‘So why are you back at it?’
Good question. And Spencer seems to really want to know. So I tell him about how Ian found me, how he gave me a laptop, how I can’t seem to stop, that the addiction is back, maybe even worse than ever.
He’s quiet for a few seconds, then says, ‘I built a company. I decided, like Zeke, to use my skills for good rather than evil. After I got out of prison, I started doing computer security work, finding back doors and getting rid of them so hackers couldn’t get in. It was huge. I was huge.’
Now I know why he seems so familiar. I had figured it was because of the way he was living, with the bank of computers in his house, but that’s not it.
‘You’re Spencer Cross.’
He takes a hit off his joint. ‘I was Spencer Cross. Now I’m just a stoned, middle-aged hacker working with Incognito, staying under the radar and hoping that homeland security doesn’t find me.’ The way he says it, he’s concerned about those cars at his house. That they have nothing to do with me and Zeke and everything to do with him.
Spencer Cross publicly released documents that showed the government was covering up the fact that it wasn’t vetting refugees like it said it was. He discovered this when a mass shooting victim’s family hired him to investigate how two terrorists were able to get into the country disguised as refugees.
I might not be a fugitive, but Spencer Cross is. ‘Zeke—’
‘Would lose his job, probably get arrested for obstruction, if they ever find out he knows where I am.’ He grins. ‘He seems to have a thing for criminals like us.’
I don’t point out that by helping me, Zeke is as much a criminal as the two of us. That he also spent time in prison so he’s not exactly free and clear, either.
‘It’s been an hour,’ Spencer says softly.
‘Should we give him a few more minutes?’ I don’t want to think about leaving without him, without telling him where we’re going. We don’t even have a plan. And then I have an idea. ‘Didn’t Zeke say he had access to Daniel’s computer?’
Spencer doesn’t hesitate. He grabs Zeke’s laptop. We need a password to get in. Spencer gives me a grin and within minutes is inside. ‘He’s too predictable,’ he says, although I know he’s downplaying it. Zeke wouldn’t have a password that’s the name of a pet or a birthday. I don’t have time to speculate, though, because Spencer’s already found Daniel’s desktop. I am in complete awe of his skills, forgetting that I am vowing to forego it all when this is over.
‘It doesn’t look like he’s been doing much except poking around in the deep web. He hasn’t found much.’ Spencer checks out Daniel’s history, which shows a few sites via the Waste Land.
‘If he’s Ian Cartwright’s puppet, then he’s not doing a great job,’ Spencer says.
This doesn’t make sense. Daniel is Ian’s plant on Zeke’s team. Or is he? I think again about Adriana.
‘It’s just like the money,’ I say. ‘Everything goes in circles.’
Spencer frowns. ‘Zeke says this kid is talented. I don’t see it. But maybe it’s not on the surface.’
‘Maybe there’s something …’ I lean over and take the laptop. Spencer doesn’t stop me. I try to think like Daniel, like I used to think back when I was a teenager – with a cocky confidence. I learned how to hide in plain sight. What if Daniel is doing the same thing?
It’s easier to find because I’m looking for it. I turn the laptop toward Spencer so he can see, too. He gives a low whistle. ‘Holy shit,’ he whispers.
We weren’t the only ones who got into the cameras outside the bank. Daniel did, too. But he took it a step further. I am sorry now that I blamed Adriana for anything. Because what Daniel did was genius.
He was able to put Adriana’s image inside the footage, like someone creating a game would create an avatar.
She wasn’t at the bank. It was a mirage.
FORTY-NINE
Daniel has set up Adriana, like Tracker and I were set up, and this could be a trap. He probably knows Zeke has access to his computer. I think again how Betr@yD knows Tracker is FBI, which makes me think he’s made the connection to Zeke. An ominous feeling has settled in my gut.
‘Zeke’s in trouble,’ I say softly. ‘That’s why he’s not back yet.’
Spencer pulls a cell phone out of his back pocket. He tosses it in my lap. ‘Call him.’ When I don’t respond, he adds, ‘His number’s in there.’
