Hide and Seek (18 page)

“Good, then prove it. Give me something I can work with. You want to keep your freedom, don’t you?”

She nodded automatically.

“The hacker in exchange for your freedom. You know I’m not bluffing. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Good, then here’s what you do: find him, but don’t spook him. If he finds out that you’re onto him, he’s gone. Do you get that? You have ten days. If you can’t deliver him by then, our deal is off, and you’ll be prosecuted. Not as an American, but as a terrorist. You should have thought twice about what you were getting yourself into when you hacked into the Department of Defense’s servers. You committed an act of terrorism.” He clicked his tongue. “Very despicable indeed.”

“I never—”

His hand on her shoulder made her swallow her words. The urge to turn around to look into the face of her tormentor was strong, but she suppressed it, knowing it would earn her a bullet in the head.

“No more excuses.”

Her heart raced, and her pulse thundered in her ears. Rage made her clench her teeth. She wasn’t a terrorist, far from it. She and her fellow hackers at Anonymous had been trying to uncover documents about the United States’ involvement in the latest Middle East conflict and the real reasons behind their support for a regime that tortured its own citizens. She’d wanted the American public to know the truth. That wasn’t terrorism. It was freedom of speech. She hadn’t hurt anybody by hacking into government servers.

Nevertheless, she was paying for it now. They’d tried to get her to give up the other members of Anonymous who’d taken part in this project, but she’d refused. She was no snitch. Besides, Michelle hardly knew who the others were, only knew them by their screen names.

The sudden silence made her pause in her thoughts. She listened intently, but there was nothing. Not even the sound of breathing.

“Mr. Smith?”

There was no reply. Michelle spun around. She was alone in the dark underground parking garage. Alone, except for a few parked cars.

Clutching her messenger bag that held her laptop, she walked toward the elevator. Ten days was all she had left. Judging by the little she’d accomplished in the previous four weeks, she had a snowball’s chance in hell of delivering the elusive hacker Smith was looking for. Without any clue as to what the person was actually after, she couldn’t narrow down her search. Did Smith have any idea how many hackers attacked governmental servers every single day? Despite that obstacle she’d come across one particular individual who’d piqued her interest, but she hadn’t been able to get a lock on him yet.

Essentially, she was looking for a needle in a haystack. A needle she couldn’t afford to search for any longer, because if she didn’t get away before the ten days were up, she’d be as good as dead.

It was time to plan her escape while continuing to pretend that she was following Smith’s request, so he wouldn’t catch on to her deception until it was too late.

3

This wasn’t going to be quite as easy as he’d thought at first.

For starters, the IP address Nick had traced had led him to the Foggy Bottom neighborhood of D.C., an area that not only housed George Washington University, but also the George Washington Medical Center and numerous government buildings ranging from the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund to the Federal Reserve Building and the Department of the Interior.

In addition, the address wasn’t a private home, or even an office. It was a coffee shop with free WiFi access. Anybody with a laptop could hook into the coffee shop’s free internet and be on their IP address. An extremely odd choice for the computer genius with whom Nick had been at odds during the last few weeks. Why would somebody risk working on an open internet connection where others might be able to listen in? Or was it pure genius, hiding in plain sight?

Nick glanced around the coffee shop. At least two dozen students, young doctors, and suits were hunched over their laptops, working, surfing, and reading. At first glance, none of them looked like a hacker, but then, what exactly did a hacker look like? He knew that appearances could be deceptive.

Was he the scruffy student, who was balancing his laptop on his knees while eating a muffin with one hand? Or the young woman in the white doctor’s coat and the dark circles under her eyes, eyes that kept falling shut while she stared intensely into her computer monitor? Maybe the heavy-set black guy in the gray suit was the man in question, trying to divert any suspicion by looking all businesslike with his manicured nails and trendy haircut.

In short, it could be anybody.

This would take some time. He might as well get comfortable and find a corner from which to watch the comings and goings. Sooner or later, his CIA training would kick in, and he’d pick up on the tells his suspect was giving off. He’d learned that nobody could hide his true nature forever. Particularly once they relaxed and let down their guard, their true self emerged, and Nick would be there, waiting for him to make a mistake. He’d waited three years to get this close to the information he needed; he could wait a few days longer.

