Page 1 of Hacker Identified

Chapter1

Hannah

My phone vibrated against the black bar top. The slots, along with the conversations in the casino, drowned out the beep it made. None of that mattered, because I already knew the message was from U.S. Marshal Tray Gibson, or as I liked to call him, Gibs. The past two days, he’d texted me close to a hundred times. They had started the moment I deactivated my tracker and disabled the GPS on my cell.

The drive from Washington, D.C. to Vegas was long and challenging since I had to use a paper map. I knew Gibs would put a trace on my credit cards, so I used all the cash I had stuffed in my go bag. I had one last chance to try and get a meeting with former President Zack Tucker. I wanted to discuss his zoning change with the Haven Ridge’s planning department. My inside source, PopTarts, had messaged me that the request was headed to the commission for a vote. If they approved the application, it would cause a domino effect and destroy any possibility I had to prevent the evidence of my sister's death from disappearing forever.

I had less than four hours to find the man and convince him not to continue with his project. The only reason I figured out his location easily was thanks to paparazzi who caught Mr. Tucker’s every move, and according to Celebrity Today, he’d flown to Las Vegas for a friend's wedding.

Images of him in a light blue Tom Ford suit graced the Yahoo! news section. Fashion bloggers had discussed the color choice. In the background of the photo, I spotted the CasinoXL logo, which made my job of tracking him so much easier.

I had plopped my butt down at the centrally located bar the moment I stepped into the hotel. The spot was perfect and allowed me to view the elevator and the double glass doors which led outside.

The bartender raised a brow at me when I’d pulled out the stool and sat down. I was underdressed for the high-end hotel, but didn't want to chance to miss the former president by taking the time to change.

I hoped to catch him or one of his friends.

For much of his career in the White House, it was discussed his presidential library would be built in his hometown. The land he owned bordered my father’s property. Not once did I receive a callback during his presidency. The issue became dire when PopTarts had messaged me on an underground site about the rezoning waiver Zack applied for, so he could construct his library in the coming months. Except he had real-estate all over Virginia. Hell, the man had places all over the world. I’d never understood why he chose this location.

When my phone vibrated again, I slid my finger across the screen and tapped on the message icon.

Me: You realize I'm trying to ignore you, and the constant texting is making me feel guilty.

Gibs: Fuck…I thought someone kidnapped you. Where the fuck are you?

The day I’d made a deal with the FBI was the day I met Marshal Tray Gibson. He'd walked into the interrogation room after hours of interviews about Crimson Creed. He escorted me from the field office to a safe house while agents had worked to create my new identity. Two days later, they faked my death. Hannah Waters was born and moved into a tiny apartment near downtown, D.C.

Since I was dead, according to records, I never stepped foot inside the courtroom when the feds took my father to court. But like always, my father had found a way out. I still thought he’d paid the judge off.

I watched hours of the trial from my living room. When the verdict came back, I worried the FBI or the U.S. Marshals Service wouldn't hold up their end of the deal, but they did. And I still helped them every so often, while they built another case against Crimson Creed and my father, Watson Creed.

Gibs: Hello…

Me: Sorry, I was lost in thought. I'll be back in D.C. soon. I need to try.

Three bubbles appeared, and then nothing. I pictured Gibs' brows furrowed as he typed a slew of cuss words. Over the years, we’d argued about my passion for keeping the land protected and my reasoning behind why.

The circles disappeared, and my phone buzzed with Gibs' number across the screen, and I hit the Decline button.

Me: I'm not answering.

Gibs: Why?

Me: You'll record our conversation and run it through your program. With one minute of audio, you would pinpoint my exact location since you already know I'm in Vegas.

Gibs: Because you are putting yourself in danger. Your father isn't dumb. He would've moved her by now. Meeting Mr. Tucker won't change anything. It’s time you let go of the past.

No matter how many times Gibs and I disagreed about my sister, my gut told me my father hadn't touched Hazel's body. When I proved my theory correct, I planned to make the people responsible for her death pay.

Dad's deep pockets had allowed him to escape a scandal. I hated the fact Watson Creed was my father. I wanted him behind bars, right where he’d placed my mother for a crime he committed.

Me: If this doesn't work, I might not have a choice.

Gibs: You better have worn your wig and colored contacts. We discussed how dangerous Vegas is when you wanted to go to that plant convention there. The city has way too many cameras.

Tech wasn't something I enjoyed, but I understood how technology could be used to find me. My father didn't believe I had died—that was proven by the bounty he put on my head after my alleged death.

Me: My sun hat covers my face.

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