He’s listed under ‘Chap,’ which is really not original at all. ‘What, you think because you use part of his last name—’
Spencer holds up his hand. ‘That was his nickname.’
Again, something I don’t know about Zeke. I find myself wanting to know more about him beyond Tracker. I hit the phone icon and hear it ring, but it doesn’t even go to voicemail. My worry increases.
‘Track it,’ Spencer says. ‘Cell phones are just little computers. You can hack into them as easily as a laptop. Remember how the feds wanted to get into that phone that the terrorists in San Bernardino had? I could’ve gotten in there so fast it would’ve made their heads spin. Zeke even offered, but they said it wasn’t his job.’ He snorts. ‘They have no idea.’
By the time he’s finished lecturing me, I’ve already installed the same application on Zeke’s phone that I put on Ian’s. The phone’s location pops up on the map on the laptop screen.
Spencer gives me a funny look. ‘OK, so you know how to do that.’
‘You doubted me?’
‘I forget sometimes.’
‘That you’re not always the smartest person in the room?’
He rolls his eyes at me.
‘Looks like he’s in South Beach,’ I say, pointing at the icon on the screen.
‘I don’t want to go to South Beach.’ The way he says it, you’d think it was the third circle of hell.
‘What’s wrong with South Beach?’
He magnifies the map so we can see the exact location. ‘Shit. It’s a club. He’s at a club.’ Spencer sighs. ‘I don’t like those kinds of places. Too open, too many people. Too many people who might recognize me.’
I give him a sidelong glance. He doesn’t look like the Spencer Cross in the newspapers and magazines. That Spencer Cross was bigger than life. That man was dressed in slacks and polo shirts, with a hip, short hairstyle, clean-shaven. It’s hard to see that Spencer in this one with the five o’clock shadow, long ponytail, tattered jeans, and grungy T-shirt.
‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about,’ I say.
‘You’re one to talk. You’ve been hiding for years.’
I have another thought. ‘Why would Zeke be at a nightclub? I figured he went to see Adriana.’
‘Unless that’s where he found her.’
Spencer’s got a point. But her father is still recovering. Would she leave him to go party?
I don’t know Adriana at all to know what her lifestyle is. It’s possible that Tony is doing a lot better – it’s not as if we’ve been keeping tabs – and he encouraged her to go out on the town for a little fun.
Or it’s possible that Zeke contacted her and arranged to meet there.
The latter is probably closer to what’s happened, since I’m sure Zeke wouldn’t go to Tony’s house. He would definitely have Adriana meet him somewhere.
Spencer is still dubious about going.
‘We probably won’t even get in,’ I say, indicating our salt-water-crusted clothes. ‘We’re not exactly red carpet candidates.’ But then I have an idea. ‘Maybe, though, it might not be a bad idea if we were.’
‘What does that mean?’ He’s suspicious.
‘I think it would be better if we fit in. Because like this, we’ll stand out a lot more.’
He reluctantly agrees. ‘I am going to seriously regret this, aren’t I?’
‘Possibly. Probably.’
I scoop up the laptop, grab Zeke’s, and put them in the backpack. Spencer shoves his laptop under his armpit, grabs the bag of hard drive
s that are left, and we head for the parking garage.
Spencer’s car is still there, which means Zeke must have arranged other transportation. Was it in anticipation that we’d need the car? I shake the thought aside as I settle into the passenger seat. Spencer leans over and opens the glove box. The light inside illuminates a small handgun.
‘Take it,’ he instructs.
‘No.’
‘You’re not going to shoot anyone. We just need to scare people. Make them think that we’ll shoot them.’
‘Why?’
‘We don’t know what’s going on with Zeke. This might be the only language they’ll speak.’
‘They? Who is they?’
‘The bad guys. The ones who are after you.’
I don’t want to get into it further. ‘Have you ever shot a gun?’ I ask.
‘Well, not exactly. I got it for protection, but I never needed it before.’
‘So you haven’t even gone to a shooting range or anything?’
‘No.’
This does not instill any confidence in me. The two times I’ve shot a gun, I’ve shot people accidentally. I don’t know the first thing about shooting. ‘We’re not cops,’ I say. ‘We’re hackers.’ I shut the door of the glove box. ‘We’re not carrying a gun.’
