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Hare’s idea of getting Reagan someplace safe was to hop on a private jet waiting for them at the municipal airport.
She sat in the back seat of the car and eyed the small plane with suspicion. “I’m not going to the Dominican Republic.” She kept her tone light, but she was prepared to put her foot down if that was his actual plan.
He helped her from the car and pointed her toward the stairs leading up. “Seattle. That’s where my condo is.”
“Oh.” She didn’t trust him, but if he intended to hurt her, he was going to a lot of effort. Though maybe that was part of the game. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Hare’s shoulders slumped. “You’re not happy here, because you’re too close to the danger. You don’t want to be left alone. You don’t want to be cooped up in a motel room. And now you’re hesitating to get out of town. What do you think the right answer is?”
“Seattle sounds great.” It didn’t, but he had a point about her options.
The trip was the most calming thing she’d done all week. In the air, she didn’t have to worry about who wanted to talk to her, who was watching her room, or if she needed to be looking over her shoulder for a gunman. Hare told her to get some sleep, and for the first time in days, it felt all right to do so.
It wasn’t that she trusted him any more than before, but there were fewer variables here, and if harm was his intent, she didn’t think he’d get his kicks offing her in her sleep, after all the trouble he’d gone through.
She closed her eyes and let sleep overtake her.
It felt like only a few seconds later someone was shaking her awake. “Reagan.” Hare’s voice was soft. “We’re landing.”
She struggled to climb back to consciousness.
“Are you all right?” He studied her with concern.
“Tired. Did you slip me something?”
His smile was thin. “That’s not the kindest assumption. You’d have needed to take a drink from me, for that to happen. I’m guessing you’re tired.”
“Yeah. That makes sense.” She half-stumbled to the private runway and into the waiting car. She tried to stay awake on the drive, to take in the new city. It was too dark to enjoy, and she dozed in and out on their journey.
“Come on, sleepy.” Hare wrapped an arm around her waist, and she leaned into him on the elevator ride up.
Bleary eyes kept her from appreciating the apartment, and when he pointed her toward a bed, she collapsed on top without even taking off her shoes.
She woke up the next morning to sun streaming over her face through slats in the blinds. She should feel bad about letting her guard down all night, but she needed to recover sometime. Fortunately, her instincts had served her.
A note sat on the nightstand. She grabbed it.
I had to work. Make yourself at home. You’ve got free reign of the place. I’ll see you in a few hours. Hare.
A quick glance around the condo showed his taste—or his decorator’s—was simple but expensive. A lot of black, white, and polished steel. The only art on the walls consisted of generic shapes in bright colors. She was tempted to slide into the freestanding tub in the guest bathroom and soak for an hour. After she finished her self-guided tour.
She hesitated at a door that was slightly ajar, then nudged it open. It had to be his bedroom. It felt like an invasion, stepping into someone else’s private space.
He said free reign.
She’d take a peek, then go shower.
The room was as devoid of personal touches as the rest of the house, except for the faint scent of his cologne lingering in spots. She paused in front of his dresser, and a tiny sob rose in her throat. He had two framed pictures on top. One of him with an older woman—his mother, maybe—and the second of him with Alex.
She reached for the black frame, then pulled her hand back. Shaking her head, she forced herself to turn away, rather than fall into a spiral of memories.
As she spun, her gaze fell on a desk at the far side of the room. An open laptop decorated it. When Hare said make yourself at home, did it include this?
She didn’t care. If there were answers on there about him, she wanted them. If not, she could spend some time digging through forums and keep an ear out for him.
Her pulse throbbed in her ears as she sat in the chair. She hovered her fingers over the keys. Guess his password and risk getting locked out? No. She needed an alternative way in. If she could get to a command prompt, she could look at files, but that would do her no good if he encrypted his data. And why wouldn’t he?
His data was a bonus, though. She wanted to go online more than anything. Maybe she didn’t need his machine. She had her phone. Without a SIM card, she couldn’t get on a calling network, but she still had Wi-Fi.
She’d start there and come back here later. She hopped to her feet and spun.
Hare stood in the doorway. “Password is IMGod.”
“Holy fuck. You scared me.” Should she apologize for invading his space? How long was he watching her?
“You didn’t wait long to sate your curiosity.” He smiled. “There’s hope for you yet. But you need to pay better attention to your surroundings.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it. I would have done the same. I wouldn’t have gotten caught, though.”
She stepped toward him. “I’ll give you your room back.”
“Join me for brunch?” He nodded toward the dining room.
If her life wasn’t on the line, she’d be reluctant to leave this someone-else-foots-the-bill-for-everything behind when it was all over. Whenever that happened. “All right.”
Conversation was sparse while they ate. She wasn’t sure what to say, and he didn’t offer any openings. Despite his calm approach, she still felt like she’d been caught misbehaving in his room.
Something new bothered her, though. It was a tiny thing, which made it a pleasant change of pace. “Your password isn’t really IMGod,” she said as they moved into the living room. She sat on the couch, and he took the spot next to her, turned sideways to face her.
“No. But I am a fan of the classics.”
“Hackers isn’t classic anything except trash,” she said with a playful smile.
“One woman’s trash is another man’s treasure. Hackers, Unusual Suspects, Unbroken... Hell, anything M. Night Shyamalan.”
“Not Signs. Or really anything that came after.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“Once again, to each their own. Besides, it’s not about the details; it’s the message.”
