First Light

by Isabel Jolie

  “Not domestic. But…want me to look into it?”

  “So far they haven’t gotten in. My guess was it could be a kid? Some practicing hacker? I can’t think of anything we store that’s really worth accessing.”

  “They may not know that. Could be looking to see what you do have. Ransomware seekers or something like that. Your utilities, electricity, sewage…none of that is on the system they’re trying to hack, is it?”

  “No. That’s all privately run.”

  “Well, as you know, when you have the net worth that you have in that area, you get some curiosity seekers.”

  “Yep.” That was why I pushed to upgrade our security.

  “Interesting. I wonder if someone is on a hunt for those servers I told you about.”

  “What servers?”

  “Back in your office. If someone believes the boards…and they’re trying to… I don’t know. That doesn’t make sense. It’s probably coincidence.” I didn’t remember much of the specifics of the conversation we’d had. I’d been reeling from the Bethany pregnancy news. Nothing had jumped out as particularly relevant to our secluded little town.

  “And this pod. Why would someone be hunting for it?”

  “Well, the servers are used by a crime syndicate we’ve been tracking. They have servers in Iceland, Nigeria, Cuba, Argentina.”

  “You still haven’t located the US location?”

  “Nope. Realistically, they probably have more than one location.” He sounded like he was talking to himself rather than to me.

  “Well, didn’t I tell you before? This would be the worst place for a server farm. Our Internet connectivity is way too spotty. Wouldn’t make sense.”

  “Yeah. And you’d notice if someone hauled in lots of equipment, right?”

  “I mean, we don’t inspect everything that comes off contractor boats. But most of what gets unloaded here is for construction. Still, I’m telling you, our connection sometimes comes and goes in waves. There are pockets on the island with zero reception.”

  “It’s not ideal. But whoever is attempting to hack your servers may not know that.”

  “Common sense says the Midwest would be a better location.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “No storms to worry about. No earthquakes. You know this.”

  “They have tornadoes.”

  “A server farm could go underground. That’s where I’d look.”

  “Yep. Any thoughts on joining our team?”

  “NSA? Sounds like a desk job with either paper or meeting overload.”

  “And politics. You forgot politics.”

  “That’s a sales pitch, right there.”

  “Right?” He chuckled. “Seriously. We’re working on building blacklisted ops groups that could be right up your alley.”

  “Blacklist? As in off the record? Sounds borderline unethical to me.”

  “The fifth domain is the wild, wild west. We’ve got to adapt or sink.”

  “You and your fifth domain.” Robert knocked on the doorframe, and I held up a finger to get him to give me a minute. “Look, I gotta go.”

  “Think about it. You can’t hide away forever.”

  “Talk to you later.” I hung up. Hide away. The way he said it, you’d think he forgot this assignment had been his idea. Admittedly, he did it to save my ass when I was facing potential censure.

  “Everything okay?” Robert asked, his brow furrowed.

  “Yep.”

  “What’s the fifth domain?”

  “Oh. Cyberspace.” His blank expression begged for additional explanation. “You’ve got land, air, sea, outer space, and then, well, now cyberspace. As our attacks last night show, you have to defend all of them.”

  “Outer space?”

  “Well, defend might not be the right word. But our country has a vested interest in outer space. And you know we have the Guardians now.”

  “The Guardians of the Galaxy.”

  We both chuckled at the terminology assigned by the US government. “So, did you need something?”

  “No. Just wanted to tell you still no more error messages. I’m about to go on rounds.”

  My phone rang, and I checked the name. “Shit. It’s Tamara. I bet she’s calling about the proofs she left for me to review. Have you seen them?”

  “No. Did you give them to Samuel?” Samuel worked night shift.

  “No. Go on rounds.” I waved him away and answered the phone.

  “Tamara, I owe you comments. I know. I’ll get them to you today.”

  “Comments? Oh, on the proof I dropped off?”