Spencer shrugs. ‘Suit yourself,’ he says, starting the car.
Lincoln Road Mall on South Beach is like nothing I’ve seen in a very long time: an outdoor mall with spectacular fountains and palm trees and restaurants, bars, and shops. Although this is my idea, I share Spencer’s feeling of panic. We are recluses suddenly thrust into the middle of a bustling throng of people. I crave peace and quiet, and this is anything but.
We go into the first store we see and are overwhelmed. The backpack on my shoulder looks shabby, but at least I have some cash inside. I only hope it’s enough. From the look of things, it may not be.
Spencer monitors Zeke’s phone on his own cell. ‘We have to hurry,’ he says. ‘We don’t know how long he’s going to stay there.’
I pull a pair of black slacks off the rack and find a plain black T-shirt, shoving them at Spencer. ‘Try those,’ I say.
He holds them as though I’ve given him poison, but he finds his way to the fitting room.
A saleswoman approaches me. ‘Can I help you?’
I push my glasses up further on my nose and wonder if I can really be helped at all. ‘I’m looking for something that would be appropriate for a club or restaurant,’ I say, overwhelmed by the bright lights and mirrors that reflect a middle-aged woman who has no business doing what she’s doing right now.
The saleswoman, to her credit, does not discriminate. She smiles kindly and takes me over to the women’s section, pulling a few dresses. ‘These would look lovely on you. Why don’t you try them on and I’ll find you a pair of shoes.’ She really is good.
When I put the first dress on, I am transformed back into the girl I used to be – who I was before I became Nicole. Miami is full of my ghosts, and this one stuns me more than I expect. The sleeveless dress is black, short, and tight. It is something I would have worn to go dancing. I look at myself from all angles in the three-way mirror in the dressing room. The biking has made me leaner, more muscular, than I used to be, and the dress is flattering. The girlishness is gone, but I’ve settled into myself more, and my years of tranquility on Block Island show in my face. There is only a trace of anxiety about my current predicament in my eyes.
When the saleswoman comes back with a pair of wedge heels, the outfit is complete.
‘You look incredible, dear,’ she says.
She gets paid to say that, to sell clothes, but I look a lot better than I did when I came in, so it’s not really a lie. I fluff up my hair, wishing again that I had contact lenses.
‘Who are you, and what did you do with Tiny?’ I hear behind me.
I turn to see Spencer Cross, the one I remember from the papers, from the magazine covers. His transformation is as stunning as my own. Besides the slacks and shirt, he’s managed to slick his hair back and knot it at the nape of his neck. His five o’clock shadow actually works with this look. Someone’s found him proper shoes, too. He would hate it if I told him that he’s exuding a confidence he didn’t have just a few minutes ago, standing up straighter, his hands casually in his slacks pockets. He could be on the cover of GQ. We’ve both been transformed into our previous selves.
He comes over to me in front of the mirror and slings an arm over my shoulder.
‘Look at us,’ I say with a shy smile.
‘We have to go,’ he says, then lowers his voice. ‘Do you have money for this?’
I rummage through the backpack and produce the cash. We stuff our regular clothes inside the backpack, and while I’m sorry the pack isn’t fancier, I’m not going to let go of it, even though the saleswoman tries to get me to relinquish it for a classier, smaller black bag.
We go back out into the night, Spencer still checking his phone. ‘It’s walking distance,’ he says. ‘You OK in those shoes?’
Surprisingly, I am, so I nod. I just hope that all of this is worth it and we find Zeke.
We approach the entrance to the club, where there’s a red velvet rope and a large, burly man looking at IDs. It’s early yet, and there are only a few people ahead of us. The bouncer gives us the once-over and waves us in after we hand over our cover charge. I’m going to have to sell a few more paintings to recoup the expenses from tonight’s excursion.
