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Alina turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around herself. The heat from the water had soothed her sore shoulder, but she felt far from refreshed. Instead, she felt drained. With a sigh, she stood in front of the large vanity and rubbed the condensation off the mirror so that she could see herself.
Gone was her thick, shoulder-length dark hair, and in its place was a blonde pixie cut. Alina tilted her head and looked at herself critically. It wasn't bad. The cut could probably be cleaned up a bit by a professional, but all things considered, it didn't look terrible. The pale hair made her skin look darker and gave her an artsy, boho-esque appearance that was drastically different from her normal look.
And that, of course, was the point.
She dropped her eyes to the vanity counter and reached for the unopened box of bleach for her eyebrows. The hair was done, but now she had to do her eyebrows to match. A wave of irritation washed through her as she tore open the box and spilled two bottles and a brush onto the counter. She shouldn't have to be doing this. Yet, twice in as many days, hired guns had recognized and tried to kill her. Her anonymity was gone, blown along with her cover over a month ago, and this physical change was long overdue.
Her lips curved as she mixed the chemicals in a glass. Hawk wouldn't like the hair. He hadn't liked the red last year, and this was an even bigger change. Alina glanced up at her reflection and tilted her head, looking at the hair. It was unavoidable. She had to disappear in plain sight, and this was the best way to do that.
Her lips tightened as she dipped the brush into the mixture and began to carefully apply it to her dark eyebrows. In the morning, she would find another car to use temporarily. Better to not tempt fate by driving either of them until she knew where the threats were coming from. If she had an ounce of sense, Alina admitted, she would leave New Jersey altogether. It was clearly too dangerous now. Between Stephanie tracking her movements and assassins pursuing her through South Jersey, she'd just about had enough of her hometown.
Alina finished one eyebrow and moved to the other. It was past time for her to move on. She'd known it for a few weeks now. A feeling of restlessness had been growing for months, and she had debated leaving a few times. Now it seemed almost like fate had stepped in and made the decision for her.
When Alina had bought the house last year, she’d had some vague idea of trying to put down roots again. She hadn't had a set place to call home since the house in the South of France. She had been constantly moving from apartment to apartment, country to country, continuously working before her two-year sabbatical in South America. When Johann Topamari pulled her back into the game last year, Alina allowed herself to be persuaded by the promise of memories. Feeling a need to call somewhere home, she had given in and settled here.
Viper shook her head and dropped the used brush into the sink. She had known at the time that it had the potential to get complicated, and she had taken steps to mitigate the risk, bringing it down to a low and acceptable level. The past few months, however, had seen her getting progressively more restless. When she was here, her past kept intruding on her life, making her realize more and more that she didn't belong here. This was her past, and her past had no place in her present.
Alina studied herself in the mirror, trying to get used to the blonde stranger staring back at her. With some different clothes and a slight adjustment to her accent, she would be invisible to the people looking for Viper. She would stay invisible long enough to find Kasim, and then hunt down the bastard responsible for everything.
And once it was finished, Viper would disappear from New Jersey once and for all.
Stephanie glanced at her watch and approached the hostess stand. She gave her name to the smiling woman and took a pager from her. Angela was late, but that was not unexpected. Angela was always late.
Turning away, Stephanie made her way over to a long, cushioned bench along the wall inside the door. She sank down and leaned her cane against the seat. Pulling out her phone, she swiped the screen and checked her text messages. Sure enough, there was one from Angela. She was on her way.
Stephanie chuckled to herself and opened her email. It had been Angela's idea to meet for dinner, and Stephanie had agreed without hesitation. Blake was back in DC for a few days, leaving her apartment strangely empty. He had taken his dog, Buddy, and she missed both the man and the dog. She had gotten used to having them around over the past week and a half and had been grateful for the company as she continued to grieve for John, her partner and friend. When Angela suggested dinner out, Stephanie didn't have to think twice.
The door to the restaurant swung open and Angela Bolan swept in, a designer bag slung over her shoulder. Stephanie smiled and tucked her phone away again.
“Sorry I'm late!” Angela exclaimed, coming over in a haze of perfume. “I got caught up on a call with one of my counterparts in Florida.”
“No problem. I just got here. We have a wait,” Stephanie said, moving her purse so Angela could sit next to her.
“How long?”
“Only ten minutes.”
“That's not bad.” Angela settled her bag on her lap and looked at the cane propped next to her friend. “How's the leg?”
“Still healing. It's hard to put weight on it yet.”
Angela grimaced sympathetically.
“Are you still on part-time desk duty?” she asked, flipping her honey-colored hair out of her eyes.
“Yep. Rob wanted me to work from home exclusively, but I can't. I'd go insane.”
“Really?” Angela glanced at her. “I love working from home. It's quiet and there are no distractions.”
“I'm my own distraction right now,” said Stephanie. “If I'm alone too long, I start thinking about John, and then it's all downhill from there.”
