Is he looking at the camera?
“He can’t see us, can he?” I asked.
“No,” Nerd answered. “Just a coincidence, probably someone standing behind his monitor.”
Garrett sat on the edge of his seat and perched his chin on his elbows, leaned in until his face filled the screen. “Brian, are you sure?” I asked again. “The camera’s green light is off, right?”
“Gotta be,” Nerd said, scrolling through a window of source code, paging down until he reached the routine that disabled the camera’s light.
Garrett stared and sneered at us before wagging his finger in the air.
“What the fuck!” Nerd said. “How the fuck . . .”
“Kill it!” I demanded, realizing that Garrett must know about Becky. Could he reverse the connection, turn our spy on us? “Delete Becky from his machine!”
“Way ahead of you,” Nerd said as the image of Garrett’s wagging finger flickered and then disappeared from his screen. “Not sure how—”
“We’re safe?” I asked.
“For now,” he answered with an uncertain shrug. “Don’t forget, though—Becky’s infection rate. Only a matter of time before she finds his computer and infects it again.”
“But we’re safe as long as we don’t remote into his machine?” I commented, hoping he’d agree, hoping to hear some assuredness in his voice.
He nodded and added, “That, and he’d have to be able to clear my routine to disable the camera’s light. Who is this guy?”
“He’s danger incarnate,” I said, unable to break my stare away from Nerd’s monitor. I was waiting for the green light next to the camera to ignite like a flame.
“No, I mean, it takes some serious skill to rework my code . . .” Nerd began to say, his voice trailing off as he thought through what just happened. “He manufactured the list, manipulated it so that we’d pick the cases he wanted us to pick . . .”
“What are you driving at?”
Nerd sat back in his chair and answered, “Amy, he hacked us.”
***
An hour and four energy drinks later, Nerd had secured us against any more of Garrett’s hacking attempts. The cyber wounds he had inflicted were only superficial, we discovered, had never given Garrett control or the same eyes and ears Nerd’s software had given us. Unlike the chess game Nerd played, Garrett (or whatever hacker worked for Garrett, as Nerd suspected) lacked the foresight to secure their next moves. While we had taken the bait with cases like Messenger and Ghoul, Garrett had left enough breadcrumbs that Nerd had been able to find the videos he’d recorded of me.
“Are you sure this is the only copy?” I asked while Nerd played back the scene of Messenger breaking his neck.
Nerd drank down the remains of an energy drink and anxiously popped the tab of another. “It’s a bit different when you see it . . . I mean, what we do.”
“Don’t get caught up in what you see. The world won’t miss him,” I said coldly.
“That’s what we say, but to see it . . .” His voice was soft and shaky and was quickly replaced with a slurp from his drink.
“Only copy?” I repeated, wanting to move on. “That, and the one on his phone?”
“It’s a bit vault,” Nerd began, closing the video window to show me a list of files. “Like a digital safety deposit box. And there’s a history and versioning and a backup that syncs every hour.”
“That doesn’t sound promising,” I muttered, trying to understand the depth and number of copies. “And what about his phone?
“He likely streamed it, which would create a cache, a local copy. I can take care of what’s in the vault, delete all the history, and force the sync.”
“But the phone?”
“You’ll need to get it. I can’t see it. And if I can’t see it, then I can’t hack it.”
Neshaminy Creek, I thought. When I was done with Garrett, I’d take his phone and throw it into the creek. The water levels would be high again soon enough to carry the evidence to the bay, deleting them forever. “Wait!” I called out. Nerd raised his hand. “He’ll notice something is different. We can’t raise any suspicions.”
Nerd considered what I said, then navigated back to the parent folder. “He won’t get any notification about the history or the backup, so I’ll delete those. As for the videos, he’ll know they’re gone.”
“And he’ll know we deleted them. What if you leave the filenames, but replace the video with something else?”
Nerd pitched his chin, agreeing. “Swap ‘em out Indiana Jones style.”