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t need those until next week. We’re ahead of schedule. I’m calling because we have a PR issue.”

  I leaned back in my chair, not liking the sound of that at all. “What happened?”

  “Do you read the News & Observer? Or the Charlotte Observer?”

  “No.” Both papers serviced cities that were hours away. Charlotte was at least a five-hour drive.

  “Well, I’ll email you the articles. We had a guest who stayed with us last week. It seems she received a DUI while on a golf cart?” Her raised tone at the end of her question conveyed disbelief.

  “It’s possible. You know what our guests can be like. Especially wedding parties.”

  “And you give them DUIs?”

  “It’s a moving vehicle under North Carolina law.”

  “Well, your department gave a ticket to the wrong woman. She works for a PR agency out of Charlotte, and her case has been picked up by the two biggest papers in the state. All that work I’ve been doing to be featured in Condé Nast and Southern Living is going to go down the drain if we get a reputation for giving out DUIs after two drinks on a golf cart.”

  “My team wouldn’t do that. If she got a ticket, she was wasted.” Nonsensical crap like this rubbed me the wrong way. My men were doing their jobs.

  “She claims they wouldn’t let her drive away. Her friend had to drive home.”

  “If she was drunk, they wouldn’t let her drive. What do you want me to do?” I wondered if back in Chicago the folks on the traffic desk spent their days dealing with nonsense like this.

  “I need every bit of information about the case that you have. I have to prepare a statement.”

  “Well, as a general statement, you need to reinforce that while people may be driving golf carts, they still have to follow North Carolina law.”

  “Logan, I’m not looking to get into a fight here. I’ll let you read our statement before it goes out. But right now, I need information. She’s making it look like we’re not a good place to vacation. I emailed you her information and the articles. Do you think you have her alcohol level?”

  “Maybe. Let me look into it.”

  My investigation led to one irate Samuel, who had a lot to say about the woman he pulled over last week. She also refused a breathalyzer, but he said she could barely stand. However, according to the newspaper articles, she had a witness who said she hadn’t even had two glasses. It was precisely the kind of privileged issue that made me miss Chicago.

  The blue skies and gently swaying palms by the marina contrasted with the turmoil and annoyance brewing inside me. I met Tamara in her marina-side office armed to argue. My officer did the right thing.

  “Any chance you can drop the charge?” Tamara clapped her hands together in a praying gesture.

  “Absolutely not.” Was she really gonna pray? “It’ll blow over by the end of the week. And as it is, these weren’t front-page stories. They buried them. No one cares.”

  “It’s being passed around on the internet. It’s a wildfire, Logan.”

  As I went about my afternoon, arguing this bullshit situation with Chad and Tamara, my text exchange with Cali lightened my annoyance.

  I enjoyed last night, too. I have too much work to do. That project I told you about? It’s due Friday.

  Of course, I hadn’t convinced her to stay over. I kn
ew the moment we left my house I was essentially walking her home. And when she stopped me at the top of her driveway, I could have taken it as an insult. But the hot kiss she gave me, and the little moans she made as she rubbed against me, well, actions spoke volumes.

  So, can I take you out Friday night? We’ll celebrate the completion of the project.

  * * *

  Looking forward to it.

  So was I. And I planned to be fully prepared. I debated my best text response. There wasn’t much to say, unless we got a stunning sunset over the marina. Then I could text her a photo.

  “Hey, man, over here.”

  I slipped my phone in my pocket and nodded to Gabe. “You need a beer?”

  “I’m all set.”

  I stopped by the pick-up window and ordered my Heineken. As I sat on my stool, Gabe and I clinked beers. The Wisp overlooked the marina. Restaurant didn’t accurately describe it. You could order food in from the nearby Delphina’s, and they’d carry it over. But they offered beer and wine, and the covered patio and deck usually offered a nice breeze. A long wooden bar lined a portion of the deck, and Gabe, Tate, and I liked to sit out here, overlooking the marina after work.

