by Lauren Rowe
“Did you see this view?” Kat squeals, grabbing Sarah’s hand. They rush to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room. “Just wait ‘til you see The Strip at night,” Kat says. “The lights are gonna blow you away.” She sighs. “God, I love Vegas.”
Why am I not surprised?
“I’ve seen The Strip in movies, but I bet it’s really cool in person,” Sarah says.
“Oh, champagne,” Kat says, seeing the bottle on the bar.
“I’ll get you a glass.” I steal a pained look at Sarah and she laughs. Well, gosh, I’m glad she finds my agony so hilarious.
There’s a loud knock at the door to the suite. “Open up, you beast!”
I open the door to find Josh standing next to a geek-turned-hipster guy with a goatee. After I bro-hug Josh, the hipster introduces himself as Hennessey. I’m not sure if that’s his first or last name, but it’s all he provides.
“But everyone just calls me Henn,” he says, extending his hand.
“Or Fucking Genius,” Josh adds.
“You’re the only one who calls me that, Josh.”
“Well, you are.”
“Are you the genius who tracked down Sarah for me?” I ask.
“The one and only,” Henn says.
“Then you’re a fucking genius in my book, too.”
Sarah and Kat bounce happily over to the group.
“Hey, Party Girl with a Hyphen,” Josh says to Kat, his eyes sparkling.
“Well, hey yourself, Playboy. It’s a crazy, fucked up world when a Playboy and a Party Girl cross paths in Vegas, huh?” They both burst out laughing. “It’s good to see you again.” Josh gives her an enthusiastic hug and she kisses him softly on the cheek—a noticeably warm greeting from both of them. Hmm. Interesting.
Kat introduces herself to Henn and the guy can’t muster two coherent words. He might be a fucking genius with computers, but apparently not so much when it comes to pretty women.
After the girls refill their champagne glasses and the guys grab beer bottles from the fridge, we all make ourselves comfortable on black leather couches in the sitting area.
“I’m shocked you splurged on this place, bro,” Josh says, glancing around at the grandeur. “So un-Jonas-like of you.”
“Would you stop telling me what’s Jonas- or un-Jonas-like of me already? Apparently, you have no idea what I’m like.”
Josh laughs. “Apparently not.”
The hacker flips open his laptop. “Okay, folks. I’ve got an update on the Oksana sitch you had me working on.”
“Fantastic,” I say, rubbing my hands together. Other than playing Underwater Oral Sex Olympics with my baby, there’s nothing I want to do more than fuck these motherfuckers up the ass as soon as humanly possible. These fuckers almost took my baby away from me—which means they almost killed me, too—and now I don’t only want to take them down, I want their blood.
We all crowd around Henn’s laptop.
“I was able to hack into that bank in Henderson where your check was deposited—it was easy, actually—I’m constantly surprised how bad online security is at banks—I’d strongly advise keeping your money under a mattress, folks—and anyway, I got into the bank’s mainframe and poked around a bit. I was able to cross-check account holders against the list of Oksanas you sent me, and Bingo-was-his-name-oh, I got a hit.”
Sarah whoops.
“Our Oksana is Oksana Belenko—sounds like an Olympic ice skater, doesn’t she? She’s got an account at that Henderson bank and a P.O. box in Henderson. Boom shakalaka.”
“See? Fucking genius,” Josh says.
“You sure that’s our girl?” Sarah asks.
“Yeah, it’s her. I checked out the physical address she gave the post office, and, of course, it’s total bullshit. But there’s an Oksana Belenko registered with the State of Nevada as a member of an LLC that’s been running a handful of legal whorehouses in Nevada for the past twenty years—and the address for the business license on the whorehouses matches the address given in the LLC filing.”
“So that means we’ve got a confirmed physical address?” Sarah asks.
“Yep.”
“Wow,” Sarah says. She pauses, the gears turning inside her head. “So it sounds like Oksana supplies the girls for The Club—” She looks at Josh. “Or, if you’d prefer, the Mickey Mouse roller coasters.”
Both Sarah and Kat burst out laughing, but Josh bristles.
“It was an analogy,” Josh says.