“Exactly! Replace them with something else, but leave the names intact so he doesn’t suspect any activity.”
He was already typing, searching YouTube to find replacement videos. “I’ll match the file sizes too, to leave all metadata the same.”
“Perfect,” I said, following the YouTube search. “Let me . . .”
“All yours.”
Nerd gave me his keyboard. I already knew what I wanted, and found the videos with a single search. “These. Use these.”
“Road Runner cartoons!” Nerd exclaimed, raising his voice. “Loved those.”
“You take care of the evidence, and I’ll take care of Garrett,” I began, but as soon as the words left my mouth the smile drifted from his face. “What’s the matter?”
“Listen,” he began, turning to face me. “The world will miss him.”
I stepped away from his desk—a flush of heat rising on my neck. “I know,” I admitted. “But I don’t think he’s ever going to stop.”
“Amy, scum or not, we’re talking about a cop,” he continued, shaking his head. “Let me hack the shit out of him—put him so far into the technological Stone Age, he’ll want to use a flip phone for the rest of his life.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. But the humor was only fleeting. Nerd would never be on board with Garrett’s murder. “And what about his phone?”
“Meet with him,” Nerd answered. “Make like you’re going to show him proof you’ve killed his wife, and then steal his phone. That’ll be the last of it.”
I shook my head. He was underestimating Garrett. “Dude, he’s going to know where his wife is,” I said, disagreeing with him. “With the news always following her, the world knows where she is.”
“Exactly!” he answered, cracking his knuckles. “Wouldn’t take much for the world to think she’s somewhere else. An easy enough hack. Plus, meet with Garrett when you know he’ll be at the station. We control the time and the place.”
His idea had merit, I had to give him that. After all, it wasn’t like Garrett and his wife were joined at the hip. I went back to the whiteboard and erased my initial design. I started to draw out what we’d do to orchestrate Nerd’s newsfeed hack, make it align what I knew of Garrett’s schedule. I added a sedative as one of our ingredients—a fast-acting sedative to use in Needle. We could knock Garrett out so he wouldn’t pursue me while I had his phone.
“Bring up a map. Go west of the city, say forty minutes by car.”
“Sixty miles an hour?” Nerd asked, clicking on the map app and measuring a distance.
“Does it matter?”
“Well, yes. Miles per hour and all. How far?”
“Okay, sixty,” I blurted, frustrated by the need for an unimportant detail. I walked over to his monitor, pointed to a location. “I need you to go here. Mark the location and text me the exact coordinates.”
“Exact coordinates? What am I doing there?”
“You’re going to dig a shallow grave.”
Nerd rolled his chair back, raising his hands. “Amy, we don’t have to do this.”
“Take it easy,” I told him. “I’m on board with your idea.” I motioned to the whiteboard, walked back to it, and underlined the part about the sedative.
“So you’ll knock him out, take his phone, leave him there . . .” Nerd recited. “But why the grave?”
“While you hack the press, make it say his wife missed so
me newsworthy function, I’ll take him to the location to show him the grave. He’ll take it as proof the job is done—”
“And when he leans over to look at it using the glow from his phone as a flashlight, you’ll sedate him,” Nerd said, finishing for me.
I nodded slowly, encouraging Nerd to join in. “And let’s make it one of those sedatives that splits your skull.”
“Vicious,” he added. “That’s just being mean.”
“I want him to wake up in the grave with his head feeling like an erupting volcano.”
“Doubt he’ll ever fuck with you again.”
“With us,” I corrected him. “He’ll never fuck with us.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
BLOOD. THE BITTER TASTE of it. A flash filled my eyes, and dizzying spots trailed in front of me like shooting stars. Pressure crushed the air from my lungs—Garrett’s hands had knocked me off balance with a single blow. I’d plunged Needle’s syringe into his arm, expecting him to fall forward, expecting him to fill the grave’s earthy hole. But that’s not what happened. Instead, a coppery taste was filling my mouth. All of our planning and preparation was over in a blink. The only idea I had now was to try and survive.
