“Hold on, Felix.” I hit the puree button and let the blender run until dinner was ready. Then I took my milkshake and retired to the couch. “Can’t you track back through the proxy to the server to the hacker?”
“Nuh-uh. That’s the time-limited part. What makes it work is that he uses these proxy PCs only for a few minutes at a time before rotating. By the time I identify the first proxy, he’s on to the next one. It’s a constantly moving target. It’s pretty smart. It’s what makes him almost completely anonymous, which is why I haven’t found him yet. Oh, I guess that’s, like, bad news, huh?”
“You can’t track him?”
“I can track him, but the quickest anyone has done it is in seven or eight days.” Which was too long. All I had was five days.
“So, this guy is good?”
“This guy is very good, Miss Shanahan. But,” he hastened to add, “not better than me. No. No way he’s better. I’ll find a way to track him. I promise you.”
Dueling hackers. This should be interesting. Showdown at the IT Corral.
“If you can do it in less than seven days, that would be very helpful, Felix. Did you actually get into the site?”
“I did, but there’s not much in there. Just some input screens for name, address, and flight number. Do you want me to send you a password so you can look at it?”
“Please. Send it to my partner, too, if you don’t mind.”
“You have a partner?”
I gave him Harvey’s e-mail address and an explanation. The last time Felix and I had worked together, I had been someone between jobs looking into a friend’s death.
“Wow. So you’ll be a real private investigator with a license and everything?”
“I’m working on it.”
“You are so cool, Miss S. You’ll be so good at this.”
It was unexpectedly and deeply satisfying to feel his enthusiasm. It was exactly what I needed to hear after Harvey’s grim and graphic scolding. “Is there anything I could get you, Felix, that might speed up the process?”
“Just send me anything you can get. You never know which piece is going to be the one, you know?”
I had another thought. I found my backpack, dragged it over, and dug out my notepad.
“Felix, I don’t know what you can do with this, but take it down.” I read him Arthur Margolies’s e-mail address, which I’d pulled out of the OrangeAir reservations system, and spelled out his name.
“Who’s this person?”
“I think he’s the victim of an extortion scheme, probably perpetrated by a hooker named Monica. Monica Russeau. She might have been sending demands through e-mail. Do you think you could get into his computer through his e-mail program?”
“I’ll check it out. If he has DSL, I might be able to get in and scope it out.”
“Look for anything from, to, or related in any way to Monica Russeau.”
“Okay. I might be able to track back to hers, too. Would that help?”
“Anything helps at this point, Felix.”
After we hung up, it was quiet. There wasn’t much going on in my building at three in the afternoon. I reached up and probed the tender areas of my throat. When I touched all the places Mr. Lemon Chiffon had squeezed so effectively, it took me back to the moments before I lost consciousness, the paralyzing fear, and the feeling of being completely overwhelmed and helpless.
Maybe Harvey was right. Maybe it wasn’t worth it. Maybe this case was already as good as it needed to get. Maybe my deepest, darkest fear was not a fear at all but a fact: I was already in way over my head.
I sat back, drank my shake, and felt at least a partial rejuvenation from the infusion of protein. I thought about what Felix had said, and another interpretation occurred to me. If, indeed, I was already in over my head, perhaps the key phrase was that I was already in, and the only way to get to the other side was to keep swimming.
I went to my desk, dug out my base roster, and looked up Monica Russeau’s home phone number. I didn’t expect to get an answer, and I didn’t. I hung up without leaving a message. I wasn’t about to give her fair warning. She hadn’t given any to me.
Chapter Twenty-four
The stone steps on the bank of the Charles River were dark and deserted. Jamie wasn’t there yet. I had gotten a good night’s sleep and rolled out of bed with a lot of energy. The fresh air felt good.
In the early-morning darkness, all the sounds were magnified. Early-fall leaves drifted across the stone steps, dead and dried, pointed tips brushing the ground like fingernails. Across the river down at the salt-and-pepper bridge, the sound of the red line blasted through deep quiet that seemed to rise up from the river like fog.
Stretching would have been a good idea. On a cool morning like this, my perennially tight hamstring had the feel of hardened chewing gum. But I hated stretching, so instead I watched the rowers out on the water. I loved to watch them on the river early in the morning, knifing through the black water in their thin slices of boat. The solo rowers seemed especially peaceful.
I glanced up and saw Jamie coming over the footbridge. It wasn’t light enough to see his face, but I recognized the way he walked. When he got closer, I saw that he was elegantly disheveled, as if he’d reached into a dark closet and pulled out whatever was on top of a pile of really nice running gear.
“It’s cold,” he said. He bounced on the balls of his feet, hands squeezed into fists at his side, shoulders pulled forward. “Which way do you usually go?”
“West. This way.” I pointed us in the right direction, and we were off. He ran faster than my normal pace; his legs were longer. I was huffing and puffing before we even got to the Mass Avenue Bridge, and even though I didn’t want to, I had to give in.
