by Jan Coffey
Lyden stretched his fingers. He had to be careful. Hold back. It was exciting to get involved. Too exciting. But he couldn’t give away too much. He reached for the bottle of beer next to the food container. It was empty. He needed to move, to release some of this energy. He ran upstairs for another beer.
“Slow down,” he muttered as he opened the fridge door.
He had to distance himself. Keep himself from leaping in. He could bury the morons who were right now typing in drivel, but he had to go slow.
By the time he got back, the chat had formally started. He read the text of the first question she’d put to them. She was asking them if they had some ideas about the weaknesses of the ECMs in drive-by-wire systems.
“Bingo. You’re right on track, baby.” He glanced at the number of visitors in the chat room. Over seven hundred and climbing by the minute.
The answers, of course, were all shit. They all sounded like the pompous peacocks they were. Everything was hypothetical. Nothing even close to useful. Talking out of their asses. She tossed out another question that had him whistle. Emily was asking about possible remote control through a trojan.
“I’d like to fuck your brain as much as the rest of you,” Lyden said softly. “What else do you know, babe?”
He thought for a second, then decided to put an idiotic question into the queue.
With the event log, he typed, how could it be possible to stay disguised?
The flock started fluttering again. Emily’s answer, though, made him smile. She mentioned the root kit to bury the trojan, and Lyden was once again head-over-heels in love.
He rubbed his chin, danced his fingers over the keyboard, but refused to type.
Emily Doyle was a passionate woman. Hundreds of times, he’d imagined having sex with her. She was a screamer, he was sure of it. She loved doing it with a little creativity. That’s why those losers would always fall short. They didn’t have the imagination…the genius…that he had to offer her.
He kept his eyes glued to the screen. She was talking fervently about how ingenious it would be, and what a positive contribution it would be for society, for someone or some group of techies to identify some of the faults in DBW systems. Just think, she suggested, how many millions of cars and lives were involved. Just think what a group of “white hats” could do.
Lyden smiled. He’d heard Emily give a version of this speech before on other issues. White hats were a group of programmers who studied the codes of a system for the purpose of finding and closing flaws. They were hackers and analysts who worked to improve security, rather than exploit it. They usually notified the original authors, documented the flaws and patched them.
Lyden had to think about that one. Emily was proposing to work with anyone who was interested in digging into that specific topic. He could approach her not as the author of the virus, but as the genius who could find the problem first and then fix it. He would be a hero in her eyes. But then, he’d lose his ability to control all those cars.
He frowned. Was she worth it? Should he give up something this significant for a woman?
He glanced at all the drivel filling the screen. Everyone was volunteering, stumbling over each other to be heard. But not one, single, coherent fucking idea was being presented.
Emily was getting quiet and this made Lyden nervous. Maybe this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. This was his chance to really get close to her. He could legitimately be in touch with her. No more standing in the shadows. Instead, he’d be the one in the bedroom. As far as giving up his secrets to her, he could make up his mind later. He was getting hard thinking about it.
Lyden’s fingers moved over the keyboard. No way in hell was he going to voice his interest in the midst of all this strutting and crowing. He tried to send her an instant message outside of the chat room. She had it blocked. There was no point in sending her an e-mail, he thought. Lyden had seen for himself how behind she was in reading everyone else’s messages.
He spun in his chair, routed himself through the dummies, clicked into her computer and changed her preference.
I’d like to work with you. Lyden sent the message and then waited for what felt like forever. He noticed she wasn’t making any comments in the room, either. But she was still there.
His heart jolted when the IM box popped up. It was her.
Got any credentials…besides being able to manipulate my system? She was speaking to him…only him.
plenty.
Not good enough. Need details, she wrote.
Of course, she’d want details, he thought. Without giving any specific names, dates or locations, Lyden gave her a quick summary of his education, experience and specialties. He knew it would impress her, as it was totally relevant to the technology she was questioning.
and I know dbw and I know viruses like I know my own keyboard.
Are you a cash hacker? she asked.
don’t need to be. have paying job.
Too bad. I love reforming bad boys.
I’ll be as bad as you want…you can reform me to your hearts content. Lyden smiled as he sent the message.
Is RoHu an abbreviation for your real name?
Lyden thought for a moment. could be, but what about working? want my help?
I’m tough to work with.
I know
How?
coming to your classes for a while
Only been seeing the good side, then.
I’ve seen other side, too.
The troops were getting restless in the chat room, as Em V hadn’t posted anything in a minute or two. The moderator asked her if this was something she was planning to pursue seriously as a project. Emily’s answer was yes.
The IM box flashed at Lyden again. I feel like I know you. you do, he answered, feeling a tingling in his scrotum.
We’ve met before?
yes.
Where?
around.
A mystery man. Have a name?
Lyden’s fingers paused over the keyboard. He looked at Emily’s pictures taped all around the screen. She was smiling—not at the camera, but at him. It was time.
a fan, he typed.
