to be a man who had it all. But looks could be deceiving.

  “The only issue you’d have with that would be how to store and process all the data.”

  “What?” Will asked.

  “Well, if the data being sent every night is only from a few people, you could store it on some personal servers easily. But if it was hundreds of even the ten million people who have HomeTech Hubs now, then that would be a massive amount of data. The servers required to store it and the people required to process that amount of information would be enormous. I’m sure SE has a pretty massive server farm. I wonder if they’ve grown it recently?”

  “Now you’re taking it a little too far, edging into Tom Clancy territory. Most murders don’t work like that. There’s no global conspiracy. At the end of the day, it's either about money or it's about love.”

  After a brief argument over who would pay the bill, he won. They decided to walk from the bar back to her apartment. The New York night was clear and calm. The air was crisp with the changing of the seasons. It was Cameron’s favorite time of year, before the snow came in and made the city wet, dirty, and cold, but after the summer heat when it got so hot it felt like the sun was coming up from the sidewalks and the pavement was melting. They walked slowly, enjoying the company and the city. Even though she’d only been there for five years, Cameron felt more at home in the city than she had anywhere else. There were always people around and something going on no matter the time of day or night. It fit her perfectly.

  When they got to her building, Will talked with the doorman on duty. His name was Ken. Another name she could file away for future reference. After a quick conversation in which Ken assured Detective Justus he understood the situation and would keep a keen eye out, they rode the elevator up to her floor.

  It took Will less than a minute to search her apartment. He met her back in the doorway and declared it safe. ”Are you sure you want to stay here?” he asked, standing comfortably close to her in her small entranceway. “It’s a mess.”

  “I’m sure,” she replied softly. “I’ve got to deal with it sometime, and now’s as good a time as any. I won’t get into all of it tonight. I’ll just tackle the bedroom. I’ve got to head to the office early in the morning. They’ve requested I turn in all my product samples and my computer, so… that’ll be fun.”

  “I’m sure. Then you’ll meet us at the precinct for the interviews?”

  “I will.”

  He nodded, taking a casual glance around again at the mess before moving a step closer to her. She held her breath for a moment. The way he was looking in her eyes and the feeling seeping into her skin, she was sure he planned to kiss her. But after a beat, he stepped back.

  With a quick “Be careful,” he was out the door. Cameron sighed, locked the door behind him, and began the arduous task of making her apartment livable enough to sleep in.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Well, that was awkward, and then it hurt.

  Driving back to the city after returning her equipment to her office, Cameron was a flood of emotions. She hated the sympathetic looks she received from her colleagues. Word had spread about her suspension, and though no one mentioned it directly, she could tell what they were thinking. But there were other looks she got, less sympathetic ones, and she knew those people, not unlike herself, were blaming her for what happened to Casey. While she would’ve usually liked to have stayed in the office, said her goodbyes to the people she was close to, those few who were looking at her in less than a friendly way made her uncomfortable enough to hurry out. All told, she spent less than thirty minutes saying goodbye to a job she loved. She couldn’t imagine how it would be at the funeral this Saturday. As tough as she was trying to be, she couldn’t help the few tears that managed to escape as she was leaving the SmartTech parking lot for what could be the final time.

  Cameron had mostly pulled herself together during her drive. She felt composed again by the time she was preparing to make the turn from 22nd onto 2nd Avenue upon finally reaching the city. There was no left turn light there, and depending on the day, it could take seconds or many long minutes to make the turn. Some days it was the longest part of her drive.

  She was planning to run up to her apartment and throw on some more comfortable clothes before heading to the police station. Now that she wasn’t working, there was no need for the suit. It was habit more than anything that made her put it on that morning. Plus, she also didn’t want to give anyone who might be judging her dismissal any satisfaction by going in looking like a bum.

  Looking ahead to that opportunity and seeing an opening in traffic, Cameron made the turn. As soon as she did, she felt the immediate impact on her rear driver side door like she was hit by a train. The sound was deafening.

  Her Jeep felt out of control, the wheel moving on its own in her hands. She was spinning and sliding down 2nd Avenue, being pushed by what looked like a big truck. Her heart raced and her throat seemed to close as she tried to scream. She couldn’t quite manage to get herself to make a sound, and if she did, she couldn’t hear it above the rage of screeching metal. Her hands scrambled to find purchase on the wheel as she tried to gain some control. Her car spun again, and she heard more than felt the loud crash that separated their vehicles. It looked like someone had hit the truck, ripping it away from her Jeep.

