by Lara Adrian
2
A parking garage? Really? How Deep Throat could this guy get?
Michelle Andrews shivered despite the fact that it was sweltering hot in D.C. Her tank top and short skirt had been just fine at the coffee shop where she’d spent the morning, but the massive concrete walls, floors, and ceilings of the dark underground garage kept the air surprisingly cold.
She hadn’t expected this meeting. When she’d received the text message on her burner phone, she’d panicked. It was the reason she’d spilled coffee on the table and rushed to the barista to ask for a rag to clean it up. Unfortunately, those few seconds of inattentiveness had caused her to disconnect much later than planned from the online trace she’d been running.
She replayed the incident in her mind once more. Was there any chance that the hacker she’d been trying to get a lock on had instead gotten the drop on her? Michelle shook her head. No. Nobody was better than her. Since she hadn’t been able to catch him, he wouldn’t have had enough time to catch her either. She’d taken ample precautions to remain hidden. Still, with all that had happened in her life lately, she was on edge and had started doubting herself and her abilities.
Nervously, she twisted her pendant between her fingers, an old habit that died hard. The little memento from her time as a member of Anonymous, the worldwide hacker cooperative, always lent her strength—and reminded her of what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.
Nevertheless, she would get through this, no matter what the shady Deep Throat character who’d requested this meeting threw at her now. Whether he was FBI, CIA, or NSA, she didn’t know. Nor did it really matter. Any of those government agencies had sufficient powers to lock her up for the rest of her life if she didn’t do their bidding. They held all the cards. She held none. She’d become a pawn in whatever game they were playing and would have to play along until she found a way out.
When she heard footsteps echo against the bare concrete walls, she made a motion to turn.
“You know the drill,” her handler said.
Michelle froze, facing away from him. “Mr. Smith.” It wasn’t his real name. When he’d first contacted her and she’d asked him who he was, he’d paused for a long while before saying, “How about Smith? Does that sound good to you?”
She’d never seen his face, though from his accent and speech pattern she assumed he was well-educated and middle-aged. There was a nasal quality to his voice that made her picture him as a short, balding guy with a beer belly and pale skin. Of course, she could be completely wrong, but didn’t everybody like to picture their enemies as ugly and unattractive?
“I’m very disappointed in you, Miss Andrews.”
Instinctively, she pulled up her shoulders, tensing.
“You’ve had a month now, and what have you got to show for yourself? Nothing. My employers are not very happy with you.” He sighed. “And neither am I.”
She contemplated his words and chose her own with care. “I’ve done what you’ve asked me to.” Asked was not exactly the right word. Coerced was more like it.
“Really, Miss Andrews? I have the feeling you haven’t given it your all yet. Or do I need to remind you of what will happen if you don’t comply?”
She needed no reminder. “Mr. Smith, I’ve used my skills—”
“When we caught you,” he interrupted, his voice sharp and cold, “your skills seemed to be much more refined. I find it odd that you can’t get a trace on a hacker when you yourself were immersed in that community for so long.”
“It would help if I knew what this guy is after, so I don’t have to keep wasting my time on hackers that you’re not interested in.”
A low growl came from behind her, and she realized that he’d come closer without her noticing. A cold chill raced down her spine and made her blood freeze in her veins.
“You know too much already, Miss Andrews.” He inhaled. “It’s dangerous to know too much. Haven’t you learned anything?”
She shivered, her palms beading with sweat.
“You were a very bad girl. Do you remember?”
Michelle didn’t answer, knowing he didn’t expect her to.
“Hacking into servers you had no business being in. And your friends at Anonymous, they couldn’t help you either, could they? Because now that we have you, nobody can help you. You work for us now, or you’ll go to prison. It would be a shame. A pretty girl like you. You know what they do with somebody like you in prison?”
She didn’t want to know. “I’m doing what you’ve asked me to do.”
“Do it faster. I’m getting impatient. How hard can it be to find a hacker who’s been trying to get into our servers, hmm? Aren’t you the best? Or was that a lie?”
“I am the best,” Michelle insisted, not because she was arrogant, but because admitting that she wasn’t would surely get her killed.
“Good, then prove it. Give me something I can work with. You want to keep your freedom, don’t you?”
She nodded automatically.
“The hacker in exchange for your freedom. You know I’m not bluffing. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.”
“Good, then here’s what you do: find him, but don’t spook him. If he finds out that you’re onto him, he’s gone. Do you get that? You have ten days. If you can’t deliver him by then, our deal is off, and you’ll be prosecuted. Not as an American, but as a terrorist. You should have thought twice about what you were getting yourself into when you hacked into the Department of Defense’s servers. You committed an act of terrorism.” He clicked his tongue. “Very despicable indeed.”
“I never—”
His hand on her shoulder made her swallow her words. The urge to turn around to look into the face of her tormentor was strong, but she suppressed it, knowing it would earn her a bullet in the head.
“No more excuses.”