  “You must’ve had a good day at work today.”

  “Actually, no.” On the annoyance scale, my day rated close to a ten out of ten.

  “Well, then, that means things are going well with my neighbor.”

  “Did she talk to Poppy?”

  “Said you guys were seeing each other. And that was one big damn grin on your face. Were you texting her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I recognize the look.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Gabe and Poppy had only recently become a serious item. I started hanging out with Gabe after he’d moved here, so, after their relationship had started. Still, I picked up on enough comments from folks to know they’d moved noticeably fast. But they seemed really happy.

  “So, what’s she like?”

  “You know her,” I said.

  “Nah, not really. She turns Poppy down more often than not. She’s quiet.” He took a swallow of his beer.

  “Yeah, she is quiet. But she’s wicked intelligent. She speaks five languages.”

  “I knew that. Tate discovered her first, you know. He told me about her when he hired her as a tutor.”

  “She’s independent. Works as a contractor. I get the sense she misses her family. Maybe Seattle. There’s something more going on there. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “But you plan to.” Gabe grinned.

  “Yeah.” I chugged my beer to hide my matching grin. “She’s something else.” I thought about her on the beach that night when I’d found out about Bethany. Her quiet way of helping me put that behind me.

  “Is there a lot of crime in Seattle?” Gabe’s question came out of nowhere.

  “No. I don’t think so. No more than most cities. Why?”

  “Because. I figured maybe she came from a poor neighborhood. You know, her alarm system is more state-of-the art than what I have back in New York. I recognized the brand of cameras and the locks on her door. She hired someone who knew what they were doing when she had that installed.”

  “I noticed her alarm. Cameras too?”

  “There’s a glass bulb in front of the front door. On the back deck, too.”

  “Huh. Think they could be from a prior owner?”

  “No idea. I’ve never been inside the house. Only at her front door. With Poppy.” I swallowed the cold beer, considering this new information.

  “She doesn’t ever talk about her ex.” I cut my eye at Gabe, curious to see if he knew anything.

  “You should be grateful. There’s nothing worse than a woman who won’t shut up about her ex.”

  “Yeah, but I wonder if her hesitation means she’s not over him? You know, some people need time after going through separation. It’s like a war. A version of PTSD can accompany it.”

  “Well, what about you? She’s the first person I’ve seen you even bat an eye at. We’ve been hanging with you all summer, and you’ve never once showed you had an interest in dating. We all assumed you were in recovery mode. Are you ready to jump into a relationship?” I didn’t answer, instead choosing to focus my gaze straight ahead. A ferry entered the marina channel. Seagulls flew overhead. After a minute passed, he clapped my back and headed to the restroom.

  The setting sun over the ridge of homes lining the far side of the marina lent a gorgeous hue of yellow and rose colors. Am I ready to date? Absolutely. But what would I bring to the table for someone like Cali? We didn’t meet each other on an app. We hadn’t answered questions about what we wanted out of life before meeting. Before investing any time. We’d actually gone into this as casually as you could.

  At thirty-two, you could assume she’d have family on the mind. But maybe not. We’d spent a fair amount of time together, and the subject hadn’t come up. If she aimed for a family, she’d move to a vibrant city, right? No one looking for a new relationship moved to a small town. Especially a reclusive island. So, it was conceivable kids weren’t even on her radar. Not all women wanted them. On one hand, it felt too early in the dating process to have that discussion. What had I always heard? That after thirty the clock started ticking. I wouldn’t want to waste her time. When would be the right time to lay my cards on the table? I supposed we should have some sort of talk. Was I ready to jump into a relationship? Hell, yeah. But what about Cali?

  Chapter 13

  Cali

  * * *

  “Where are you?” Barefoot, the cool floor nipped the bottom of my feet as I paced my living area. Outside, the camera presented as a glass dome. The stark white twelve-foot ceilings inside housed only inset lights. White plastic covered each circular inset. Maybe?