  Then all of a sudden, it was quiet, and her car was stopped.

  Holy shit. Holy shit.

  She was moving slowly, she knew, but everything hurt, and she felt disconnected from her body. It felt like it took her hours to get her bearings, but in reality, it couldn’t have been more than a minute. She reached up and felt something sticky on her forehead and wiped it
away. Blood.

  It’s okay. Head wounds bleed.

  She looked up again across her vehicle to see a man jumping down from the truck that hit her. Great. She hoped he had insurance. Her car was sure to be totaled. But at least the airbags hadn’t deployed, she thought. That was something.

  It took her brain a second to process that something wasn’t right. The driver was wearing all black, a mask on his face, and had a gun in his hand. He wasn’t getting out to help her or trade insurance info. He was trying to kill her.

  Move! she told herself. Move, move, move.

  She dove/fell across to her passenger seat when she heard the first gunshot. Almost immediately she heard the screams of the bystanders and saw people on the street take off running. She half crawled and half pulled herself out of the driver seat, trying to stay as low as possible. She opened the passenger door and slid to the pavement face-first. She caught herself with her hands and felt them scrape raw against the concrete and glass. She hid behind the front passenger side tire to get as much protection as she could while she tried to come up with a plan. She took a few deep breaths, but the shots kept coming, and she knew she wasn’t safe. Who the hell fired a gun in the middle of the street in Manhattan?

  Think. Think.

  She needed to run. There was a police station a few blocks away. She could go that way. Surely someone had called them by now. It was her best shot.

  She took a deep breath and centered herself. She checked her body. Other than her head, nothing else seemed to be hurt. Just a few scrapes on her hands. She flexed her arms and legs. Everything seemed to be in working order, if a bit sore. She was surely going to feel it in the morning.

  The decision was made. It was her best option. Now she just needed to make her feet move.

  Cameron grabbed her messenger bag from the passenger seat of her car, looped it over her head, and, with a deep breath, took off running.

  She was glad she’d chosen her flat boots today instead of the heels she usually wore to the office, but she was also hating herself for picking up the cigarettes again, and for the second time that week, she vowed to get to the gym more often. She blended in with all the other people running down the street away from gunfire and finally heard police sirens. She didn’t hear gunshots anymore, but she didn’t stop, and she didn’t look back.

  By the time she reached the front of the police station on 20th, she felt like her lungs were going to explode. There was a flurry of activity around her, cops running everywhere. People screaming. Panic was quick in the city when anything out of the ordinary happened these days. Everyone’s first thought was terrorism. She lowered herself onto the steps in front of the building by the railing and tried to catch her breath. In all the activity, it was a few minutes before anyone noticed her.

  The cop in front of her was shaking a hand in her face and shaking her shoulder for who knew how long before she came back to herself enough to answer him.

  “Ma’am, ma’am, are you hurt? Were you shot?” His grip on her upper arms where he held her hurt, and she quickly pushed them off.

  “I’m okay,” she said almost to herself, barely believing it. Then, with more confidence, she looked him in the eye. “I’m okay. I wasn’t shot. But the gunman rammed my car. And then he started shooting, and I just ran….”

  “You did good. You’re safe now. Let’s get you inside.”

  “You have to call Detective Justus. He’s at the 10th precinct. This could be connected to a case. I think someone just tried to kill me.”

  She could tell for a moment that the officer was having a hard time believing her. She could imagine what she must look like, blood dripping down her face and shaking.

  “Fine, we’ll call him. But first, we’re going to take you inside and have someone check you out. You’re bleeding. All right?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Okay.”

  She made it. She was safe.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  You grabbed your purse?

  Will arrived at the police station agitated and not bothering to try to hide it. When he’d received the call from the officer who’d taken care of Cameron, he immediately thought the worst. He’d heard the reports on the police scanner—everyone had—and seen the initial reports on the news. Shots fired in the city, but he had no idea she could’ve been involved.

  He stopped at the crime scene on his way to meet her, comfortable delaying his arrival once he was assured she wasn’t seriously hurt. It was a mess. Her car was destroyed, the whole side caved in. The truck that hit her wasn’t much better, the whole front almost crushed up to the interior. It appeared to have pushed her halfway down the block before a taxi had struck it.