Angela put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.
“I wish I could make it better for you. It'll get better with time.”
“That's what I'm afraid of,” Stephanie admitted. “I feel like the pain will fade and then I'll forget him completely. There's no one here to help remember him.”
“What about Lina?”
Stephanie's lips twisted sadly.
“I haven't seen much of her, and when I do see her, she doesn't talk about it.”
Angela frowned.
“I haven't seen her since I left her house last week,” she said slowly. “In fact, I haven't heard from her at all. What's going on with her?”
Stephanie shrugged.
“Your guess is as good as mine. She's doing her own thing. I thought she was away working, but I went over last night and she was there. She didn't mention being away.”
“Was Mr. Hunk O' Mysterious there?” Angela asked, wiggling her eyebrows up and down. “Maybe that's why we haven't heard from her.”
“No.”
She frowned. “Oh.”
“But Michael was,” Stephanie said. “I didn't know he was back in Jersey. Did you?”
Angela's face flushed.
“Why would I?” she asked a little too quickly. “I barely know the man.”
Stephanie raised her eyebrows and looked at her, amused.
“Just asking. No need to get your panties all in a bunch.” The pager began vibrating, flashing red lights and she reached for her cane. “Our table's ready.”
Angela stood up and watched as Stephanie prepared to pull herself up with the help of the cane.
“Need a hand?”
Stephanie glared at her. “No.”
Angela grinned.
“Suit yourself, gimpy,” she said, taking the pager from her and turning to walk over to the hostess booth.
Stephanie made a face at her back and pulled herself up with a sigh. She hated being like this. She just wanted to be herself again. Leaning on the cane, she hobbled after Angela.
“This way,” said the hostess, picking up two menus and turning to lead them through the restaurant to a booth next to a window.
“Thank you,” Stephanie said, sliding into the booth.
“Enjoy your dinner!”
The hostess left and Angela slid into the booth across from her.
“What was he doing there?” she asked.
Stephanie blinked. “Who?”
“Michael!”
“Oh! You know, I don't think they said.” She frowned. “In fact, Lina was acting weird the whole time I was there.”
Angela glanced up from her perusal of the menu. “What do you mean?”
Stephanie shrugged.
“I don't know. She just seemed irritated about something. Remember how she used to get in high school when John pissed her off? How she used to treat him?”
“Like he was an insignificant child?” Angela nodded. “Yes.”
“It was like that.”
Angela looked at her.
“Have you pissed her off?” she asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“Hm.” She turned her attention back to her menu. “Maybe she was simply having a bad day. We all have them.”
“Maybe,” Stephanie murmured, opening her own menu. “What are you getting?”
“No idea yet.”
They fell silent as they studied their options, and Stephanie's mind wandered back to Alina's behavior the night before. Angela was right. She could have been having a bad day, but somehow Stephanie didn't think that was it. She'd caught Alina watching her once or twice with an unfathomable look in her eyes, one that sent chills of warning through her.
“I think I'm getting the chicken marsala,” Angela finally decided a few minutes later, snapping her menu shut. “You?”
“Oh, I don't know.” Stephanie sighed and closed the menu. “I guess I'll have the chicken alfredo.”
“You always get chicken alfredo when we come here.”
“I know. I'm too tired to decide on something else, though.”
Angela tilted her head and studied her over the table.
“You look tired. Are you sleeping?”
“Not really.”
“That's no good. Do you want some sleeping pills? I've got plenty.”
Stephanie shook her head, laughing despite herself.
“No thanks, and before you say it, I don't want your Ativan either.”
Angela laughed.
“You make me sound like a pharmacy,” she said cheerfully. “I'm just prepared.”
“Thank you, but I'll be fine.”
The waiter appeared to take their orders and, when he left, Stephanie looked across at Angela.
“So how have you been? Are you settling back into your house ok?”
Angela nodded.
“The first couple nights were rough. I kept hearing things, and when Arabella went out of the bedroom, I'd freak out. But it's better now.”
“I imagine it will take time to feel comfortable again,” Stephanie said slowly. “A man broke into your house and came into your bedroom. That's traumatizing, no matter how you look at it.”
“That's what my therapist said. She says it will take time to get over it. When I'm home, I keep busy so I don't think about it too much.”
“That's probably the best thing.”
“I just hope the bastard gets life behind bars,” Angela said as the waiter returned with their drinks.
Stephanie was silent while the waiter set her Diet Coke in front of her. She smiled in thanks, and the waiter set down Angela's soda and left.
“Well, that's not going to happen,” she said, sipping her drink.
Angela gaped at her.
“What do you mean? He killed four women! He’d better get something more than a slap on the wrist!”
“Oh, he did. He got dead.”
Angela's mouth dropped open.
“What?!” she exclaimed. “What happened?”
“Someone killed him yesterday. His throat was cut.”
“But, I thought he was in FBI custody!”
Stephanie nodded grimly. “He was.”
