Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“She’s not a criminal,” I insist.
“You’re sure?”
I know he doesn’t miss the way my throat works on a swallow. He takes it for what it is, doubt.
“I’m not sure at all.”
We’ve talked about a lot of stuff, but Whitney hasn’t been forthcoming about her work. I can’t really talk about what I do, so expecting that one-sided information doesn’t seem right.
“Find out,” he says before turning around to leave. “Deacon is going on his honeymoon and we aren’t going to bother him with this, but if it turns out that she’s a criminal, you’re going to have to cut ties. We can’t have that kind of heat on BBS. We’ll lose all the respect we’ve been building.”
I nod in understanding. Flynn has only been with BBS for a year, but it’s clear why he quickly became Deacon’s second-in-command. He’s a no-bullshit kind of guy, and even though my world could be crumbling right now, I have the utmost respect for him.
“Where are you going?” I ask before he clears the threshold.
“I’m going to reach out to a few contacts and see what I can find out.”
Ignacio follows him out.
“She’s too pretty to be a criminal,” Puff assures me, but the cackle that follows makes me think he doesn’t believe his own declaration.
I start with what I have, running facial recognition on an image I pulled of the guy. The ones of him entering the building like he owned the place were much better than the grainy images I got from the hallway. As that’s going, I hack her IP address, something I said I wouldn’t do again after spending an hour reading her forum posts.
Wouldn’t this just be my luck, that the woman of my dreams turns out to be a hacker hunted by the FBI? I can’t really feel contempt for her. I break the law through keystrokes every single day, and I’ve never been one to gaslight someone. Flynn, and especially Deacon, won’t see it the same way.
I have to dig deeper when her hacked system gives me the boot repeatedly, but even after using two of my best programs, I still can’t find anything. She’s destroyed her entire system. The rejections make me sad and proud at the same time. I would’ve done the exact same thing if I were on the verge of getting caught. Covering her tracks now doesn’t keep them from using the information they had that warranted her door getting kicked in.
My fingers tap on the top of my desk as my computer continues to find information that I need. Waiting is the most frustrating part, but it’s always been a part of the deal. Now that Whitney may be in danger, the wait may literally kill me.
Chapter 20
Whitney
The cabbie isn’t impressed with the angry snarling cat in my backpack. I can tell from the look of disgust on his face each time Simon makes his presence known, but at least he doesn’t kick me out of his car. I tip him what I can before climbing out, but truthfully, I never have much cash on me. Most of my purchases are made online or through apps, and as easy as it makes it for people to track someone, it’s how the world goes these days. Cash on delivery is a thing of the past, not that I have much experience with it.
The airport seemed like a good idea, and the hustle and bustle of travelers swarming all around me does help calm my fears, but I’m only here because this is what is expected of me, and airport security systems are harder to crack than most. I make a transaction at the ATM, pulling out my predetermined six-hundred-dollar max and cursing online money-saving gurus for talking me into it. It won’t get me far, but my plans to leave St. Louis without a paper trail won’t happen tonight.
After calming Simon in the bathroom, I make my way to the ticket counter, using my credit card to purchase a one-way ticket to New York.
Then without hesitation, I walk right out of the airport and slide into the back of a waiting cab.
After a very difficult conversation with a cab driver that didn’t understand English very well, I find myself dropped off in front of a motel that is fit for a damn horror movie. If Jones doesn’t show up to murder me, I’m certain some creepy dude with an obsession over his mother and decades of childhood trauma will.
The nice lady at the counter who hands over the room key with a nice smile after I paid cash for the night doesn’t settle my nerves at all. From the sparkle in her eyes, I have no doubt she’s going to pocket the cash and not log the room as occupied.
The room is surprisingly clean, but the soft scent of Pine Sol floating in the air does nothing to loosen the tension in my shoulders. I know looks can be deceiving, and even though my life is on the line, I’d rather not die with a positive STD test. Refusing to take a shower, I even draw my hands back before touching the towels hanging from the bar in the bathroom, opting instead to use an old t-shirt I packed to move the clunky chair from in front of the window to block the door. I’m stuck in this room even if someone breaks in to hurt me, so my proactiveness doesn’t help much. I’ll hear the scrape of the feet if someone tries to muscle their way in, and as I sit on the bed with regret, I’m left wondering if hearing them coming is worse than a surprise attack.