“We know, Joshie, we know,” Sarah says, winking at him. “But it’s still funny.”
I put my hand on Sarah’s thigh. She turns me on no matter what she does, but especially when she’s kicking someone’s ass.
“Yeah, Oksana’s like this frickin’ old-school madam,” Henn says. “Probably not the brains behind all the tech stuff.”
“She’s probably got a business partner who handles the tech side of things,” I say.
“Definitely,” Henn agrees. “And whoever that person is, he or she knows exactly what the hell they’re doing. Because there’s no finding these guys by accident.”
Hmm. How the fuck did Josh get hooked up with The Club in the first place? All he said at the time was that some professional athlete buddy of his told him about it, but I never asked him for details. Best money I’ve spent in my life, he told me during our climb up Mount Rainier.
“And even then,” Henn continues, sipping his beer, “their storefront is just a shell. Their real shit’s gotta be buried way down in the Deep Web. And that’s a scary place.”
“What’s the Deep Web?” Kat asks.
Henn grins broadly at her.
“Is that a stupid question?” Kat asks, blushing.
“Oh no, not stupid at all. I’m just so used to hanging out with computer geeks all day long, I forget normal people don’t know about this stuff.” He smiles at her again. “I’m glad you don’t know what it is. It means you’re probably a well adjusted, happy person.”
Kat laughs. “I am, as a matter of fact.”
“I can tell,” Henn says. “Happiness is a very attractive quality in a person.”
“Thank you,” Kat says, her cheeks flushing.
Josh clears his throat. “So, guys, before Henn launches into The Grand Story of the Deep Web, how about we all do a shot of Patron? We’re in Vegas, after all—when in Rome.”
“Sounds like a fabulous idea to me,” Kat says, her face lighting up. “Do we have Patron in the bar?”
“Of course,” I say. “I made sure of it. My brother is nothing if not predictable.”
Josh walks behind the bar to start pouring drinks and Kat bounds over to join him.
“I’ll help you out, Playboy,” she says.
“Why, thanks, Party Girl.”
I lean into Sarah’s ear. “What’s the over-under on those two fucking?”
Sarah stifles a giggle. “I give it forty-eight hours at the absolute outside.”
Chapter 16
Jonas
“The Deep Web,” Henn begins, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his goatee like he’s hosting an episode of Masterpiece Theatre. “It’s a scary motherfucking place, fellas.” He nods at Kat. “And very pretty ladies.”
I’ve heard anecdotally about the Deep Web and I’m sure Josh has, too, but I don’t have any practical experience with it. I look at Sarah to see if she knows about this already and she makes an “I have no idea” face.
“Let’s start today’s lesson with the Surface Web,” Henn continues, speaking slowly, the consummate hipster-kindergarten teacher.
“The Surface Web,” Sarah repeats slowly like she’s a member of a cult.
“Yes, my child. Good,” Henn says, instantly transforming into Sarah’s cult leader.
Sarah and Henn share a smile.
“The Surface Web is the Internet we all know and love—the stuff that comes up when you ask Siri for movie show times or Google a sushi restaurant. But the Internet is much, much m
ore than the Surface Web.” Henn smiles devilishly.
“You’re freaking me out, Henn,” Kat says.
“You should be freaked out. The true Internet—and I mean the entire thing—is like an infinitely deep ocean—and the Surface Web is the mere surface of it. Everything below the surface floats around in the ink-black waters of the Deep Web.”
“Holy shitballs,” Kat says. “How have I never heard of this before? Have you heard about this, Sarah?”
Sarah shakes her head.
“Kinda freaks you out when you hear about it for the first time, huh?” Henn says.
“Totally,” Kat agrees. “It reminds me of when I found out there are trillions of invisible microbes on my skin at all times.” She shudders.
Josh groans. “Please don’t talk about that whole microbes-on-your-skin thing. That always creeps me out.”
The Playboy and the Party Girl share a hearty laugh.
Sarah leans into my ear. “Make that twenty-four hours, tops.”
I smirk.