“Jamie, we have three and a half miles to go. Can we ease off the pace?”
“Oh, sorry.” He slowed, and I felt better as we crossed the river, running through the pools of light draped around the bottom of the streetlights. The wind, as usual, pushed hard against us on that stretch.
It felt strange being with Jamie. Or maybe it was the strangeness that felt strange. I wanted to try to make it go away, maybe by telling him what I was really doing, that I was starting a new career. I wanted to share my excitement with him. But I had to find just the right approach, just the right—
“Za, what’s going on with you?”
I reached up and wiped the moisture from my cheek with the back of a dry hand. The cool air in the morning always made my right eye tear up. Never my left, only my right.
“What do you mean?”
“How’s this flight attendant thing working out for you? Do you like it?”
“Yeah. Sure. It’s okay.”
“How long do you think you’ll do it?”
“I don’t know.” We hit the other bank of the river. The second we made the turn east, the wind disappeared.
Jamie cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to be patronizing. I really don’t, but are you doing it because you couldn’t find anything else?”
“No, I found a job. A management job earlier this year, but—”
“You did? That’s great. What was it?” Something snapped into place for him as he went from uncomfortable uncertainty to relief. It was in his voice, as though we could now be friends again. We were back on the same page. My eye would not stop tearing.
“VP of operations with a start-up carrier.”
“Impressive. I guess it depends on how big, though. Could be a big title with no responsibility. Stock options?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Salary increase?”
“It was, but—”
“Bonus?”
“Yes, but obviously I didn’t take it.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, it was in Detroit, but that wasn’t—”
“I can remember when you’d move anywhere for the right opportunity.” We were passing the Harvard boat-house and the boats that were docked there. In another m
onth or two, the plastic coverings would come out, and they would spend the coldest months of the winter shrink-wrapped. “But,” he said, “I’m sure that gets old. I can see why you wouldn’t want to live in Detroit, anyway.”
He was quiet after that. All I heard was his steady breathing and his feet hitting the pavement.
“Look,” I said, “I know it seems strange to be doing something so different, but isn’t that okay? We don’t have to keep doing the same thing just because we’ve always done it, right? That’s what we said the other night about respecting each other’s choices?”
I kept my eyes on the path in front of me. It was still dark, and I didn’t want to trip and fall down.
“Are you gun-shy? Is it because of the Logan thing?”
“I am not gun-shy. This is my choice.” I started to run faster. He caught up easily.
“Because that would be perfectly understandable if you needed a break.”
We made the turn at the Museum of Science, and I was running full out, setting the pace the way I had when we were kids and I had been the one with the longer legs. Jamie wasn’t even breathing hard, but I knew I was reaching my limit. I made it around the next corner and down to the boathouse before I gave out.
“I’m stopping.” I bent over, breathing hard, and put my hands on my knees. Sweat clung to the underarms of my running suit and dripped from my face. The cool morning air gave me a chill.
Jamie walked in circles, hands on his hips. He seemed to be winding himself tighter with every revolution.
I took a few more deep breaths and stood up. “Why are you being this way?”
“What way?”
“Why can’t you be excited for me, no matter what choice I make, and not make me feel ashamed for wanting something different from you? You’re just like Walter.” I paused to let that sink in. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. He crossed his arms, and his neck stiffened. “These past few years, Jamie, I feel around you exactly the way I used to feel around him. I expected it from him. I never expected it from you.”
“How do I make you feel?”
“Disappointing.”
With his arms still folded, he shifted his weight back and stared across the river at the gorgeous canvas of lights that lined the Cambridge side. He came back and leaned over the way I was. “I’m sorry. I’m not saying any of this right. I’d like to see you do what you want to do and not what you have to do.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Okay.” He put his hand on my back. “Are you all right? Getting too old for this?”
“Hey …” I stood up straight. “I’m a little out of shape is all. Give me two minutes.”
“Can I ask you one more thing?” He stared straight down the running path, even though there was nothing there to see. It was still too dark. “How can you afford to live in your neighborhood on what you make?”
That made me smile. It was probably the question he had been dying to ask all along. As with Walter, money and the things it could buy meant a lot to Jamie. “The owner of my unit is a trustee of the building. He hired me to do the condo association’s books every quarter, and it partially offsets my rent. I don’t have a lot of spare cash, but I’m doing fine.”
“If you need money, Za, will you ask me? Will you promise me that?”
If in his mind money equaled love, then I could take the offer as a good thing, and I did. “If I need help, I promise to ask you. Thank you.”
He stiffened his arms and clapped his hands together. “How far from here?”
“Half a mile back to the footbridge.”
“Do you think you can make it?”
“Let’s go.”
We took off again. Maybe I would wait until next time to tell him about my new career.
The run felt good. It had been a while since I’d run that far. Later in the morning, after I had come back from the grocery store, I had reason to feel even more pleased that I had gotten it in, because I was about to become very busy. Angel had called.