My view of Garrett dimmed. The world around him dimmed too. I tumbled toward the blackness that was passing out, tripping in the dirt, landing on my back with a heavy thump. My lungs collapsed in a rushed wheeze. A new swarm of pinpoint lights fluttered in front of me, dousing my mind, telling me it was okay to close my eyes. I shook my head and tried to get up, but Garrett jumped on top of me then, slamming me into the ground—his face in mine, the faint smell of mint on his breath. He’d begun to pant and sweat, and I hoped it was the drugs taking hold. I’d stamped Needle against his skin, plunging the syringe in, but he had jerked away too fast—I couldn’t be sure how much of the chamber had emptied.
“What’s this!?” he shouted in my face, a drizzle of spit spewing from his mouth.
He yanked my arm like a loose rope, drawing the limb tight enough to shout a boney pop. I tried to scream, but my voice was gone. He shoved his knee into my chest, squeezing my heart. I knew the move: the knee mount. All cops are trained to use it. My mind flashed with an image of Steve and John rehearsing it in our first apartment. The pin lights were fading—being replaced by a void as the last of my breath slipped from my lips. I was suffocating. I was going to pass out.
“Oh no you don’t.”
A sharp sting cut across my face like a razor. I blinked furiously, awakened by the violent throe. Garrett lifted his knee to let me breathe. I sipped at the air, trying to clear the fog. I sipped until I saw his contorted face above mine and his open hand sweeping the air again. The next slap pitched my head in the other direction. I shook the gray light from my eyes, coughing and spitting blood. He twisted my hand, ripped Needle from my finger.
“What are you doing?” I managed to get out.
He sneered down at me, but his expression was different this time—it turned my insides cold. I’d crossed a line. He was going to kill me. I was sure of it.
Garrett lifted his knee and blood rushed back into my chest. I rolled to my side, vomiting onto the dirt. I wrapped my hand around my elbow, certain he’d broken my arm. There was a sharp pain like a torn muscle, but I could move it.
“Nice toy!” he spat as he climbed back on top of me.
The mount—I heard Steve and John discussing how to do this one in my head. My chest wheezed, but I could still take in a breath.
Garrett sniffed at the air like a dog, smelling the fear on me. He licked his lips and gripped my face, his fingers clenched like a vise, pinching my cheeks and forcing my lips into a sour pucker. Needle was in my eye, hovering, threatening. His laugh turned heinous. Every muscle in my neck strained as I tried to turn away from the weapon I’d come to love.
“How many did you kill with this?” He flicked his fingers, releasing my face with a snap.
“Get off me!” I demanded, bucking my hips. Garrett ignored me, his face sweaty and gleaming in the pale light of the moon. I stretched beneath his weight and tried to take Needle from him, but I missed, seeing double and clutching at nothing. He chuckled at the attempt and opened the back of my ring.
“Look at that,” he said, rolling my ring over, emptying the chamber of the sedative. “And what might have that been? Some poison for me? Well, I suppose I should feel honored.”
And before I could say or do anything, he threw my ring. I froze and listened for the sound of Needle hitting the ground, thinking I could find her in the darkness. Tree branches clacked as a wind coursed through the wooded edge of the field, but I heard a thud, I was sure of it—soft and far—giving me at least a direction for a search.
“I’d never kill your wife!” I exclaimed, striking my closed hand against his chin.
He fell back, but only briefly. He rose up above me, his mouth curled in a crooked snarl. He lifted his hand and struck my face without a word. The world blinked, turning black for a moment, but stayed alive. This punch was weaker than the last one, leading me to think some of the sedative must have made it into his bloodstream. I punched him again, twisting his head with a sudden spin. He fell over and landed next to me, panting through thinned lips. There was confusion in his eyes.
The sedative, I heard Nerd’s voice say in my head. It’ll take a few minutes.
But Garrett only had a taste.
Did he have enough of a taste for me to get away?