“So if normal search engines can’t retrieve information that’s in the Deep Web, how does anyone find what’s there?” Henn asks himself. “Long story short, you gotta know exactly what you’re looking for. Exactly. The only people you’ll find trolling around the Deep Web besides upstanding guys like me are governments and criminals—and when I say ‘criminals,’ I’m talking jihadists and drug warlords and fucking human traffickers.”
“You don’t consider yourself a criminal?” Kat asks. There’s no judgment in her tone, just curiosity.
“Hell no, I’m not a criminal—I wear a white hat all day long, sister,” Henn says. “The only time I ever break the law is for the greater good or when I consider a law to be outdated.” He pauses. “Or useless. Or stupid.” He pauses again. “Or when breaking a particular law won’t hurt anybody.” He laughs. “So, yeah, hmm. Now that I think about it, I guess I break the law all the time.” He laughs. “But I’m not a criminal—I’m one of the good guys.”
I glance at Sarah. She doesn’t seem at all bothered by Henn’s lawlessness—actually, she seems amused. I suppose neither of us has any business being appalled by Henn’s wild-west mentality—we already know the guy hacked into the University of Washington to find her for me and that certainly wasn’t legal.
“My clients pay me to help them with a particular problem,” Henn continues. “And I do. But I leave no trace, take nothing, do no harm—unless I’m being paid to leave a trace, take something, do harm, of course.” Henn smirks. “But I only do that kind of thing when I’m positive I work for the good guys.”
Sarah squeezes my arm, plainly telling me I’m one of the good guys Henn’s talking about.
“For example,” Henn continues, “when I poked around that bank looking for Oksana, I discovered a whole bunch of unsecured accounts. I could have taken a couple million bucks if I wanted, easy peasy, but I’d never do that. Why? Because I’m not a thief.”
Josh smiles and nods his agreement. It’s clear he trusts Henn completely.
“But you might work for thieves,” Sarah says. “Ever think about that?”
“Nah. If my clients hire me to take something, it’s always for a very good reason. Like I said, I only work for the good guys.”
“But how do you know you’re working for the good guys?” I ask. I’m beyond grateful to the guy for what he’s done for me—asking him to find Sarah was the single best decision of my life—but hiring this quirky dude to help me take down The Club is an entirely different thing. Am I crazy to trust a guy in skinny jeans with the most important mission of my life? “Everyone thinks their cause is righteous,” I say. “Hence, the concept of war.”
“Well, yes, of course.” Henn flashes a sideways smile at Kat like he’s about to tell her a great joke. “But let me show you how I tell the good guys from the bad guys. It’s foolproof.” He looks right at Sarah. “Sarah, are you a good guy or a bad guy?”
“A good guy,” Sarah says.
“And there you go.”
Sarah shrugs like it makes perfect sense. “And there you go.”
I scoff. “But who would ever say they’re one of the bad guys? Who would even think that about themselves? People are brilliant at justifying their actions to themselves—trust me, I should know.”
“Well, yeah,” Henn concedes. “But I don’t always believe people when they say they’re one of the good guys. In fact, I rarely do. If I believe them, the way I just believed Miss Cruz here, then that’s good enough for me.”
“Aw, you believe me, Henn?” Sarah asks.
“I do. Indubitably.”
“Why, thank you.”
“Of course.”
I shrug. It’s hard to argue with that logic, actually. If I were to boil my own business philosophy down to its barest essence, I suppose I operate in exactly the same way. And, really, what other option do I have right now than to trust this guy? If Josh does, then I guess I do, too. Indubitably.
“Sometimes, it’s a no-brainer,” Henn continues. “Like when a job comes from Josh, for example, I always know I’m fighting for truth and justice and the American way, no questions asked. Because a guy can set his moral compass to Josh—he’s always one of the good guys, through and through.”
“Thanks, man,” Josh says.
“Just speaking the truth.”
“Well, well, well,” Kat says. She shoots Josh an unmistakable smolder. “It turns out the Playboy’s a good guy, after all—Mickey Mouse roller coasters notwithstanding.”
I lean into Sarah. “Sixteen hours, absolute tops.”
Sarah snickers. “Indubitably,” she whispers.