Behind the station where the baristas were taking orders and preparing fancy custom coffee drinks, it was buzzing like a beehive. Like a well-oiled machine, the employees shouted drink orders to each other: single shot this, no-foam that, half-caf the other. Even one of the employees could be his guy. They all got breaks during their shifts. Anyone of them could go in the back where they kept supplies and spend a few minutes on a computer. It would be a great cover. And who would suspect a minimum-wage barista?

“Double shot, no-whip mocha for Nick.”

Upon hearing his drink called out, Nick pivoted and snatched his overpriced coffee from the bar.

“Ouch!” he hissed and set it back down.

“Sleeves.” The employee behind the counter pointed to a basket with cardboard cup protectors, before calling out the next drink. “Triple shot, grande latte for Michelle.”

“Thanks.” He slipped a sleeve around the hot paper cup, took his drink, turned on his heel—and instantly froze.

Only his extremely fast reaction saved him from colliding with the young woman who’d approached the counter for her latte. Instead, Nick jerked backward, hitting the counter with his back. The impact made him involuntarily tighten his grip on his coffee cup. The plastic lid popped off and the hot mocha splashed over the rim, spilling over the front of his T-shirt.

“Shit!” he cursed as the hot liquid touched his skin.

Instinctively jerking back from the burning coffee, his elbow hit something behind him. Nick shot a look over his shoulder just as the latte the barista had called out for the next customer spilled onto the counter.

“Well, great!” the woman he’d nearly crashed into grumbled beneath her breath. “I really needed that latte.”

Yeah, and he needed not to be making a spectacle of himself.

Way to stay under the radar, Nick
.

Setting his half-spilled drink onto the counter, he flashed the barista who was already cleaning up the mess a quick smile. “So sorry, I’ll pay for it, of course.”

“No worries, I’ll make another one.” She looked past him. “Michelle, just a minute, okay?”

“Thanks,” the female customer—Michelle presumably—answered.

Nick nodded. “Much appreciate it. But I’ll pay for it.”

He turned around to face the woman the barista had addressed and froze once more, when he caught something flashing silver. Instinctively, he focused on the pendant around her neck. A spotlight from the ceiling reflected off the shiny surface, giving it emphasis when at any other time Nick wouldn’t have given the item a second glance. It was probably not even made of silver, maybe just of steel or aluminum. But its shape was undeniable: it was a tiny Guy Fawkes mask, the same kind the hacker cooperative, Anonymous, used as their symbol.

This couldn’t be a coincidence. What were the odds of somebody wearing this type of keepsake in the same coffee shop he’d traced the hacker to? Nick was no betting man, but he would put his money on this woman.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes and looked at her for the first time.

His breath hitched, air fleeing his lungs. Red lips was the first thing he saw. Full and plump, slightly parted, showing perfectly straight, white teeth. Her skin was olive as if she came from the Mediterranean. There was a golden sheen of perspiration on her face. Not surprising, since it was muggy as hell in the city, and even in the air-conditioned interior of the coffee shop, it was warm.

Blue eyes framed by dark lashes looked at him, assessing, questioning, curious. But he didn’t let that deter him from scrutinizing her, because it wasn’t the ex-CIA agent in him inspecting her, it was the man in him, the one whose blood was rushing to his groin with a speed he couldn’t quite comprehend. All he knew was that this woman intrigued him on so many levels, the least of which was a professional one.

In dark blond waves, her hair fell to her shoulders, drawing attention to her spaghetti-strap top with the built-in bra that accentuated her firm breasts— which were the perfect size for her lean five-foot-seven frame. Her cleavage was of the same olive skin as her face, a skin that tanned easily. And perhaps without tan lines. Not that his mind should go in that direction. After all, he wasn’t here to pick her up. Not for any romantic reasons anyway. Though, of course, to further his mission, he needed to get close to her. Just how close he didn’t know yet.

For an instant, he wished that this woman wasn’t the hacker he was after, but simply a regular customer of the quaint coffee shop. But the pendant and the computer bag that was slung bike-messenger-bag-like across her torso suggested otherwise.