  Will introduced himself and had gotten a brief from one of the detectives on the scene. The truck was stolen. The CSI team was working on the trace from the interior, but they hadn’t caught the perpetrator; he was still on the run. The local news media was already reporting on the incident. Thankfully, no one had been killed. But there had meant to be. The shooter, whoever he was, had meant to kill Cameron.

  When he finally spotted her, she was sitting in a chair. A medic with a penlight was shining it in her eyes, he assumed checking her for signs of a concussion. He could see dried blood traces on her face but nothing on her clothes. She was dressed in typical New York fashion in all black, which was effective in hiding bloodstains. He bet she hadn’t planned on that when she picked out her outfit.

  An officer was standing beside her when he approached, and he reached out his hand in greeting.

  “Officer DeFilippo?” he asked.

  “Yes, you must be Detective Justus.”

  “I am.” He shifted his gaze to Cameron. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She nodded, her answer a little shaky. “Just some scratches, a few stitches, and a lot of bruises.”

  “Sir,” Officer DeFilippo said. “Our captain would like to speak to you for a minute if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem. Will you be all right for a few minutes?” She nodded back. “Wait for me right here, please,” he instructed before following the officer down the hall.

  The captain’s office looked remarkably similar to his captain’s. Although he guessed it wasn’t too surprising. All the police stations in the city had the same feel. Outdated equipment and files piled everywhere. Décor that felt like it was from the ’70s. It seemed like cosmetic upgrades were never in the budget.

  The meeting with the 13th precinct’s captain didn’t take long. Since there was so little evidence in both their cases, it wasn’t time-consuming to share. The longest amount of time spent together was after the captain had sent a picture of the suspect in Cameron’s shooting to the detectives in the New Jersey hit-and-run case of Cameron’s friend. Waiting for the detective to call back was like torture. But he did, and they had their first break. Despite the criminal’s efforts to cover his face, they had him on camera a few blocks away from the scene, ripping his mask off before heading down into the subway, and they were able to get a picture. The Bergen County police were able to match it to the suspect in Casey Keane’s murder.

  Will left the office feeling like they were finally making real progress and with a copy of the photo in his hand. He just wasn’t happy about what had happened to Cameron to get them there. If she’d been killed, well, he didn’t even want to think about it. He’d had a good time talking with her the night before. No, it was more than good. Sharing a drink with her was easy but exciting as well. She was interesting and thoughtful in a way it seemed most people weren’t. He couldn’t imagine her dead. Especially not because of a case he couldn’t solve.

  Cameron was still sitting where he’d left her, smiling and drinking a soda with a young officer.

  “Time to go,” he said abruptly, not even glancing at the other man.

  “All right, let me just grab my stuff.” She
reached down to straighten the messenger bag she always carried for work.

  “Your stuff?”

  “Yeah, my bag,” she replied, looking puzzled at his tone, holding the strap up for him to see.

  He blinked, unable to process what she had said for a moment. “Let me get this straight. A man is shooting at you, you’re literally running for your life, and you stopped to grab your purse?”

  “Hey, man,” the officer put in. “Go easy on her. She’s had a rough morning.”

  Will’s entire body stiffened, and he moved nothing but his head. He looked like a really tall owl as he turned to face the man. “Go away.”

  The officer must have read something on his face because without another word, he turned and walked away.

  ***

  “Well, that was rude,” Cameron noted.

  “Rude? Fuck rude! You were almost killed. I don’t have time to deal with Romeo's feelings. We’ve got to get moving.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked apprehensively. She’d never seen him this worked up, and it was unnerving.

  “To your place so you can shower and change clothes. Get that blood off you. Then back to the office. We’ve got new leads and those interviews today. Are you still up for it?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied hesitantly but honestly. “I mean, watching interviews was one thing, but my apartment was broken into, and I was shot at today. I think I’ve reached my limit, and I know I’m way out of my depth here.”

  Things were moving too fast. She needed to slow down, get back to something close to normal. She would feel more guilt at not seeing it through, not getting justice for Casey, but she’d already lost her job. She didn’t want to lose her life.

  “I understand. You might still be a little in shock, and whether you listen in on the interviews or not, the safest place for you right now is with me. At the station.”