Cyber Genius (15 page)

I nodded slowly, as if pondering the possibility.

Maggie hastily jumped in. “Don’t be foolish, Michael. You
need a chair. If we move, your new school will require multiple classrooms, and
it will be easier for you with an electric chair.”

The boy looked mutinous. I glanced at Tudor, who crossed his
fingers in our family warning signal to be wary. Right. I’d get on that—as soon
as I figured out how.

“You have to understand...” I said slowly, groping for what
was at stake here. “Some families... might not use cash in a manner conducive
to our purposes.”

“She means people gave money to their fund for wheelchairs,
not drugs or groceries,” Maggie bluntly told her son. “We’ll look at the
catalog and see what they can get us at the best price.”

“That would be your best choice,” I agreed apologetically.
“I know moving is expensive. What if we find someone to help with that? How
soon are you moving?”

“Not fast enough,” the kid said gloomily, wheeling off and
disappearing into the back of the house.

“I apologize for my son,” Maggie said, wearing a taut
expression. “We’ve been through some tough times lately. I’m hoping he’ll come
out of it. I have a deposit on a nice place for the first of the year. The
chair would make a great Christmas present.”

Tudor sat silently while we discussed dates to meet again. I
liked Maggie. I was pretty certain she was in a nervous frenzy because her
conscience was eating at her, but I couldn’t come right out and ask. She had to
trust me first, and she didn’t—rightfully so. How much time and patience did I
have to spare before the feds caught Tudor or the cops came after Graham?

And if time and patience were all I had to offer, I was in
need of a better modus operandi than befriending witnesses. I’d forwarded
several offers of job interviews to Euan, but she had yet to come forward with
additional information. Fine detective I made.

We offered our farewells and departed, Tudor practically
leaving me in the dust as he rushed to escape on his long legs.

“Your movie runs all night,” I said dryly, catching up with
him.

“He thinks his mother got paid to murder someone,” Tudor
spat out. “You were sitting there, drinking tea, with someone who may have
poisoned Stiles.”

I affectionately punched his shoulder. He winced. Oops. We
needed to introduce him to Graham’s third floor gym.

“I appreciate your concern, but I watched her make the tea
and drink it before I touched it—an unnecessary precaution in this case, but
it’s always good to stay in practice. What makes Michael think his mother
murdered someone?”

“She apparently came into some money, but that’s all I
know.” He hunched his shoulders and glared sideways. “What happens if we don’t
deliver the goods?”

“We’ll deliver. That part is easy. The hard part is
establishing trust. That’s the point you and Graham don’t get. You want
information to be inside machines, but machines have limits. It’s face-to-face
talk, watching body language, developing a connection, that makes the
difference.”

“Right, like you get out so much,” he grumbled.

“I used to. I fell out of practice for a while, but I’m
trying to get back in the swing again.”
Now
that I wasn’t hiding from Magda
was my unspoken rationale. “Computers are
easier than dealing with people, granted, but they don’t have all the answers.”

But we’d learned Maggie had come into unexpected money—at
least enough to make a deposit on a better home. That could potentially be
traced. So we hadn’t totally wasted our time.

“Let’s make a stop before we hit the Metro,” I suggested. I
hadn’t planned this, but I knew how to do impromptu. I steered him toward the
precinct station and the cops I’d helped to bring down a local mob king. In my
books, that meant they owed me.

I didn’t recognize the sergeant at the desk, but I asked for
Detective Azzini or Sergeant Jones. Tudor hung back. I doubted that he’d ever
been inside a police station, but he was looking a little green. Guilt does
that—another reason I was here. He needed a hard dose of reality.

Warning the sergeant that I had no useful news, just charity
in mind, we talked schools while we waited. I had his name and number and
ordered wrapping paper from his kids’ school fundraiser by the time Azzini
arrived.

The good detective looked harassed in a hunky TV detective
sort of way, with his clipped tight black curls and beard shadowing his dark
skin. He led me back to his cubicle. “No hot leads today?”

