Chapter Two

Geekronym: IDPS

Translation: Intrusion detection and prevention systems

Definition: A software application and/or device that monitors and logs possible malicious network incidents and policy violations.

“You know, Dan, you’re different since you got back.”

Daniel Shawn cocked an eyebrow at his friend Philip as the waiter set a basket of warm pita bread on their table. “I hope so. Twenty-eight is different than eighteen.”

“I don’t mean age, dude. Your cool was legend back in the day, but now…” Philip shrugged. “It’s like you checked your charm at the airport and they lost the bag.”

“Nice one, Phil.” He snagged a triangle of pita and loaded it with hummus from the mezze platter. “Maybe you should be the reporter instead of me.”

“You know”—Philip leaned forward, both hands clasped around the base of his Dos Equis bottle—“I couldn’t figure why Daniel the Destroyer would land back in Portland, seeing as you couldn’t wait to split after graduation.”

“Nobody’s called me ‘Destroyer’ since high school.”

Philip snorted. “Maybe not to your face. Bet your victims call you a lot worse. Hey.” His eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re undercover. On the trail of another internet scam.”

“Been at the Tom Clancy books again?”

“Don’t bullshit me. Why else would a hotshot like you bury yourself at a third-rate online rag like Hard Tech Weekly? It’s not like Huffington Post and the NYT gave you a pass.” Daniel’s jaw clenched in a frozen grin and Philip’s eyes widened. Then he winced and took a slug of his beer. “Fuck. Guess they did. I didn’t mean…wow. Sorry.”

Yeah, total kick in the balls, that one. HTW, with its stodgy, conservative reputation, was the only publication that would touch him. But they’d had conditions. He’d had to swear on The Chicago Manual of Style that he wouldn’t write anything with even a whiff of controversy.

Sure, it meant a paycheck, which after nearly a year of attempting to live down his spectacular career crash-and-burn, was welcome—bordering on essential.

But, Christ, it was boring.

“Don’t sweat it, Phil. It’s all good.”

“Really? Didn’t mean to stick my foot in it. Jesus. What a moron,” Philip muttered, still pink around the ears, and tucked into the baba ghannouj.

“Not a problem.”

Because he’d been the moron. Stupid enough to believe his own hype. Hell, he was Daniel-fucking-Shawn, the man who could spot online fraud within two clicks of a mouse. Turns out, when faced with a gorgeous woman armed with the right lies, he was just as stupid as any other guy who wanted to believe in true love.

So yeah. Lesson learned.

The sun dipped below the edge of their table’s umbrella, shining full in Daniel’s eyes. A woman stopped next to Philip and spoke out of the glare.

“Philip, hi. What a surprise. It’s so nice to see you.”

Daniel leaned sideways until Philip’s shadow allowed him to see her shiny blond hair, the same color as his ex’s. His shoulders tensed, but he ordered himself to stand down. Just because she’s blond doesn’t mean she’s an evil minion.

But he couldn’t help it. He still mistrusted any woman who approached out of the blue. Coincidental meetings were implausible. Random chat was suspect. Yeah, his moratorium on small talk made him a huge hit at bars and cocktail parties.

Not that he’d been to a party for over a year. Not since the one that was supposed to be his triumph—the one where he planned to announce that he’d taken down Franklin Argonne’s bogus matchmaking racket and recovered all the losses his targets had suffered. Instead, he’d had his ass handed to him, personally and professionally, by the woman who was supposed to be his girlfriend.

Although his life had crumbled around him, he’d been more ashamed of being fooled than he was heartbroken. Maybe he was incapable of feeling anything more than that. Maybe his legendary cool had finally frozen his heart, locking every emotion except anger in a cage of ice.

Philip scooted his chair back in a screech of metal against concrete and stood up, knocking the table with his thigh. “Hey. How you doing? Lin, this is Daniel Shawn. Old friend from high school. Dan, Lindsay Henning, our administrative assistant.”

Lindsay hesitated, a crease folding between her eyebrows, before she held out her hand. Daniel stood and took it. She didn’t back away from his single firm shake, but that worry wrinkle didn’t disappear.

No doubt about it. She recognized his name and it alarmed her. Now why would that be?

“What are you doing downtown tonight, Lin? Want to join us for dinner?” Philip slid the third chair out in invitation. “Dan’s just back in town, and he could use a new friend or two. I don’t think anyone he used to know still speaks to him except me.”

She colored, dropping her gaze to her folded hands. “One of our friends got married this afternoon. My roommate and I were just leaving the reception.” She nodded toward the corner behind Daniel’s shoulder.

He turned, but he didn’t see anyone who matched Lindsay’s style. Only a few strolling couples and one woman in a shapeless navy dress who scurried down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. She held a giant purse up to her shoulder, masking her profile, but not her cap of auburn curls.

Daniel frowned, déjà vu raising goose bumps on his skin. That hair. He took a half step forward, something urging him to follow.

“Dan? Something wrong?”

“It’s…” He rubbed his chest, easing a sudden hollowness. He almost had it, almost remembered. Almost. But he couldn’t grab it, and it was gone along with the woman who vanished around the corner.

…

Charlie sagged against the wall of a brewpub, her breath still galloping in her chest.

Lord. Daniel Shawn, her erstwhile best friend from grade school. Ever since he’d hit puberty two years and a grade ahead of her, every one of their encounters had been a total disaster. Why him? Why here? Why now, for heaven’s sake? Wasn’t the AGS issue enough of a nightmare?