Her heart raced, and her pulse thundered in her ears. Rage made her clench her teeth. She wasn’t a terrorist, far from it. She and her fellow hackers at Anonymous had been trying to uncover documents about the United States’ involvement in the latest Middle East conflict and the real reasons behind their support for a regime that tortured its own citizens. She’d wanted the American public to know the truth. That wasn’t terrorism. It was freedom of speech. She hadn’t hurt anybody by hacking into government servers.
Nevertheless, she was paying for it now. They’d tried to get her to give up the other members of Anonymous who’d taken part in this project, but she’d refused. She was no snitch. Besides, Michelle hardly knew who the others were, only knew them by their screen names.
The sudden silence made her pause in her thoughts. She listened intently, but there was nothing. Not even the sound of breathing.
“Mr. Smith?”
There was no reply. Michelle spun around. She was alone in the dark underground parking garage. Alone, except for a few parked cars.
Clutching her messenger bag that held her laptop, she walked toward the elevator. Ten days was all she had left. Judging by the little she’d accomplished in the previous four weeks, she had a snowball’s chance in hell of delivering the elusive hacker Smith was looking for. Without any clue as to what the person was actually after, she couldn’t narrow down her search. Did Smith have any idea how many hackers attacked governmental servers every single day? Despite that obstacle she’d come across one particular individual who’d piqued her interest, but she hadn’t been able to get a lock on him yet.
Essentially, she was looking for a needle in a haystack. A needle she couldn’t afford to search for any longer, because if she didn’t get away before the ten days were up, she’d be as good as dead.
It was time to plan her escape while continuing to pretend that she was following Smith’s request, so he wouldn’t catch on to her deception until it was too late.
3
This wasn’t going to be quite as easy as he’d thought at first.
For starters, the IP addre
ss Nick had traced had led him to the Foggy Bottom neighborhood of D.C., an area that not only housed George Washington University, but also the George Washington Medical Center and numerous government buildings ranging from the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund to the Federal Reserve Building and the Department of the Interior.
In addition, the address wasn’t a private home, or even an office. It was a coffee shop with free WiFi access. Anybody with a laptop could hook into the coffee shop’s free internet and be on their IP address. An extremely odd choice for the computer genius with whom Nick had been at odds during the last few weeks. Why would somebody risk working on an open internet connection where others might be able to listen in? Or was it pure genius, hiding in plain sight?
Nick glanced around the coffee shop. At least two dozen students, young doctors, and suits were hunched over their laptops, working, surfing, and reading. At first glance, none of them looked like a hacker, but then, what exactly did a hacker look like? He knew that appearances could be deceptive.
Was he the scruffy student, who was balancing his laptop on his knees while eating a muffin with one hand? Or the young woman in the white doctor’s coat and the dark circles under her eyes, eyes that kept falling shut while she stared intensely into her computer monitor? Maybe the heavy-set black guy in the gray suit was the man in question, trying to divert any suspicion by looking all businesslike with his manicured nails and trendy haircut.
In short, it could be anybody.
This would take some time. He might as well get comfortable and find a corner from which to watch the comings and goings. Sooner or later, his CIA training would kick in, and he’d pick up on the tells his suspect was giving off. He’d learned that nobody could hide his true nature forever. Particularly once they relaxed and let down their guard, their true self emerged, and Nick would be there, waiting for him to make a mistake. He’d waited three years to get this close to the information he needed; he could wait a few days longer.
Behind the station where the baristas were taking orders and preparing fancy custom coffee drinks, it was buzzing like a beehive. Like a well-oiled machine, the employees shouted drink orders to each other: single shot this, no-foam that, half-caf the other. Even one of the employees could be his guy. They all got breaks during their shifts. Anyone of them could go in the back where they kept supplies and spend a few minutes on a computer. It would be a great cover. And who would suspect a minimum-wage barista?
“Double shot, no-whip mocha for Nick.”
Upon hearing his drink called out, Nick pivoted and snatched his overpriced coffee from the bar.
“Ouch!” he hissed and set it back down.
“Sleeves.” The employee behind the counter pointed to a basket with cardboard cup protectors, before calling out the next drink. “Triple shot, grande latte for Michelle.”
“Thanks.” He slipped a sleeve around the hot paper cup, took his drink, turned on his heel—and instantly froze.
Only his extremely fast reaction saved him from colliding with the young woman who’d approached the counter for her latte. Instead, Nick jerked backward, hitting the counter with his back. The impact made him involuntarily tighten his grip on his coffee cup. The plastic lid popped off and the hot mocha splashed over the rim, spilling over the front of his T-shirt.
“Shit!” he cursed as the hot liquid touched his skin.
Instinctively jerking back from the burning coffee, his elbow hit something behind him. Nick shot a look over his shoulder just as the latte the barista had called out for the next customer spilled onto the counter.
“Well, great!” the woman he’d nearly crashed into grumbled beneath her breath. “I really needed that latte.”
Yeah, and he needed not to be making a spectacle of himself.
Way to stay under the radar, Nick.
Setting his half-spilled drink onto the counter, he flashed the barista who was already cleaning up the mess a quick smile. “So sorry, I’ll pay for it, of course.”
“No worries, I’ll make another one.” She looked past him. “Michelle, just a minute, okay?”
