Page 2 of Hacker Identified

Gibs: Fifteen years, I've tried to keep you safe.

Me: I'll turn my location service on tonight.

Gibs: I'm begging you to do it now.

I opened settings for a moment, but clicked back to the messaging app.

Me: No.

Gibs: Don't die. I'm retiring in two years. Can you please hang on until I hand your assignment over to another marshal?

Me: I always knew you loved me.

Gibs: Watch your surroundings and if anything looks off, run.

Me: I'll call you later.

I flipped my phone back over and motioned for another Red Bull and vodka. CasinoXL was a high-end hotel in the middle of the Strip near the famous fountains. The slots required a minimum hundred-dollar bet per round. They didn't hand out drinks for free while the patrons gambled, either.

Growing up as the daughter of Watson Creed, I had witnessed how wealth enabled my father to skirt a murder charge. I even watched as my father framed my mother for racketeering and cried as the feds arrested her during dinner. The more money my father acquired, the more power hungry he became.

I shook my head and tried to concentrate on my current task. I hoped the mixture of alcohol and Red Bull would keep me alert.

Time ticked by, and I hadn't spotted Zack or a single person he was photographed with. I flipped my phone back over and tapped the Chrome icon. When the Google bar appeared, I typed in “Celebrity Today,” to see if the journalist had posted any updates. A new post about Zack filled the top of the page.

Zack and a short woman with fiery hair were pictured hugging. His tie was loosened around his neck, and his bright smile lit up the photo. The rag magazine liked to portray the former president as a playboy in their articles about him.

When he was in office, the media talked about all the policies he implemented and nothing about him being a womanizer. Most Americans thought he would marry his public relations manager, Angie. But those rumors were put to rest a month after he retired, and she announced her engagement to Douglas Vaughn.

After she released a statement about her upcoming wedding, the tabloids spun a different story about Zack's dating life. Every article about him was with a new woman, and the playboy image took over.

I skimmed the post and stopped to reread the part where they said a source had spotted Zack at a strip club. Except no photo was produced of him leaving one.

"Is this seat taken?" a deep voice asked to my left.

"Go ahead," I answered back. My eyes were glued to the website.

"Can you believe him?"

The man's question drew my attention away from the gossip column. My mouth went dry as I glanced at the man next to me for the first time. He had a day's worth of stubble along his jaw. His dark sunglasses hid his eyes and a white baseball cap covered his sandy blond hair. His tight black t-shirt bulged around his biceps, which made me weak in the knees. When the corners of his lips ticked up, I’d realized I stared a moment too long without answering. I thought back to his question.

I took a deep breath. "It's ridiculous. He walks around with his head in the clouds and women bowing down at his feet. There are real issues in this world, and he ignores them. I'm sure his job as president was stressful. For four years, he acted as if he cared about the environment..." I paused to catch my breath. My brain screamed at me to shut up, but my mouth continued. "I tried to reach out to him, during his term and after, about a potential problem with his change to commercial zoning. Not once would he take the time to meet with me or even send one of his staff."

The man's brows drew together, and I realized I'd rambled too much and opened a hole to discuss politics or even have a conversation. The vodka was my only excuse, because I normally didn't talk to strange men, especially ones with perfectly chiseled jaws.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name," he replied, interrupting my thoughts.

His damn voice reminded me of the romance narrator I’d listened to on my drive across the country. I swore his short reply made my sex tingle.

Fuck, my mind wandered again, and I hadn't answered.

"Hannah Waters." The name, witness protection had assigned to me fifteen years ago, rolled off the tip of my tongue.

"What would you do if someone could facilitate a face-to-face appointment with him for you?"

I glanced at my watch. "I only have three hours left. If, by some miracle, someone could arrange the meeting with him, I would do anything! I drove for two days straight when I saw the gossip column posted he was in Vegas. He normally has so much security it’s impossible to get close. I hoped I could catch him without the usual ten agents around him. So, I cashed in my vacation and headed across the country. All I need is five minutes of his time. I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name."

"You can call me Z." He paused and took a sip of his drink. "What do you want to talk to him about?"

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