  Erik admitted to cameras inside. I didn’t harbor any delusions he’d send someone over to remove them. But, if I found them, I could remove the intrusive devices. Erik crossed lines when he put cameras in my living space. Not that that should be a surprise. He was always crossing ethical and legal lines.

  I lugged the borrowed ladder below the first light in the living area. The entire white circular center and metal rim were held in place by two stainless steel jut-outs. I removed the lightweight contraption and set it down on the top of the ladder. Dust sprinkled down in a cloud. I reached into the dark hole in the ceiling and twisted the dusty bulb. The backs of my fingers butted up against a hard object.

  I climbed one step higher, straining to see. A small glass lens reflected the outdoor light. I fingered the cool metal around the lens. Bingo.

  Erik’s security team hid the cameras in the can lighting. I looked across the ceiling. Six…eight…twelve. Holy shit. My kitchen, bedroom…bathroom? He wouldn’t, would he?

  I gripped the camera lens and tugged. It didn’t budge. Strangers have been watching me inside my home? A mix of nausea, disgust, and indignation stirred.

  In a little red toolbox my twin so kindly put together for me, I located a small flashlight and a screwdriver. I took both, and with the butt of the flashlight in my mouth, I climbed back up the ladder, determined to disengage the device.

  My knuckles butted against rough edges as I twisted and twisted. One by one, I removed the screws from the board in the ceiling. Only it didn’t free the device. Wires connected from the back to something. I didn’t know what and didn’t care. With a solid yank, the wires snapped free from the camera, and a light cloud of dust filled the air.

  “One down.” Nym sat at the base of the ladder. “Aren’t you enough protection, buddy?” His tail wagged back and forth.

  I lugged the ladder to the next light. I didn’t find anything. Then I repeated the process. After having checked six can lights, I studied the configuration of the room. Logically, a camera in every light wouldn’t make sense.

  With each ascension of the ladder, my irritation grew. I shared my frustration with Nym.

  “This is my home.”

 
; “He has no right.”

  “I told him no.”

  “He didn’t listen.”

  “He never listens.”

  Nym sat beside the ladder, ears perched forward.

  “All right. Den’s done. What do you think, buddy? Kitchen? Bathroom? Bedroom?” His pink tongue lolled outside the corner of his mouth. “He wouldn’t dare put a camera in the bathroom.”

  Decision made, I hauled the cumbersome ladder into my adjacent bedroom. As I turned right, the back of the ladder swung wide, and a loud crash resonated. I set the ladder down and peered back into the den. Ceramic and glass littered the floor.

  “Never liked that lamp much, anyway.” Nym watched. “Oh, boy, your paws.” I placed him on the dog bed in my room, far away from the broken glass.

  As I cleaned up the shattered glass, I considered which bedroom location would be the most logical. I rolled the dice and selected the can light in the corner of the room, near the door that opened onto the deck.

  Repeating my whole process, climbing up the ladder, removing the contraption, and flashlighting the dark cavity, an inferno of rage erupted with the bright white reflection. A camera. Angled to view the entire room. My fucking bed.

  I gripped the lens and tugged hard, half-way ripping two screws from their hold in drywall. Out of my back pocket, I lifted my screwdriver and removed the two stubborn screws that remained in place. I yanked hard, ripping the wires from the back of the camera.

  My BlackBerry vibrated. From my perch on the ladder, I could see the unknown number calling. And, oh… I wanted to speak to him.

  I scrambled down and picked the phone up off my bed and screamed into it.

  “What the fuck, Erik?”

  “Calm—”

  “Don’t you dare tell me to fucking calm down.”

  “We don’t monitor those cameras. They’re just there in case we need them.”

  “Well, if you don’t monitor them, how did you know I discovered them?”

  “Cali. Stop. Think. You just disconnected two cameras. We get alerts if one is disengaged. They contacted me. That’s all.”