“Thanks,” the female customer—Michelle presumably—answered.
Nick nodded. “Much appreciate it. But I’ll pay for it.”
He turned around to face the woman the barista had addressed and froze once more, when he caught something flashing silver. Instinctively, he focused on the pendant around her neck. A spotlight from the ceiling reflected off the shiny surface, giving it emphasis when at any other time Nick wouldn’t have given the item a second glance. It was probably not even made of silver, maybe just of steel or aluminum. But its shape was undeniable: it was a tiny Guy Fawkes mask, the same kind the hacker cooperative, Anonymous, used as their symbol.
This couldn’t be a coincidence. What were the odds of somebody wearing this type of keepsake in the same coffee shop he’d traced the hacker to? Nick was no betting man, but he would put his money on this woman.
Slowly, he lifted his eyes and looked at her for the first time.
His breath hitched, air fleeing his lungs. Red lips was the first thing he saw. Full and plump, slightly parted, showing perfectly straight, white teeth. Her skin was olive as if she came from the Mediterranean. There was a golden sheen of perspiration on her face. Not surprising, since it was muggy as hell in the city, and even in the air-conditioned interior of the coffee shop, it was warm.
Blue eyes framed by dark lashes looked at him, assessing, questioning, curious. But he didn’t let that deter him from scrutinizing her, because it wasn’t the ex-CIA agent in him inspecting her, it was the man in him, the one whose blood was rushing to his groin with a speed he couldn’t quite comprehend. All he knew was that this woman intrigued him on so many levels, the least of which was a professional one.
In dark blond waves, her hair fell to her shoulders, drawing attention to her spaghetti-strap top with the built-in bra that accentuated her firm breasts— which were the perfect size for her lean five-foot-seven frame. Her cleavage was of the same olive skin as her face, a skin that tanned easily. And perhaps without tan lines. Not that his mind should go in that direction. After all, he wasn’t here to pick her up. Not for any romantic reasons anyway. Though, of course, to further his mission, he needed to get close to her. Just how close he didn’t know yet.
For an instant, he wished that this woman wasn’t the hacker he was after, but simply a regular customer of the quaint coffee shop. But the pendant and the computer bag that was slung bike-messenger-bag-like across her torso suggested otherwise.
“Uh… sorry… uh…” he stammered, both to convey the hapless man, but also because for a second he did feel just a little bit tongue-tied at so much physical perfection. “Uh, Michelle, is it?”
She tilted her head to the side, suspicious now. “How—?”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The barista called out your latte; the one I spilled. Sorry about that again.”
Michelle seemed to relax. “No worries.” She motioned to his torso. “At least you spilled your drink on yourself and not on me.”
Nick flashed a warm grin, knowing that it was one of his special assets, one that made women feel comfortable with him. “Yeah, bit clumsy of me, wasn’t it?” He reached for a napkin from the counter and patted the stain on his shirt, but there was no way of removing it. All he could do was pat it as dry as possible. “Well, guess that one’s ruined.”
Michelle chuckled. “Brown looks good on you.”
Nick winked and used her light-hearted response to draw her in further. “Yeah, sure, have your fun. Laugh at the guy who’s just made a fool of himself in front of a pretty woman.”
The resulting blush on her cheeks looked good on her and confirmed that his charm was working. This would be the angle he could use to get to her and find out what she knew. With a bit of luck, he’d know in a few days—maximum a week—whether she could help him get what he needed.
4
He’d called
her pretty, and that made her smile. After the day Michelle had had so far, the stranger’s compliment felt like soothing lotion on a sunburn. Her meeting with her blackmailer—yes, blackmailer, because that’s what he really was, no matter what government agency he was working for—had left her rattled. The pressure was on. Either she produced, or she would land in jail, and that was a place she didn’t want to go to.
She’d much rather be in the company of a cute stranger, even if said stranger was a bit clumsy. At least the guy was no threat to her. The only danger she faced from the brown-haired hunk who was smiling at her, was being doused with coffee. And that was something she could easily survive.
Michelle watched as he dumped the soiled paper napkins in the trash bin and grabbed a new lid for his half-spilled coffee, securing it on the cup.
“I don’t mean to be pushy or anything,” he suddenly said, “but can I buy you a biscotti or a muffin to go with your latte?”
Michelle shook her head. “That’s really not necessary. Besides, it’s not like I need the extra calories.” Keeping a trim figure was hard enough since she spent most of her days and nights in front of her computer. She needed no sugar to jeopardize her health and weight.
A charming smirk, accompanied by a long look up and down her person, was his answer. “I’m sure you’ll burn them off in no time.”
She opened her mouth, not really knowing how to reply to that, when the barista interrupted.
“Michelle, your drink is ready.”
Michelle nodded to the stranger and reached past him. “Thanks, Elise.”
“Let me pay for that,” the hunk insisted once more, pulling his wallet from his pocket.
“Not necessary,” the barista replied. “Spills happen all the time. Besides, Michelle’s a regular.”
“Well then,” he said, “thanks, and sorry again.” He took a step away from the counter to let her pass.
Michelle took her drink and brought it to her lips, taking a first sip.