‘But you’re going to use my computer.’
‘Just tomorrow morning. Then I’ll go home and leave you out of it.’
‘You can’t go home. He’s waiting for you. He’ll hurt you.’
‘He won’t hurt me, Steve.’ Although as I say it, I am not entirely sure.
‘What was done to your place – that was a violent act. He won’t stop until he gets what he thinks is owed to him.’ Steve unfolds his arms, and his expression changes slightly. ‘You’re not going home.’
‘But—’ I stop myself before I mention Carmine.
‘If I’m going to help you, you really need to tell me everything. Because I have to know what I’m getting myself into.’
EIGHTEEN
Steve is going to help me. I let that sink in for a few seconds. ‘Why?’ I finally ask. ‘Why are you going to help me?’
‘Because you’re my friend. Because you have kept me sane since Dotty died. Because without you, my life will be empty. Do I need to go on?’
I feel a rush of emotion, and the tears spill down my cheeks. He does not move toward me, just lets me cry. I put my hands over my face. Finally, I feel his hand on my shoulder, and I sink into him, my head against his chest, his beard tickling my forehead.
After a few minutes, I finally stop crying and pull away. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ I say.
‘I know that.’
He is waiting for something, for more of my story, but I am too spent. ‘Can we pick this up in the morning? It’s been a long day.’
Steve stares at me for a few seconds, and it dawns on me that he thinks I might leave in the night. I might disappear and he would never see me again.
And for the first time, I realize that I could. I could slip out of the house in the dark, wait for the first ferry in the morning and take it, back to the mainland. But I can’t do that just yet; I need to figure things out first. I need to know exactly what’s going on before I go out there unarmed. And, most of all, I need to be prepared.
‘The guest bedroom is all set up,’ he says finally.
‘Thanks,’ I say and follow him into a room with pink flowered wallpaper and a four-poster bed covered with a white bedspread.
Steve leaves me alone, then returns, carrying a T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. ‘You can wear these.’ All of my clothes have been cut up, so what I am wearing is all I have. ‘I’ve left an extra toothbrush on the sink in the bathroom.’ My toothbrush had been dropped in the toilet bowl at my house.
I take the clothes and thank him. He gives me a sidelong glance as he steps out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I hear his footsteps go down the hall to his room and then another door shutting.
The room is bathed in the glow of a lamp on the bedside table. The window shows my reflection. Suddenly I shiver and turn the light off, the room cast in darkness. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, and then, with the help of the light of the moon outside, I see shadows around me. I quickly undress and put on the clothes Steve has brought me. I step into the little bathroom adjacent to the room and find the toothbrush. I brush my teeth in the dark and rinse my mouth out using my hands as a cup. When I go back into the bedroom, I creep over to the window and peer outside. I see nothing but the road and a few trees. I reach up and pull down the shade before anyone can jump out and say ‘boo!’
I cannot stay here past tonight. I probably shouldn’t be here now, but Frank Cooper said he would keep an eye out, so I am counting on that.
In one fluid move, I slide into bed, pull the covers up under my chin and stare at the ceiling, hoping that I will be able to sleep.
I force myself to stay in bed until six thirty. I have been awake for hours, tossing and turning, catching only snippets of sleep that are interrupted by dreams of strangers destroying my house. Finally, when I smell the coffee brewing, I allow myself to get up and venture to the kitchen, where Steve hands me a cup and I settle at the table. He sits next to me.
‘You need to meet this Tracker at seven, right?’ he asks, as though our conversation from the night before has not been imprinted in his memory, like it is in mine.
‘That’s right.’ I take a long drink of coffee. It is too hot, but I ignore how it scorches my tongue.
‘What’s the plan?’ He leans forward, closer to me.
I have been mulling this over all night. Should I tell Steve about Carmine? I still want to keep him in the dark as much as possible, but I don’t think it will be easy to get rid of him. He seems determined.
‘It might not be safe for you to know,’ I say softly.
‘Oh, the whole, if I tell you I’ll have to kill you thing?’ He laughs, but I can hear the strain behind it. He wants me to trust him, but he has no idea what he is asking or what risk he is taking.
‘It’s something like that.’
‘I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.’
I shake my head. ‘These people, well, they play for keeps,’ I say.
‘These people? You mean, Zeke?’
I put my cup down. ‘His real name is Ian. And he’s not the only one who knows where I am.’
Confusion crosses Steve’s face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know for sure that he is the one who trashed my house.’ I let that sink in for a second, then add, ‘He told me that he just got here first.’
‘What did you do, Nicole?’ His expression is stern, and while I know he is not my father, he is acting more like my father than my father ever did. Daniel Adler didn’t care what I did, as long as I stayed out of his business. When he caught me at his computer that first time, my fingers on the keyboard, his files open, he sent me to France two months early to visit my grandmother for the summer.
She had a computer.
A year later, Daniel Adler was in prison.
The memories are all coming back now, fresh and vivid in my head. Memories I’d pushed away so far I thought they were gone for good.