Angela sat back, stunned.
“Well hell, that's a new one. Who did it?”
“We're working on it.”
Angela was silent for a moment, then she reached for her drink.
“Well, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy,” she said cheerfully. “It's messed up though, that it happened under your watch.”
“Technically, it wasn't my watch. It was someone else's. But yeah, it's a huge mess.”
“Well, I guess now you can't ask him what I wanted you to ask him,” Angela said. “That's a bummer.”
Stephanie raised her eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”
“I was going to have you ask him something for me,” Angela said with a shrug. “It's just that I found out something happened, and I was wondering if he had something to do with it.”
“What? What happened?” Stephanie eyed her apprehensively. “For God's sake, Angie, please don't tell me something else happened to you!”
“Not to me, no.” Angela slid her eyes away from Stephanie. “At least, not to me directly. Well, not physically.”
“Oh, will you just spit it out?” Stephanie exclaimed with a laugh. “Did it happen to you or no?”
“Sort of.” Angela held up her hands before Stephanie could open her mouth. “It's awkward. Remember how I used to keep a journal through school?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I never stopped. I find it helpful, and it relaxes me to get all my thoughts and emotions out into a format that I can go back and read later. It helps me process things.”
“Good for you. I never could get into the habit of keeping one. I never knew what to write in it. They say they're very good for mental health and self-care.”
Angela nodded. “Well, a couple years ago, I upgraded.”
“What did you do? Buy a designer one? Does Louis Vuitton make journals now?”
She pulled a face. “No, smart ass. I upgraded as in I went online.”
Stephanie’s mouth fell open.
“You keep your journal online?” she repeated incredulously. “Are you insane?”
“What? It's so much more efficient. I can access it from all my devices and it never runs out of space. It's perfect.” Angela tossed her hair and sipped her soda. “And the site I use is super secure. It has military grade encryption and two different levels of verification.”
“You're crazy,” Stephanie informed her. “That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. What happens if the site crashes?”
“I back it up once a month, so I'm not worried about losing anything. I've been happy with it, and it really saves me so much time. So last year I started scanning in all my old journals so I could get rid of the books. You wouldn't believe how much space they take up!”
Stephanie stared across the table at her friend and wondered how they'd ended up on this topic. She was really learning much more than she needed to know about Angela and her diaries.
“I assume this is all going somewhere?” she asked with a grin to soften the words. To her surprise, Angela's face started to crumple. “Angie, what is it? I was just joking! I wasn't trying to be mean.”
Angela shook her head.
“No, I know. I'm just upset. It took months to scan them in, and I still have a couple left to do. I was so happy to have them all in one place.” Angela took a deep breath. “Then I got an email that my account had been compromised.”
“Compromised? Compromised how?”
“Hacked.”
Stephanie choked.
“Someone hacked your online journal? I told you it was a recipe for disaster!” she exclaimed. “I thought you said they had military grade security!”
“They do!” Angela shrugged. “But I guess they still get hacked.”
“So now what?”
“I had to change all my passwords for everything, and I have to keep an eye on my credit and bank accounts in case the hackers were able to get any of that information,” she said. “It's a huge pain in the ass, to be honest. But then the other day, I suddenly thought, what if it was Trent? I mean, he was stalking me. Who's to say he didn't hack my journal?”
Stephanie stared at her.
“Why would Trent hack your online journal?” she demanded. “How would he even know about it?”
“How did he know anything?” Angela retorted. “I just thought it's a coincidence that at the same time I'm being stalked by a serial killer, someone hacks into my journal.”
Stephanie frowned.
“It is weird,” she admitted. “Was the site security able to give an exact time it was hacked?”
Angela shook her head.
“No. They said it was part of a data breach that spanned over three months.”
“Well, you didn't know Trent three months ago,” Stephanie pointed out, “so it seems unlikely it was him.”
“That's true. I hadn't thought of that.”
“So it could have happened anytime over the past three months?”
Angela nodded.
“Yep.” She sat back in her seat. “That sucks. I'd almost convinced myself it was Trent. If it wasn't him, who was it?”
“Probably some Russian in Siberia,” said Stephanie, looking up as the waiter approached with their meals. “Data breaches are used to mine information like names, passwords and social security numbers. No one is reading your deepest, darkest secrets.”
“I don't know which is worse,” Angela muttered.
Stephanie looked at her sympathetically as the waiter set out their dinner.
“All you can do is alert the credit bureaus and keep an eye on everything. You've already changed all your passwords. There's not much else you can do. Just hope some wack job doesn't show up in Timbuktu with your identity, charging millions to porn sites.”
Angela made a face. “Thanks for that vote of confidence, Steph.”
She grinned. “Hey, just stating facts.”
The waiter made sure they didn't need anything else and left.
“Who spends millions on porn, anyway?” Angela picked up her fork and prepared to dig into her meal.
“Wack jobs from Timbuktu.”