There was another pause. The peacocks in the chat room were again restless, breaking protocol and asking stupid questions. Emily’s name was on the fingertips of the attendees. She was giving short answers, but she wasn’t interested in them. Lyden felt a deep sense of gratification about that. Finally, he had her attention.
You’ve been sending me gifts, she wrote.
like them?
Very thoughtful and generous. I’ve been upset since I haven’t been able to thank you.
you’re welcome
We still haven’t been introduced.
yeah we have, Lyden replied.
Really? Nudge my memory. I meet so many people…and I’m starting to feel bad about this.
The moderator asked Emily to take over for what was left of the session and give them specific topics that they could all search out information on and bring back for next week.
The moderator was getting annoying, Lyden decided, kicking him out of the room.
Still there, RoHu?
Lyden smiled at Emily’s mention of the screen name again. He wondered if she’d already gone back and checked some of the text of her other sessions to see if he was there.
I’m here, he wrote back.
How about an introduction?
in person?
Why not? she said without a pause. If you’re local.
I’m local enough.
Lyden stood up and pumped the air with his fist. Finally, she wanted to meet him. This was what he’d been waiting for. He forced himself back into the chair.
want to meet for work or play? he asked, his heart beating hard.
A few seconds passed before she came back with an answer. Let’s start with work and see where that takes us. when? he asked, seeing that the pain-in-the-ass moderator was back in the room again.
Tomorrow? she asked.
about five, he responded. meet you at eatopia café
Need directions? she asked.
not hardly.
Thirty-Four
“I feel like a criminal,” Liz said, picking through the contents packed on her bathroom shelves. The amount of hair products would have put a beauty salon to shame.
“Criminals aren’t given the chance to choose their perfumes and which three shades of lipstick to take,” Jeremy said, standing in the doorway. “Do you really need two different bottles of nail polish.”
She looked at him warily over her shoulder. He was looking too closely at her for comfort.
He glanced at his watch. “Come on, Liz. Seriously, we’ve got to go.”
“You’re rushing me. Don’t crowd me, copper,” she said, with a touch of temper in her tone. She meant it, too. It would have been so much easier if he waited with Conor in the living room and stopped scrutinizing everything she did.
“That’s my job. I was supposed to have you and Conor out of here an hour ago.”
She pointed to the clock on the bathroom wall. It was 9:55. “That’s impossible, since you didn’t arrive until 9:30, and Conor and I were already settled for the night. Couldn’t someone at least have called to give us a little warning?”
“No, we couldn’t. We can’t afford any e-mail or phone communication until we’re sure we have the perpetrator.” He reached for her bathroom bag, but she pulled it back out of his reach. “You’re only going away overnight.”
“I still can’t see why.”
“For safety’s sake. Yours and Conor’s.”
“We’re safe here,” she said.
“You live above the café. This guy has been sending Emily packages at this address. If he catches wind of any trouble, this could be the place where he comes first. And he’s already been inside the café.” Jeremy shook his head. “You and Conor can’t stay here.”
“You could have sent someone to keep an eye on things, without moving us.”
“And leave you where you could be in harm’s way? I don’t think so.”
She knew he was right. What Jeremy had told her was scary as hell. He’d actually lost control of his truck this afternoon and lived to talk about it. Liz didn’t want to imagine how she would have felt if he’d ended up seriously injured because of the contents of the e-mail she’d sent him.
They now knew for a fact that Emily’s stalker was the one causing the accidents. Arriving at her door tonight, Jeremy had told her that the FBI was close to making an arrest. Close.
“And don’t worry,” he continued. “We’ll have someone here in case the scumbag does show up.”
She nodded, putting her toothbrush in a separate bag. “You still haven’t told me where you’re taking us.”
“Does it matter?” he asked impatiently.
“Absolutely. I know Emily wouldn’t want Conor sitting around, worrying about what’s going on. He should go to school tomorrow.” She planted a fist on her hip. “Where?”
“A cottage on Bantam Lake. You’ll be less than twenty minutes away.” He glanced at his watch again. “And if you’re so concerned about getting Conor to school tomorrow, then you should think about the poor kid getting enough rest. He’s falling asleep on the sofa waiting for you.”
She hated to admit he was right. “Does this place have running water?”
“Yes.”
She double-checked the bag and found her toothpaste already in there. “Electricity?”
“Yes.”
She stuck the hair dryer into the bag. “Will anyone else be staying there with us?”
“Yes,” Jeremy said, giving her a smug look. “Me.”
“And how big is this cottage?”
“Very small. Rather intimate, in fact.”
Liz grabbed the economy-size box of tampons off the shelf and emptied the contents into her bag. “I’m ready.”
For a couple of seconds, he stayed where he was in the doorway, blocking her way. Liz saw the old look in his eyes. The one that used to mean she had about thirty seconds before he nailed her down on the bed. She fought the awareness rushing through her and shoved her bathroom bag into his chest. He grabbed it, her hands with it.