I look into Steve’s eyes. They are searching mine, searching for the truth. Searching for who I really am. I want to scream that I am Nicole, that Tina doesn’t exist anymore, but she has been emerging ever since I saw Ian in his car at Club Soda that night.
In his car.
I sit up straight. ‘He had a car here,’ I say. ‘Remember, we saw it that night at Club Soda? A black BMW, I think it was.’
Steve looks uncomfortable.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘I talked to Frank this morning. I called him before you got up, just to see if there was any news. They found the car. Last night.’ He pauses. ‘It was at the airport.’
‘But I thought they said he wasn’t on the flights that went out yesterday. Or was he?’ And then I have another thought. Is that how Carmine ended up here? The ferry wasn’t the only way people got onto the island.
‘Frank thinks you should stay here, inside, not go out, until they find him.’ Steve has answered my question in a roundabout way. Frank Cooper does not think Ian was on any of the flights if he thinks I should stay with Steve.
‘But what if they don’t find him?’ My imagination starts to go a little crazy. I think again about Carmine.
Ian had not come up with the plan on his own. While I had been under his spell, I wasn’t so far gone to know that he wasn’t all that savvy. He had been greedy and desperate, which made him dangerous and careless.
When he first came to me with his idea, acting so innocent (‘You could do this, couldn’t you? I mean, with your skills, you could hack into anywhere, right?’) I’d suspected that something else was going on, but once the plan had taken hold of me, I couldn’t shake it. It was a challenge, something that could put me on the map. And it did, but with all the wrong people.
Steve smirks. ‘What do you think – that he’s swimming with the fishes?’ He chuckles, but the sound dies in his throat when he realizes I am not laughing with him. ‘Nicole, you don’t think someone�
��’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ I say. ‘There were some very bad people involved. People I didn’t know about until after.’
‘After what?’
I take a deep breath. It’s time. ‘I hacked into a bank and transferred money to accounts in other places.’
There, it is out. And I see from his expression that he has not looked me up on the Internet, that he has waited for me to tell him. That he trusted me enough to tell him myself.
‘How many accounts?’
He doesn’t need me to tell him. Just from the little I’ve told him, he knows there were a lot.
I hadn’t thought about right or wrong, only how I was going to do it.
It wasn’t anything dramatic, either. It wasn’t very different from anything else I’d done. Ian had given me the list of account numbers, but first I had to get into the bank’s system and find them – and find the portal that would allow me to move the money out without alerting anyone right away.
I liked the sneaking around. My ability to be invisible behind the firewall, changing the source codes so I could access the passwords and, with just a few clicks, transfer millions across the oceans, thousands of miles away. Something intangible became tangible, although it never felt like stealing. I didn’t make that connection right away. It was merely a puzzle to be solved. I wasn’t slipping a bracelet into my pocket at the department store.
When I saw the transfers go through, I felt the thrill ripple through my body. I suppose I should have wanted Ian with me, but I didn’t. I wanted to feel my success by myself, because even if I’d tried to explain to him how I’d done it, he would never have understood the technicalities.
The only person I yearned for at that moment was Tracker. He understood me like no one else. He knew what I was capable of and encouraged me. He was the only one I ever truly trusted.
‘How many accounts?’ Steve is persistent.
As he repeats the question, pulling me out of my memory, my thoughts begin to race. Ian gave me one username and password when we were at the Blue Dory. Just one. Not multiple accounts. One.
‘A lot,’ I say. ‘There were a lot of accounts.’ I glance at the clock. It is five to seven. I get up, my coffee cup in my hand. ‘I have to use the computer,’ I say, ignoring the look of disbelief and shock on his face.
Steve starts to get up, too, but I put up my hand. ‘I have to do this myself. We can pick everything up from here when I’m done.’ I see his expression change; he isn’t happy about this. ‘Please, Steve.’
Maybe it’s something in my tone, but he backs off. He starts clearing the breakfast dishes without a word, leaving me to head into the den. The computer sits on the desk, and I turn it on. I’ve seen this computer here a hundred times and never touched it, never had the urge to touch it, before yesterday. Well, maybe that’s a little bit of a lie. Sometimes when Steve wasn’t looking, I’d run my hand across the keyboard as I passed by, just to get a little thrill. Knowing what I could do, but choosing not to. I’d been proud of myself for that, feeling that I’d changed.
What a fool I am.
I log into the URL that Angel has given me for the chat, and I get into the room easily. No one else is there, and I hope this isn’t some sort of trap. And then …
Est le soleil? Is the sun shining?
I feel my heart quicken, my fingers moving quickly.
Non, le ciel est nuageux. No, it’s cloudy.
Tiny. So you’re alive.
You, too. Tracker is here, using the French phrases that we’d devised to make sure that both of us were who we said we were.
Angel said you need help.
I’ve been offline since then. I don’t know my way around anymore.
Like riding a bike.
It’s what Ian had said.
Can you help navigate? I type.
You know I will. You’ve got your safeguards in place?
Yes.
Good girl. See, it’s not so hard.
Easy for you to say.
So what are we doing?
I just need some information right now. I’ll decide later what I’m going to do with it. I need as much information as I can get on Ian Cartwright and Paul Michaels. Addresses in New York and Miami.