The interior is dark, with black walls and a neon strobe light flashing alternate colors across the room. It’s not nearly as crowded as it will be a few hours from now, and its patrons aren’t nearly as drunk. Spencer had a few hits off a joint for courage before we came in. I order a Scotch at the bar. My dress is not nearly as tight or as short as others in this place, but we do fit in. When I get my drink, we take a walk around the dance floor, scanning the room.
‘He’s not here,’ I say. The music is too loud for Spencer to hear me.
But someone does hear me.
‘Who are you looking for?’
I spin around at the sound of his voice and come face to face with Ian Cartwright.
FIFTY
‘Tina?’ He is as surprised to see me as I am to see him. He’s not faking it. His eyes run down my body, and I hate myself for the familiar thrill it gives me.
Spencer suddenly appears at my side and his arm snakes around my shoulders. ‘Can I help you?’ he asks.
Ian frowns at him. ‘Who’s this?’ He doesn’t bother to wait until I answer before he leans over and says in my ear, ‘You really shouldn’t be here.’ He takes me by the elbow and steers me away from the dance floor, away from Spencer, who grabs his other arm. Ian shakes him off. ‘You have to get out of here.’
I trip over my shoes, stumbling a little, and Ian lifts me back up. We are now in the long hallway that leads to the restrooms, but I see a sign for an exit door up ahead. Spencer is on our heels. Ian ignores him, though, as he practically drags me now to the door and opens it. The sticky air slams into us, and we’re outside, the door closing behind us. He finally lets go of me.
‘What was that all about?’ I demand.
He steps closer. ‘Be quiet,’ he says in a hushed tone. ‘Do you have a car?’
I glance at Spencer, and Ian finally acknowledges him. ‘If you brought her here, you have to get her out.’ He speaks to me again. ‘Go far away. You’re good at that. At disappearing. It’s time for you to do that again.’
‘This is about the hit, isn’t it?’
He takes a deep breath. ‘You shouldn’t have done it.’
‘I didn’t do it. I don’t have any reason.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It all leads back to you.’ He pauses. ‘And me. But he knows I don’t shit where I eat.’
Exactly what I told Zeke.
‘You don’t have any idea who did this?’ My accusatory tone causes him to hesitate.
‘You do think I did
it.’
‘And you framed me for it.’ There. It’s out in the open.
‘You know I don’t know anything about computers.’
‘But your son does.’
His face grows dark with anger, but voices nearby make Ian glance furtively around. ‘We can’t stay here. You can’t stay here. I’m helping you. Take my advice and get out.’
‘That’s not a bad idea.’ I’d forgotten about Spencer.
Ian gives Spencer a puzzled look. ‘And who the hell are you?’
For a second, I think Spencer is actually going to tell him, but then he says, ‘Just call me Angel.’
‘I’m not going to call you anything. Get her out of here.’
A long shadow at the corner of the building catches my eye. Ian’s fear is contagious, because that’s what it is: fear. He’s afraid for himself – and for me.
‘What’s going on?’ I can’t help but ask.
‘You know this is one of Tony’s clubs, right?’
I should have known, but I didn’t. This explains why Ian’s here.
‘Why are you helping me?’ I ask.
He gives me a tight smile. ‘Maybe someday you can pay me back for this.’
It’s always payback with him, but I’m not going to argue. ‘Just tell me one thing. Where’s Zeke Chapman?’
Confusion crosses his face.
‘He was meeting Adriana DeMarco here,’ I say.
‘Adriana was here,’ he admits. ‘But she left.’
‘Where did she go?’
He shrugs. ‘Back home, I guess. She left with Amelie.’
Amelie was here? I skip past that and ask, ‘So you didn’t see Zeke?’
‘I saw him earlier. In South Miami. But you already know that.’ Daniel must have told him that I’d been there. ‘I haven’t seen him since.’
Spencer and I exchange a glance. Where is Zeke?
‘You need to go,’ Ian says again. ‘If you find Zeke, tell him to take care of Daniel.’ For the first time I hear vulnerability in his tone. Something’s going on beyond me, beyond Daniel. I begin to wonder how much of his fear is not for me but for himself. Before I can speculate any further, he leans over and brushes my cheek with his lips, whispering, ‘I’m sorry.’
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