“So, Henn,” I say, feeling the need to herd cats here. “If The Club lives in the Deep Web, how the fuck do we find them and take them down?” I’m chomping at the bit to fuck these motherfuckers up the ass.
“We need a map,” Henn says. “A precise map that gives us a pinpoint location. Once I have that, I can hack in and do a deep dive.”
I put my hand on Sarah’s bare thigh. I can’t wait to do a deep dive with her later tonight in that Jacuzzi tub.
“How do we find this map?” Sarah asks. She puts her hand on top of mine and squeezes.
“We start with our friend, the pimpstress extraordinaire, Oksana Belenko. Whoever she’s working with on the tech side of things, there’s got to be communications. Or maybe she personally logs into their mainframe. Either way, she’ll lead me right to them, one way or another.”
“What do you need from us?” Sarah asks.
“A personal email address for Oksana—something you know links right to her.”
Sarah shoots me a mea culpa look. That’s what I was about to get from Stacy when Sarah interrupted my grand strategy at The Pine Box.
“We don’t have an email address,” Sarah says. “Thanks to me. Miss Bossy Boots.” She smiles sheepishly, making me laugh.
“Well, that’s what we need,” Henn says. “I’ll send Oksana malware that’ll give me access to her computer. Plus I’ll install a good old-fashioned key log, too. But to do that, we need her to open an email.”
“What’s a key log?” I ask.
“It lets me remotely monitor every key she hits on her keyboard. Easy way to get all her passwords.”
I rub my hands together villainously. “Excellent.”
“So you’ll need to do three things.” He looks directly at Sarah. “First, get her email address. Second, obviously, send her an email. And, third, make sure she opens it, preferably in your presence so we don’t leave anything up to chance. Do you think you can do all that?”
“Of course I can,” Sarah says. “They think I’m scamming Jonas. I’ll just find her and say I’ve come to negotiate my split on the scam.”
“No fucking way,” I say, probably much louder than required to make my point.
Sarah opens her mouth, shocked. “Jonas, yes. I’ll meet her and negotiate my cut and then while I’m there I’ll email her something to
memorialize the deal. Done-zo.”
“No fucking way,” I say again, this time controlling the volume of my voice. “You’re not gonna meet Oksana or anyone else from The Club all by yourself.”
“Jonas, it’ll be fine—”
“I’m going with you.”
She rolls her eyes. “They think I’m playing you, remember? Why on earth would I bring you with me if I’m scamming you?”
“I don’t know. Use that big-ass brain of yours to come up with something they’ll believe.”
She sighs in frustration.
“It’s non-negotiable, Sarah. We’re doing this together or we’re not doing it at all.”
She huffs. “Why would I bring you to meet her? It makes no sense.”
I purse my lips, thinking. I can’t think of anything off the top of my head.
The room is silent, everyone apparently pondering the same puzzle.
“They think I’m playing you,” Sarah says slowly, like she’s thinking out loud. “Why would I bring you with me?”
“I don’t know, but it’s non-negotiable.”
“I heard you the first time, Lord-God-Master.” She crosses her arms over her chest. After a moment, she picks up her champagne flute and ambles to the floor-to-ceiling window on the other side of the room. The sun has set as we’ve been talking and The Strip’s frenetic neon lights are on dazzling display below us.
“Wow,” Sarah says, staring out at the expanse of lights. “It’s beautiful.”
Everyone in the room gets up to take in the view alongside her, drinks in hand.
I put my arm around Sarah and she leans into me.
“Let’s take a photo, Sarah,” Kat says. The two girls smile for a selfie on Kat’s phone with the iconic lights as their backdrop. “And one of you and Jonas, too,” Kat commands, motioning for us to get together.
Sarah and I cuddle up and Kat takes our picture. It all feels so normal. I like it.
Kat looks at our photo. “You two look good together,” she says to me, half-smiling. “Really good together.”
My heart leaps. Sarah’s fierce protector just told me she deems me worthy of her best friend?
“Don’t post those pics anywhere, Kat,” Henn warns. “We don’t want the bad guys knowing we’re on their turf.”