I’m not a private investigation service. I can almost hear the tension behind his words. This is not what Tracker had thought I’d ask. Before I can respond, he writes, You can find out all that yourself. Google it.
I already did that, and there’s nothing. I didn’t think there would be. Where I need to get the information from, I have to get behind a pretty serious firewall, probably more than one. It’s a system that might not have any open portals.
Where exactly are we hacking into?
The FBI.
NINETEEN
Even if the police found Ian’s fingerprints in my house, I’d be surprised if he’d ever used his real name again, considering. When I left him, he’d been using the name Paul Michaels, the name on the passport I arranged. I have no idea if he’s still using that name – he might not be. But it’s the only one I know. The fact that he has been calling himself Zeke Chapman here on the island makes me wonder if he truly has taken on that persona, but he had to realize that it would muddy the waters, since Zeke is dead.
Every time someone mentions his name, I cringe inside.
I am the reason Zeke died that day.
The FBI? Tracker’s message pulls me out of my thoughts.
I need any information relating to those two names in connection with those accounts fifteen years ago. You know the ones. I pause. I also need the names that went along with all those accounts. Names and pertinent information – employment, places of residence, that sort of thing. Ian had told me that the job was ‘just like before.’ I wonder if this new plan is targeting one of the victims.
I had seen the stories in the paper about the theft. It was too huge for anyone to keep it under wraps. Ten million. But there had been no mention of the victims, just the amount stolen and the search for the hackers who did it. When the real Zeke, the FBI agent, showed up at my father’s house, more interested in me than my father, I began to question everything. I never had names. I had anonymous usernames and passwords. Nothing was personal. At least, not for me.
It was only then that Ian told me about my father and Tony DeMarco.
You can do some of that yourself, Tracker is pointing out.
I didn’t keep a list of the accounts. I had been safeguarding myself. I really only need the information on the accounts on our original list. The list I had been given, culled from some unknown person – unknown at least to me. Ian had been very tightlipped, said I didn’t need to know and it was better that I didn’t. I was fine with that. The papers said it must have been an inside job, someone inside the bank, but I never knew who it was.
I’ll post them here within the hour. I knew Tracker would have it. I’m going to need some time for the other. I don’t know exactly how long. I’ll leave you a message, so check back.
And then he was gone.
I stare at the screen, wondering what I can do myself. He is right that I can get some of the information on my own. At least, I used to be able to. But I am afraid that if I try to get in myself, I will leave a trail. I’m too rusty. I hate relying on Tracker, putting him in this position, but I need to find out about Ian.
Steve finds me sitting in front of the dark computer screen, my head in my hands.
‘Did everything go OK?’ he asks tentatively.
I look up at him. ‘I know you want to help, but this might be bigger than I thought. I can’t put you in danger. I’m going to have to leave.’ I stand up, realizing that I have no clothes except the ones I wore yesterday. Maybe I can borrow some from Jeanine or Veronica. I am sure they’ll have heard by now about my house and the state it was in when the police arrived, and they will want to help. But can I afford to lean on any more friends?
‘Who is after you, Nicole? Just answer that,
OK? And let me be the judge of how much danger I’m in.’
I can’t help myself. I give him a small smile. ‘The FBI. Ian. The people he was working for.’ I don’t mention my father or Tony DeMarco.
His eyebrows are clear up into his forehead. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘I wish I wasn’t.’
He sees now that I am dead serious. ‘Can’t the FBI help you?’ he asks innocently.
I chuckle. ‘The FBI wants to put me in prison, Steve. For a very long time.’
Steve shakes his head slowly. ‘This is beginning to sound like one of those bestselling novels. The FBI and computer hackers.’
And murder. But I can’t tell him that. He will find out. Just not now. I have already been diminished in his eyes. I am not ready for more.
‘I’m going to need a new laptop,’ I tell him.
Steve eyes me warily, and then says, ‘Mike Burns lives over near the Great Salt Pond. He refurbishes machines in his house. It’s not really a business officially, but it is. It’s just not something he tells the IRS about.’
I don’t like the idea of a refurbished computer, but it will have to do. And if Mike Burns is running a business without really running a business, I can count on his discretion.
‘I’ll take you over there,’ Steve offers. ‘After you get dressed.’
I shake my head. ‘I’ll find my way.’ And then I remember. My bike. He is one step ahead of me.
‘I’ll take you down to the Town Dock. Maybe you can rent a bike.’
I hate the idea of renting a bike that isn’t mine. But I have no choice. ‘Thanks, Steve.’ I pause. ‘For everything.’
When Steve drops me at the dock, he gives me a little worried wave. But I see a ferry coming in, packed with tourists. It’s starting, and I am comforted by the fact that Steve will be busy for at least the next couple of hours. Busy enough to leave me alone and let me do what I have to. He has given me Mike Burns’s address and has called ahead, telling him to expect me.
I find my way to the bike rental shop where I do my business. The bikes are lined up in a row, like soldiers, but I balk at their ordinariness. I need something more powerful, something with more speed.
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