“Uh… sorry… uh…” he stammered, both to convey the hapless man, but also because for a second he did feel just a little bit tongue-tied at so much physical perfection. “Uh, Michelle, is it?”

She tilted her head to the side, suspicious now. “How—?”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The barista called out your latte; the one I spilled. Sorry about that again.”

Michelle seemed to relax. “No worries.” She motioned to his torso. “At least you spilled your drink on yourself and not on me.”

Nick flashed a warm grin, knowing that it was one of his special assets, one that made women feel comfortable with him. “Yeah, bit clumsy of me, wasn’t it?” He reached for a napkin from the counter and patted the stain on his shirt, but there was no way of removing it. All he could do was pat it as dry as possible. “Well, guess that one’s ruined.”

Michelle chuckled. “Brown looks good on you.”

Nick winked and used her light-hearted response to draw her in further. “Yeah, sure, have your fun. Laugh at the guy who’s just made a fool of himself in front of a pretty woman.”

The resulting blush on her cheeks looked good on her and confirmed that his charm was working. This would be the angle he could use to get to her and find out what she knew. With a bit of luck, he’d know in a few days—maximum a week—whether she could help him get what he needed.

4

He’d called her pretty, and that made her smile. After the day Michelle had had so far, the stranger’s compliment felt like soothing lotion on a sunburn. Her meeting with her blackmailer—yes,
blackmailer
, because that’s what he really was, no matter what government agency he was working for—had left her rattled. The pressure was on. Either she produced, or she would land in jail, and that was a place she didn’t want to go to.

She’d much rather be in the company of a cute stranger, even if said stranger was a bit clumsy. At least the guy was no threat to her. The only danger she faced from the brown-haired hunk who was smiling at her, was being doused with coffee. And that was something she could easily survive.

Michelle watched as he dumped the soiled paper napkins in the trash bin and grabbed a new lid for his half-spilled coffee, securing it on the cup.

“I don’t mean to be pushy or anything,” he suddenly said, “but can I buy you a biscotti or a muffin to go with your latte?”

Michelle shook her head. “That’s really not necessary. Besides, it’s not like I need the extra calories.” Keeping a trim figure was hard enough since she spent most of her days and nights in front of her computer. She needed no sugar to jeopardize her health and weight.

A charming smirk, accompanied by a long look up and down her person, was his answer. “I’m sure you’ll burn them off in no time.”

She opened her mouth, not really knowing how to reply to that, when the barista interrupted.

“Michelle, your drink is ready.”

Michelle nodded to the stranger and reached past him. “Thanks, Elise.”

“Let me pay for that,” the hunk insisted once more, pulling his wallet from his pocket.

“Not necessary,” the barista replied. “Spills happen all the time. Besides, Michelle’s a regular.”

“Well then,” he said, “thanks, and sorry again.” He took a step away from the counter to let her pass.

Michelle took her drink and brought it to her lips, taking a first sip.

“Uh, Michelle.”

She lifted her eyes above the coffee cup and looked at him, curious what else he wanted. “Yes?”

“I’m Nick, by the way. I’m new to the neighborhood.” He offered his hand.

Hesitantly, Michelle shook it. “Hi, Nick. I’m Michelle, but then you already know that.”

A broad grin made his face look younger than he seemed at first sight. She allowed herself to look at him more thoroughly now. He had a stubble beard, the kind a man who didn’t have time to shave for two or three days would sport. It made him look rugged. His hair was medium-brown, but not dull. There was a healthy sheen to it. His eyes were green-brown, his skin on the light side as if he spent lots of time indoors. He wore a short-sleeved light-blue polo shirt and black cargo pants. Despite their loose fit, it was evident that his legs were muscular, just like his arms, though he didn’t look like a bodybuilder. He was lean.

“Listen, I get it if you don’t want to be seen with me.” Nick motioned to his shirt. “Stains and all, you know.” He grinned disarmingly. “But considering you made me spill my drink, maybe you could make it up to me by keeping me company while I finish what’s left of my mocha?”