Page 62 of Perfect Order
When we’re done,comes his lightning-fast reply. My phone clatters to the coffee table as I drop it. I shove my fingers through my hair and yank sharply. “What the hell were you trying to tell me, Lee?”
You were going to the spa. The Plaza has no record of you—or me—checking in. That was confirmed by the police.
You were found blocks away from Fifth Avenue. “Why? What or who could have lured you there?”
You had my ID on you. “I still don’t get it. If it was a regular mugging, they would have patted you down. Stolen your purse. But that was recovered. The cops wrote it off as you had a different bag. I call bullshit.”
Even as I recant the facts as I know them, my gaze lands on the shelf over her desk. On it is a framed picture of me and Lee at her graduation from Vanderbilt. Next to it is the one of mine taken just a week later from MIT. My gaze is dragged down to the mixing equipment plugged into her laptop. I haven’t disturbed any of it, thinking if something—anything—would have turned up by now through the Hudson investigation. But what about that odd “I” on the hit list in her journal? And since I know damn well Lee truly suspected what I really did for a living, she was certainly smart enough to find her way into the top-level parts of my world without detection. “Is it possible she left me a message there?”
Almost in a trance, I move over to her laptop and turn it on. After booting her computer with a terminal interface, I quickly bypass the operating system login, and my fingers begin to dance as scripts I’ve written to lead me into the dark pop into my mind like ancient chants. “Where would she have gone?”
Immediately, I think about two companies—Wildcard Records and LLF LLC. “Lee trusted both of them. But did she trust them enough to leave me a message there?”
I dive beneath the surface of the web to find out.
There’s no gray area about what I’m doing. The waters I’m diving into are completely black. And I don’t care. Let the government strip away the credentials so I can no longer augment what they begged for me to build for them, I think ruthlessly as I plunge deeper and deeper into the murky cesspool, searching for any byte from my Lee. Because if there’s a message from her, I’ll find it
While I’m there, I do my own quick search for all of the players in this game. I ignore every image file since I don’t have my team here to tell me if they’re safe and focus on the lines of data scrolling past my eyes as fast as my fingers can make them appear. My jaw becomes unhinged at some of the information I’m able to find—information I’m infuriated my bastard boss hasn’t shared. “I’m going to shoot him with his own gun after I’m done shooting him with mine.”
I get a text at that point.What did you think of?I ignore it, him, and keep digging.
I spend hours picking and poring over every bit of data I can find with a clear reference to Lee's and my real names, but I don’t find anything that sparks my interest. I also stay far away from the traps the agency set with my government handle. Another text I haven’t yet responded to warned me a number of these were floating around to see if there were any bites.If we get a nibble, we might have a lead, Q?za.
Still, I study the bait they selected carefully. And as a pattern emerges despite the lack of responses, it chills my blood.They’re using data from my missions.No, it’s more than that. I carefully study the timeline and realize the hints start as far back as when I first joined the team as an analyst.
Why? Why go that far back.
Without hesitation, I slip into the hole I built into the agency firewall long ago to reread my files.
What the hell are you doing?
Pretending ignorance, I take my time reading in reverse chronological order. I scan the mission files I submitted and the notes that were augmented as each case was completed. Then I go back to my time as an analyst. My persistent digging where the knowledge I unearthed was passed along for someone else to act upon.
And that’s where I find a link that sends me surging to my feet. “No. It can’t be.”
A message pops up on my screen.Speak, now. What did you find?
I ignore him. He’ll make me pay later, but I don’t give a fuck. “You should have told me, damnit,” I snarl. And before he can call me, I reach for my secure cell and pop out the battery. The personal cell I’m using begins ringing immediately. I ignore it because he’s had his time to calculate his moves. Now I need time to think about how they impact my life.
I take my time backing out of the database, using enough code to send someone subpoenaing an internet provider in Des Moines before they’d remember to hunt me in New York. As a precaution, I also scramble the IPs I borrowed through varying cable providers and reset Lee’s network. I’m shaken when I realize the implications of what I’ve found.
“I’m going to have to tell him everything. I can’t put him in danger.”
But how? How can I break the trust placed in me when I took my vows to uphold and protect the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, for the duration of my life?
I move away from the desk and drop onto the couch. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I stare out the door and think. Then jumping up, I grab my secure computer instead of Lee’s, which I left running with a bunch of defend and destroy scripts. Within moments, I have my answer and close my eyes in relief. I quickly close the hole I punched in the agency clearance database with a massive mental apology to confirm what I already suspected.
I still don’t know what he looks like, but I know I can trust him. And I know he has the same level of clearance I do. And Kane of all people can appreciate what it’s like to be responsible for someone’s death.
Fuck, it has to be my fault Lee was killed.
On that thought, I begin to sob harshly.
Pacing back and forth the next night, I’m antsy. I really want to get this joint rehearsal Carys insisted upon over with so I can connect with Kane, but Beckett’s an hour late. Finally, my patience snaps. “Ah, screw it.”
I stomp over to the piano and lift the lid. My fingers come crashing down in an introduction before my voice belts out Lady Gaga’s “Shallow.” As I belt out her soulful words, they pierce the thin shield I have around my heart: void, longing. Fear.
My head falls forward as tears clog my voice temporarily when I hit the refrain. My right hand begins slamming on the keys just before I toss my head back. I let loose with the frustration and anger of Lee being gone from the depths of my soul. Eyes closed, I finish the song, and my breathing is heavy in the quiet room.