Azzini knew my real name, but he had no reason to connect me
to Graham or anyone else. I introduced Tudor as Paul Pasko, who looked teenage
awkward as he shook the cop’s hand.

“I’m working on a big one, but there isn’t anything you can
do yet. I thought I’d ask you and your guys about a holiday feel-good case
instead.” I told him about Maggie and her kid and an anonymous donor wanting to
help out. I knew the good detective would look her up the minute I left, but
that would have happened anyway. This way, she was a person to him, not a perp.

“And you want us to find someone to deliver the chair and
maybe help her move out of this slum? We’ve got a community group that can
probably do that.” He studied me through narrowed eyes. It was a sexy look on
him, but I wasn’t buying it. “You gonna tell me why?” he demanded.

“Call it a hunch. She doesn’t trust cops. She’s all alone.
And I think she’s an innocent caught up in some deep shit. We don’t want her
disappearing into the night.”
In more
ways than one
—I hadn’t forgotten Kita.

Kita had come into a job and expensive immigration papers
recently.
Follow the money
kept
ticking in the back of my head.

The detective rubbed his tired eyes but nodded. “You know
this won’t stop us from arresting her if we need to, right?”

“As long as you’re aware that I believe she’s innocent until
proven guilty and will act accordingly, we’re good,” I said cheerfully.

“I don’t make promises. You’re not really a lawyer, are
you?” he grumbled, standing up to lead us out.

“Half the professors would have quit if she’d gone to
school,” Tudor said grumpily. “You won’t believe what she can do to a law
book.”

I smiled proudly that he thought this of me.

“Knows how to keep you in line, does she?” the good
detective asked sympathetically. “Maybe she ought to teach classes to
delinquents.”

I laughed. Tudor didn’t.

I wanted my brother working on
this
side of the law, if possible. Magda had her agenda; I had
mine.

We made our way back to the Metro. I texted Graham to ask if
it was safe to return. He ignored me. I assumed that was a no, so we went to
Georgetown. I even endured the really bad 3D monster flick with Tudor, in
appreciation for his accompaniment.

I was a little less enthusiastic about dinner at a burger
joint, but I was still waiting for an all clear from Graham. Stupid me. He’d
probably changed the locks while we were out.

After the burger joint, I scowled at my watch and made an
executive decision to return home. Tudor was leery but none of his cell phone
tactics landed him any more info than I had. We couldn’t wander out in the cold
all night.

It was after eight and dark as we took the back street by
the carriage house. Worried about Graham’s claim that the feds would place
spies in the bushes, I sent Tudor in first, while I watched. I didn’t want to
tackle a fed, but I knew how.

Half the street lamps were out on this back street, but I
noticed no movement, no camera lights or glints of binoculars following Tudor
as he slipped into the carriage house.

Tudor texted me when he was safely inside the cellar. I
ambled across the street and slipped into the darkness beside the carriage
house like any homeless bum looking for a safe nest for the night.

No men stepped out of the shadows to interrogate me. I used
the key code to enter the side door.

Graham was there. I couldn’t see him in the complete
darkness, but his presence was strong. Maybe it was his elusive musk or my
nerves making me antsy. Either way, I wasn’t going anywhere until I’d had a
word or two with my overlord.

I produced my flashlight and signaled my location. “I know
you’re here,” I said aloud.

He came up from behind, grabbed my waist, hauled me back
against his hard chest, and kissed my ear. I should have had a heart attack,
but I didn’t even scream. I elbowed him. He just chuckled.

He smelled of subtle cedar and rosewood, and I was trying
hard not to swoon. He had to lift me off the ground to kiss my ear.

Since I’d given up one-night stands, I’d been without sex way
too long. So maybe that influenced my thinking—what little of that was
happening right now. But Graham was everything I wanted in a man—physically.
He’d been haunting my dreams since we’d first met. My heart pounded harder in
foolish anticipation now that he had his hands inches from my breasts.

“Mallard has temporarily convinced the feds that you and
Tudor are touring MIT. You’re now officially confined to quarters.” He nibbled
my ear then brushed hot kisses along my cheek. “Want to do something about it?”