“Try to be a gentleman and set a good example for my nephew.”
A bad-boy smile tugged at his lips. His gaze moved from her mouth down the front of her tight T-shirt. She felt the heat moving inch by inch all the way down to her naval…and lower.
“I’ll try,” he said lazily, finally letting her go and backing out.
Whatever ridiculousness Jeremy managed to provoke in her dissipated the moment she stepped into the living room and saw Conor on the sofa. He was curled up and reading a book. He was doing a darn good job pretending everything was okay, but Liz knew him better. She understood his nature, his quiet aloofness. He was so much like Emily, and she knew that, despite the show, inside he was tearing himself to pieces.
He closed the book and sat up when he saw her. “Ready for a little adventure?” She ran her fingers through his silky soft hair. He was letting it grow.
He nodded and stuffed the book inside his schoolbag as he stood up. “Is Mom going to meet us out there?”
“No, honey, she’s the brains behind this operation. They need her close by.”
“If we’re not safe here, then will she be any better off at the house?” he asked, grabbing his own overnight bag before Liz reached for it.
“She has about two dozen federal agents and state cops guarding her at your house,” Jeremy answered. “No one can get within a mile of her.”
“I know Ben’s there, too,” Conor added, almost sounding like he was reassuring himself.
“You and your aunt Liz, on the other hand, just have me.”
“Poor us,” Liz said under her breath, grabbing her keys and turning off the lights.
“That’s not too good,” Conor agreed as they all headed for the door.
“You don’t think I can take care of you?” Jeremy growled jokingly at the teenager.
“It’s not me that I worry about. It’s Aunt Liz. She kind of has an attitude when it comes to authority. She doesn’t take orders too good.”
The two waited on the landing as Liz locked the apartment door.
“You’ve noticed that, have you?”
Conor nodded. “And I think it gets worse when she deals with you.”
Liz saw no reason to contradict the facts, so she just let Conor and Jeremy talk as they all started down the stairs.
“Don’t you think that might be kind of a problem?” the detective asked him.
“Nah. Mom calls it her personality. That’s who she is. She says she wouldn’t want her sister any other way.”
Liz felt a tug in her heart for Emily and who she was. She wouldn’t want her sister any other way, either.
At the bottom of the stairs, she started toward her car. It was parked in the alleyway between the two buildings, but Jeremy stopped her.
“You’re riding with me.”
“I need my wheels,” she protested.
“Sorry, no.” He shook his head and took her by the arm. “Newer car. It has drive-by-wire components. You’re not climbing inside anything with a computer chip in there.”
“This is totally ridiculous.” She refused to move. “I watched the news tonight. There was not a peep about what’s going on. There are millions of people out there driving these things around. If what you say is true, then why hasn’t the entire transportation system in this country been shut down?”
“Trust me, it will, if the feds are not successful in arresting this guy tonight.”
“How did they figure out who he is and where he’s hiding?” Conor asked, watching the interaction between the two adults.
“He was at your mom’s nine-o’clock chat tonight,” Jeremy said, tugging on Liz’s arm. She reluctantly started toward an old white sedan parked in front of the café. From the looks of it, she figur
ed it was an ancient, unmarked police car retrieved from the junkyard.
“There are lots of people who show up at that talk,” Conor pressed.
“He separated himself from the pack and actually admitted to be her fan. He’s offering to meet with her tomorrow, and the FBI computer guys were able to trace his address.”
Liz appreciated Jeremy’s candidness with Conor, so she decided to cooperate a little more, stifling the urge to make a wisecrack about the car as she climbed in the front seat.
“He knows how to hijack other people’s addresses,” Conor said as soon as he and Jeremy were both inside the car. “The same way that he pretended to be my friend Ashley last night. Who says he wasn’t using someone else’s address tonight?”
Liz looked at Jeremy for an answer.
“The feds have their top guns on the job. You know I’m no expert at this, but my guess is that the same way that the phone company can backtrack through the lines to get to the source, they’re doing the same thing here.” He nodded confidently at the teenager in the mirror. “They have everything under control.”
Liz turned and fixed her gaze on Conor, but she couldn’t tell if he was at all reassured.
Thirty-Five
She woke up with a start and looked around her in confusion.
Emily didn’t remember falling asleep. She had no clue what time it was. She was curled up in the wingback chair in her living room and someone had tucked her red afghan around her. The room was dark, with the exception of a sliver of light from under the kitchen door. She could hear a man’s voice, speaking on the phone in a hushed tone. It was Ben.
The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was sitting in this chair and playing a waiting game. The agents had an address. They were closing in tonight to make the arrest. She recalled listening to the bits and pieces of conversation between Ben and Adam and Special Agent Hinckey. With the exception of a pair of agents in a mobile communication van in the driveway, all the others had left. She knew Jeremy still had a policeman keeping an eye on the house, as well.