I didn’t wait around to see. I rolled to my hands and knees, dragging myself away from him. Garrett flipped over, swiped at my leg, took hold of my ankle. His grip was overpowering, painful. I let out a scream.
“Try to . . . poison me . . .” he said in a soggy voice.
He was dosed!
“It was just a sedative!” I screamed at him, thinking there was still a remote possibility both of us would walk away from this. “That’s all. Just a sedative—to fuck with you.”
“My ass!” he yelled as he pulled his revolver. The gun hung lazily in the air—his hand drooped like a flag without wind. “You’re dead . . . going to be . . .”
I kicked with my other leg, connecting with his arm. The gun exploded with a boom, piercing the night and freezing time. The bullet hit the ground beside me, sending a fiery ember to buzz by my ear and lift up my hair. I kicked again, stronger this time, hard enough to hear bones break. The gun flew from his fingers, a glimpse of moonlight bouncing from the barrel before it disappeared into the night.
I got to my feet and scurried toward the shallow grave and the dark edge of the field. But Garrett was already up. He threw himself on top of me. We both landed in the dusty hole, my mouth filling with the taste of fresh earth.
Elbows, use your elbows, I heard Steve and John saying. I swung my arm, hitting a shoulder with the point of my good elbow. I swung again, hitting his chest with a thud. He squirmed, shoving his body onto mine, covering me so I couldn’t move. I stabbed again with the only weapon I had, hitting what I thought might be his neck or head. He fell forward. I felt his breath on my neck and the warm spill of blood.
I was breathing hard, panting beneath his weight, blackness circling like a threat. Garrett made groggy snoring sounds: wet and sluggish. I slithered from beneath his square frame, clutching at loose dirt to pull myself free. The edge of the woods lay waiting just twenty yards from us. I could get lost in there—lost enough to stay hidden until daybreak.
“Where you going?” he yelled again, grabbing my belt, digging his hand into the lip of my pants. He yanked me down, pulling me back into the grave. He rolled me onto my back, his arms flexed straight, his hands pinning my shoulders. “You’re tough . . . Give you that, but—”
He never finished. My knee was up faster than a trigger, crashing into his groin, doubling him over in a crying heap.
I had my chance, but I didn’t try to escape. I could have run and disappeared into the woods, but a dark desire forced my hands around his neck. Before I knew what I was
doing, I was on top of Garrett, strangling him.
He bucked his hips and batted at my arms, but the sedative had already made him too weak to fight back. His face twisted in the struggle, blood streaming over his cheeks from his broken nose. A pink mist spewed from his mouth, telling me he was still getting air. I tightened my grip on his neck and pulled my legs together around him, squeezing and forcing the air from his body.
Run! I heard in my head.
But I ignored the voice, relishing in the sight of fear in his face. The whites of his eyes glowed like the moon, becoming veiny with tiny red eruptions. He was kicking now, tossing left and right, bucking with a newfound strength that comes when you’re close to dying—a survival instinct. I held on as if he were an amusement ride although the voice in my head was crying for me to let go, screaming that I wasn’t this person, couldn’t be like my mother.
“But I am,” I told the voice. “I am my mother!”
I bore down, shifting all my weight, pivoting up onto my shoulders, ignoring the pain in my elbow. The muscles in his neck went taut like corded rope, and his eyes bulged while he gasped like a fish out of water. I squeezed until my fingers dug into his skin. And then it was over—his body became lifeless beneath mine, his tensed muscles releasing with a rigid spasm. But I couldn’t stop. I rode him, driving myself against him until I knew every last drop of his life was gone.
I killed Garrett Williams.
I killed a man, just like my mother.
THIRTY-EIGHT
SAND BETWEEN MY TOES. The taste of salt on my lips. The smell of sea air. I slowed and then stopped to take it in. The ocean’s warm surf rushed over my feet and then retreated, the sands underfoot carried away by the strong current. I grabbed Steve’s hand, weaving my fingers with his. He held me as I lifted myself up and reached for his lips. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t question, didn’t say a word. He kissed me.
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