I was in serious danger of melting and grateful for my heavy
army coat keeping his hands off vital parts. I’d done promiscuity in the past.
I was getting too old for that stupidity, but I didn’t know how to do
relationships. I was pretty sure this wasn’t a good start, no matter how much I
wanted it.

“No way,” I warned, to both his suggestion and innuendo.
“Hiding is a form of retreat, and I’m no longer there. Hiding is what
you
do. I did it all day for you and
Tudor. I won’t anymore.”

There had been a time when I had hid, and he knew it. But I
was learning how unhealthy that was.

Graham growled and dropped me like a hot potato. “You don’t
know the danger you’re in.”

I missed the strength of his arms and mentally called myself
a dozen names. I could have laid down my ultimatum
after
we’d done a horizontal tango. Why did I have to develop
scruples now?

“Living is dangerous,” I said scornfully, hurting from his
abrupt rejection. I didn’t like being left cold after he’d got me hot. But I
didn’t kick him like he deserved. I was unfortunately starting to understand
the depths of his paranoia. “We all have to decide what risks to take for the
rewards we want to achieve. You make your call, I make mine.”

I stalked away, leaving him to pout or whatever men did when
women wouldn’t listen to them.

How Ana spends Sunday night

“What kept you?” Tudor asked in irritation once I slipped
into the coal cellar.

My little brother had been worried about me. That was kind
of sweet. Little did he know . . . . Sighing, I slapped his
back and pushed him onward. “I was reconnoitering. I don’t see any spies, but
you’d better lay real low for a while. Go upstairs, let EG in when she arrives,
and send her to bed. It’s a school night. Then get some sleep and let that gray
matter process a brilliant solution to all our problems.”

He gave a teenage snarl at the babysitting duty and ran up
the stairs. That was okay. He was old enough to shoulder a few family
responsibilities.

I entered my office and opened my computer to check on new
files. Graham had been haunting the carriage house for more reasons than me. I
expected to find answers in his latest documents.

He’d thoughtfully gone in and tagged my incoming mail in
levels of importance. Really, I needed to strangle the control freak, but I
admired his efficiency—and his intelligence—too much.

Graham had highlighted three attachments in red for
important
. The first was a police file
on the contents of Kita’s laptop and phone. In the stolen document—assuming he
was hacking police files and a mole wasn’t handing them to him—Graham had bolded
Kita’s correspondence and calls to Tray Fontaine at MacroWare’s HQ. They looked
legit to me. The guy would have been thrilled with his mentor for finding him
this new job.

A welcome-to-your-new-job email from hotel management asked
Kita to stop by the office and had been highlighted in a bright magenta. Funny,
ha ha, Graham. Rainbow colors denoted what? But I noted the name of the
manager—one Brian Livingston—and figured on running a little research on the
boss. Someone had invested in immigration papers to obtain Kita’s position as
fish chef.

Livingston’s phone number showed up on Kita’s contact list
after the date of the meeting. How often did luxury hotel managers call their
chefs? Or vice versa?

Kita’s laptop records also turned up the place where he’d
purchased the puffer fish and the research he’d done to remind himself of the
intricate steps necessary to remove the poisonous organs.

I needed to investigate how to put the poison back in. If
Haitian voodoo priests could create zombies with dry puffer fish guts, I assumed
some other knucklehead would have figured out a drying process or worse.

My imagination conjured an image of billionaire CEOs in
Italian suits rising up like zombies from the podium and shoving botulism-laced
salsa down each other’s throats... But puffer fish actually
paralyzed
the nerves, and I had no proof
that the salsa was bad.

The next highlighted file was a police dossier on Thomas
Alexander, the alias Graham had used to book a hotel room. Apparently MacroWare
had been paying a computer security firm owned by one Thomas Alexander.

According to the dossier, the
real
Thomas Alexander, the original owner of the security firm, had
died in the Pentagon fire in 9/11.

So had Graham’s wife, but that wasn’t in this report. If the
police had the ability to put two and two together, however, they might see the
connection, flimsy as it was.