So doll, I have good news, and I have good news. You passed your test. Good for you, and I hope it was good for you. To celebrate, we’re taking you out for a shindig. Be ready at nine o’clock tonight. We’ll come and get you.
Chapter Twenty-five
I felt silly standing in the lobby of my building in my party clothes, but I wanted to be ready to go when Angel rolled up. She had insisted on picking me up, and for some reason, I didn’t want any chance that she would come up to my apartment. I didn’t want her in my private space.
I’d been out that day shopping, looking for something appropriate to wear that I could afford. After several hours of fruitless searching, I gave up and went with expediency and my credit card. I bought a pair of low-rise black leather pants that felt as if they might slip down off my hipbones at any second and leave me mooning whoever was behind me. On top, I had a fuzzy little red boatneck sweater that looked good with a scarf but made me sneeze. The scarf was necessary to cover my still-healing bruises.
I was watching the cars go by on the street, trying to pick out Angel’s vehicle, which was why I didn’t notice Irene and Tristan sooner. They were up the steps and practically through the door before I realized it. They weren’t supposed to be there. They were out of uniform and out of context, and I was annoyed that I was going to have to make up a lie.
I walked out to join them on the front steps.
“Alexandra, you look fabulous. Yet another surprise from your closet. It’s racier than I would expect from you, but it’s only a dinner party. Why are you here? Why aren’t you—”
I blinked at them and offered a vague smile, trying hard to catch up to where they were. But I had no idea what he was talking about.
Tristan glanced at Irene. “Something tells me, Reenie, that she forgot all about my dinner party.”
“What dinner—” When I looked at his face, I heard his voice on my machine, and I remembered his message. Is everything all right? I’m worried about you. He had invited me to a dinner party. I had never even bothered to call him and acknowledge the invitation. When did I become such an asshole?
“Tristan, I am so sorry.”
“We were worried,” Irene said. “We just walked down to check on you. I’m glad you’re all right.”
“We called.” Tristan reached over to check out my scarf. “This is a new look for you. It’s nice.”
“I was in the shower.” I had seen the messages when I got out, seen who they were from, and ignored them. While I was doing my makeup, the phone had rung again. I had let it roll to voice mail. The fist of guilt tightened around my conscience. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say except Please leave before Angel gets here.
“Where are you going? Tell me you have a big date, and all is forgiven. You must, because you look amazing.”
There was Tristan, filling in all the blanks for me. “Thank you. I am going out, and I feel terrible about not calling you. I… I screwed up my schedule. I just… I didn’t…” I saw the limo out of the corner of my eye. It was cruising up Beacon slowly, going at checking-addresses speed. Angel hadn’t said she would send a limo, but when I saw it, I had no doubt it was about to pull up in front of my building. The adrenaline gates opened. “I’m not firing on all cylinders right now.”
“It’s so hard to keep track of your schedule when you’re flying,” Irene said. “I forget things all the time.” She was trying to make me feel better, but that was a fib. She was a single mom with a thirteen-year-old. She never forgot anything.
Now Tristan caught sight of the limo, probably because I couldn’t tear my eyes from it. I felt the way you do when you see a traffic accident unfolding. He smiled with delight.
“Is that for you? Someone is taking you out in a limo? Why didn’t you tell me? Of course you can blow me off for a date in a limo. Can we meet him? Why didn’t you say something?”
The long black vehicle sailed up and anchored. The doo
r opened, and the driver stepped out. If I were really lucky, he would be the only one to step out. “Miss Shanahan?”
“Yes, I’m coming.”
I folded my arms tightly across my chest. I was afraid if I didn’t, my friends would see my heart trying to beat its way out, right through my chest and that fuzzy red sweater. I sneezed.
“Are you all right?” Irene asked. “You look pale.”
“I’m just tired. Please, please give my apologies to Barry. I’ll make it up to you, Tristan.” I gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow, I promise. Irene, I’m sorry”
Another fifteen seconds, and I would have made it. I would have been in and gone, and they never would have seen Angel, who was right then popping out through the limo’s back door. She was dressed to party and walking straight toward us.
“Oh. My. God.” Tristan lifted his nose in the air. “I wondered what that stench was. Greasy french fries and chicken gizzards. It could only be Miss Dairy Queen come to grace us with her skanky presence. What is she … what are you doing here?”
Angel smiled at him with supreme satisfaction. “Are you ready to go, doll?”
Tristan’s and Irene’s heads swung around so they could gape at me full on. I was humiliated down to my split ends. But then they sprang into action. Tristan swung around to my right side and Irene stood to my left, putting me right in the middle of a concern sandwich.
“This way, dear.” Tristan dropped his arm across my shoulders. “We have a place all set at the table for you.” He tried to guide me away, but my high-heeled boots were planted.
“Tristan, please. Angel and I—”
“No, Alexandra.” His tone was fatherly, but insistent. “I don’t know what’s been going on with you, but it stops now. Consider this your intervention.”
As gently as I could, I took his hand and removed it from my shoulder. It popped right back.
The Alex Shanahan Series Page 93