“Charles.” Gideon marched down the sidewalk toward her. “You might have told me you were leaving. Chasing you down the street is—”

“Gideon.” She cleared her throat, hugging her squishy shoulder bag to her chest. “It’s Daniel.”

“Daniel?” He blinked, his brown eyes magnified by his hipster vanity glasses. “Dickhead Daniel? Here?”

She nodded. “Outside Alameria. With the Stage Two from Lindsay’s office.”

“Oh my God. I must and shall see the creature who looms so large in the Charlie Forrester mythos.” He turned, but she grabbed his arm.

“Stop. He’ll notice you.”

“So what? He doesn’t know me from Zeigfried and Roy. Please?” Gideon gave her his patented pleading-puppy look. “I’ll be discreet. Observe.” He sidled along the wall with exaggerated care.

“Why even ask?” she grumbled. “You’ll do exactly what you want anyway.”

“Yes, but it’s so much better when you participate in your own downfall.” He peeked around the corner. “Okay. I see Lin…” He sucked in an audible breath. “Holy Mary, mother of pearl.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Charles, do you mean to tell me your Dickhead Daniel is Daniel Shawn, the Angel of Digital Death?”

“He’s not my Daniel. Not anymore.”

Not since her first day of middle school when she’d been so stupidly glad to see him after a year at different schools that she’d shrieked “Danny!” and bounded down the corridor, her giant geekoid backpack overbalancing her and clanging against the lockers. She must have looked like some grotesque alien life-form, her hair growing out in uneven orange tufts and braces distorting her too-large mouth.

Daniel, already on his way to handsome even at thirteen, turned away from her and sauntered off with his snickering cool-guy cronies, leaving her gawping in the hallway, buffeted by the crowd of smirking students on their way to class.

He’d been her best friend. Her staunch champion against grade school bullies and her indifferent father. She’d believed that could never change.

She’d been wrong.

She scuffed her shoes against the sidewalk. “I doubt he ever was.”

“God, Charles.” Still peering around the corner, Gideon bounced on his toes. “The man was the rock star of tech watchdog journalism until he got flattened in that epic Argonne rip-off. There must be dozens of websites devoted to following his rise and fall.”

“Four.”

“What?”

“There are only four sites that track him.”

He stopped bouncing and turned to face her. “And you would know this…how?”

“My GPPS,” she mumbled.

“Say what?”

“Global Prick Positioning System.” She enunciated each syllable through bared teeth.

“Interesting.” Gideon tilted his chin and studied her through the platinum tips of his dark bangs. “Exactly how many pricks do you position? I won’t ask how or where you position them, because that’s TMI, even for me.”

She pretended to be interested in the sandwich board advertising the brewpub’s specials, avoiding his shrewd gaze. “It’s a very focused application.”

“Charles.”

She sighed. Someday she’d be able to fool Gideon, probably the same day cold fusion reactors were available over the counter at Walmart. “Just one. Happy now?”

“Not yet. What’s he doing in Portland anyway? Doesn’t he have muck to rake in Silicon Valley or Redmond or Tierra del Fuego?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, you are the one with the GPPS.”

“Don’t start. He couldn’t have shown up at a worse time.” The last thing she needed right now was to become a blip on Daniel Shawn’s career-destroying radar, a real possibility if he found out about the genesis of her algorithm.

“You’re overreacting, as usual. There are gazillions of dickheads in the Portland metro area. I know. I’ve dated at least half of them. Surely you can avoid one lone gunman.”

She fell back against the wall, her bag dangling by her feet. “With my luck, he’ll probably show up on our doorstep, accompanied by the Channel Eight news van.”

“So what? Just because he was a dickhead in high school doesn’t mean he still is. Look at me. Even I, as fabulously as I turned out, had my douchebag teenage moments.”

“But now it’s his job to be a dickhead.” She took a breath, but it lodged in her chest. “Can you just accept that I don’t want his attention focused on me? I’ve got bigger problems. Look.” She thrust her cell phone at him.

“The AGS gig? But you’ve been waiting for that for eons. What’s the…oh shit. No Audrey. You’ll have to deal with dear Shanna, the Wicked Witch of IT Staffing West.”

She nodded miserably. “Not exactly my biggest fan.”

“Cheer up, Charles.” He patted her shoulder. “Maybe all your drama is for nothing. Audrey no doubt has your back despite wedding hysteria, and Daniel’s probably passing through on his way to greener dickhead pastures.”

Lindsay hurried around the corner. “There you both are.” She clasped Charlie’s wrist. “You’ll never believe it. Did you know that Daniel Shawn is in town?”

“Yes, darling.” Gideon tucked Lindsay’s other hand into the crook of his elbow. “We’d heard something of the sort.”

“He’s working for Hard Tech Weekly.”

Oh lord. Dickhead Daniel, back in town and looking for his next juicy IT scandal? It didn’t matter that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. He’d been rabid about Franklin Argonne, and if he found out her field study was based on proving the viability of Argonne’s theories? She had no illusion he’d go easy on her because they’d once been friends. And with AGS’s zero-tolerance policy on staff notoriety, he could kill her lifelong dream with a single blog post.

She pushed her damp curls off her forehead and hitched her bag on her shoulder, ready to do battle with something she understood—technology. Time to push her online profile even lower than it already was. “I’m shutting down the field study.”

Gideon tut-tutted. “Beware, Charles. You may get some pushback from your user group. All those women who haven’t yet found Mr. Right or Mr. Will Do Quite Nicely for Now may object to going cold turkey.”

“The user group will just have to deal.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “As of this moment, Studies in Predictive Mating Behaviors Predicated on Social Media and Online Interaction is officially offline.”