Page 79 of Off Her Game
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Tonight.
She stared at the one word text from Symphis, and had been for forty-five minutes. She’d somehow made it to NJ Legacy and Noah’s office before his meeting at the hotel ended. She’d managed to pretend to hack into his computer and not have a heart attack. If anyone who actually knew how to hack evaluated what she’d done, they’d realize she didn’t have a clue. She’d slipped the flash drive she’d picked up at the store around the corner into the side of his computer and read a few boring memos but copied nothing onto the drive.
Tori sipped coffee at the Jersey City Waffle House where she’d been for the past hour, thinking. And waiting. Not that it got her anywhere other than paranoid and hopped up on sugar. Too much apple butter and raisin toast.
Where was Quan? She texted him for the fifth time. He hadn’t replied to emails, either, and he usually responded within minutes. Maybe something happened to him.
She texted Noah:Game on. Tonight.
Noah didn’t respond. She wondered if he’d found out she’d hacked his computer. She couldn’t stand the thought of his disappointment. This was for him and his company. To find out answers and bring down Symphis. Hopefully, Noah would forgive her later.
Never had she felt this alone. She had to believe the plan would work.
When she handed the flash drive over, if the troops didn’t pour in, then Symphis’s next step remained a mystery. But this might end in her dead.
Her stomach rolled and lurched. She barely made it to the stinky bathroom before it emptied.
Information on the location of the Stadium popped up on her cell phone. The thirty-minute countdown to arrival time had begun.
She phoned Emma. “I’m going to the Stadium.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Don’t go. Come here.”
“I can’t. Don’t make decisions I wouldn’t,” Tori joked.
“Not funny.”
“Love you. Bye.” She hung up. Done. If her cell was being monitored, misdirection accomplished.
She flagged down a cab. Who cared about wasting the thirty bucks? There was a high chance she wouldn’t be around tomorrow to regret it.
Her phone dinged with a text from Quan:You got this.
She needed that.
Martin’s mother’s house was in a gang-ridden part of town. The cabbie asked her three times if she was sure this was where she wanted to get out. A cockeyed sign on the yard’s metal fence warned of a dog, but she didn’t see any evidence of one before she walked through the open gate and up the steps. At eleven thirty p.m., they wouldn’t be getting many house calls. The lights were on in the two-story.
She texted Quan:Going in.
Time to be gamer-bitch tough.She rang the doorbell and waited. No obvious cameras were mounted. That didn’t mean they weren’t there, but she didn’t equate Martin with the concept of subtle. The concrete porch smelled of new paint, but the old house needed some serious work. The stairs had a few large breaks in the concrete. A crack snaked along most of the porch.
With the money Martin raked in why wasn’t he using it on upgrades to the residence? Maybe he wasn’t the guy. She’d gambled everything to be here. If Martin wasn’t the guy, then showing up here would be so super bad. She couldn’t make it to the Stadium before it ended.
A short Latin lady in a ratty robe with graying black hair pulled into a tight bun answered but remained behind the screen door. “¿Quién eres?”Who are you?
“Soy un amigo de Martin. Tengo algo para él.”I’m a friend of Martin. I’ve got something for him.
The lady waved her hand for her to enter. “Sí. Sí. Entra.”
From downstairs she heard Martin yell, “¿Mamá, quién es?”Mamma, who is it?
The woman shook her head and muttered, “Regresaré a la cama. Él está abajo.”I’m going back to bed. He’s downstairs.
The smell of stale air mixed with some sort of garlic food assaulted her as she descended into the shadowy basement. The tech setup that came into view was jaw-dropping. She’d give her left leg to have one of the five computers that were running. The capacity of those machines was a zillion times more than her laptop. Six seventy-inch screens showed views of the Stadium.
Bingo.