“What kind of message is in Hackers? Chaos saves the day?”
He rested his arm on the back of the couch and leaned in. “Giant corporations are driven by, grow by, and in the end are crushed by greed.”
That was a sentiment she agreed with, but— “I wouldn’t expect that from someone like you.”
“Why not?”
“The organization you work for. Jabberwock makes his money playing middle-man to the same wealthy people who own those corporations.” Emotion leaked into her voice. Passion and venom. She willed herself to have this conversation objectively. “His deals pay your check. Hell, you make a lot of those deals happen.”
“Guilty as charged to all of the above, and yes, greed is a motivation. So is chaos. So is undermining that structure.” His words flowed smoothly, as if he’d practiced them.
“By undermining, you mean ensuring he has his fingers in everyone’s pie.” Heat flooded her face, and she ducked her head. “That’s not what I meant.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I know what you meant. Do you remember what I told you last night?”
“You told me a lot of things.”
“I’m glad you were listening.” He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Deconstructing a person’s beliefs takes time. I’m not going to argue Jabberwock’s intentions with you. I’ll tell you how it is, and if you’re not ready to hear it, I’ll stop.” His statement triggered a thought she couldn’t quite grasp.
She reached deep in her brain, tugged, and hoped that what spilled out made sense. “What else are you holding back because you think I’m not ready?”
“So, so much. And yet, not nearly as much as you think.” Hare stood. “I’m hoping you’ll figure out some of it on your own.”
“It might be easier if you just told me.”
“Not these things, it wouldn’t. I have to get back to work. Wi-Fi password is G0F1sh, capitalized, with a one and a zero. Your phone will connect.”
“Don’t walk out in the middle of this conversation.” Her words landed against his back, and then the door, as it closed behind him. She flopped back on the couch with a grunt. “Fucking hell.”
She gripped resolve and pushed it through her. The bath could wait. If he wanted her to find something, she would. She headed back into the guest room. Her purse sat on the nightstand, and she grabbed her phone from it.
Half an hour later, she’d done a patchwork root on the device—accessing the files to do the root as best she could, without hooking it up to an external machine—and downloaded a Tor client. First on her list was Blake Allen. Her searches alternated between following breadcrumbs sprinkled by Google, and digging through the deep web.
It took several attempts to verify she had the right guy, but she found and followed a link back to his driver’s license. It didn’t go anywhere. Not anyplace significant anyway. He had a couple of credit cards without a balance, a degree from an online college, and a high-school diploma. That was it. No lease or mortgage. No utility bills or car registration. No other past.
Even image searches returned nothing. That defied bizarre. No one could hide themselves that well. Once upon a time, maybe, but with the new ID systems in place, no one could hide completely.
As she dug, the light outside shifted and faded.
“Dinner?” Hare’s call carried through her door.
She barely registered the question.
“Reagan?”
“Fine, thanks.” The snippet of conversation drifted to the back of her mind. She didn’t pay attention to the time, until she realized she was rubbing her eyes to see her screen in a dark room.
She moved to Hare next. Not that she expected to find anything about him. With only a name and a few photos...
Reagan let out a quiet yes, when an image search returned results. She sifted through photos. Some were with Alex and people she didn’t recognize. A handful were with senators, CEO’s, and prime ministers.
She stared at the images, puzzled. Hatter’s existence had all but been erased, so why wasn’t Hare’s? It made her wish she’d snapped a photo of Dormouse when she had the chance.
But she didn’t need to. Her hope for answers grew when she found a shot with Hare in the foreground and Dormouse hidden behind other people. It was grainy, but it should work.
Her elation was short-lived when the only results that returned were assorted sizes of the same picture. Reagan rubbed her eyes, to restore moisture to them. She should take a break soon.
She woke up the next morning with her phone screen stuck to her cheek and an ache behind her eyes. The tempting aroma of coffee floated to her. She let her nose guide her. When she opened her bedroom door, a set of shopping bags greeted her. New clothes. Again. If he kept this up, she’d never again have to wear the same outfit more than once.
Hardly something she’d sell her soul or sacrifice her freedom for, but a couple perks were nice.
She didn’t see Hare, as she fixed herself a cup of coffee. A sip of the liquid helped her climb closer to intelligent and told her it was made less than an hour ago.
She took a quick shower and returned to her research. A few hours in, and she was no closer than yesterday. Besides the tidbits she’d snagged, she was as far away from an answer as when she and Wayne started searching.
What was she missing? She flopped back onto the mattress and scrubbed her face.
Rumors.
Thanks, brain. That was vague. The word bounced in her head, taunting her. No, it was perfect. Jabberwock was a man who had built his empire on reputation. His name—his infamy—was dependent on rumors. That meant she shouldn’t be looking for facts; she should be paying attention to what people were saying.
She followed the trail to forums. It didn’t matter if the source was reputable or not. She wanted to find where the stories overlapped. That would be where elements of the truth lay.
When her stomach growled at her around three-thirty, she realized she hadn’t eaten lunch or heard from Hare. She grabbed a box of crackers, a jar of peanut butter, and a can of soda from the kitchen, dumped the now-cold coffee, and headed back to her room.
It was funny—for as much as she wanted out of her motel a few days ago, now this spot—this—bed, seemed safe. It was the closest thing she had to home base.
She absentmindedly munched while she hopped from one post to the other. She needed something to write on. Paper. She found a notepad and pen in the desk drawer. Thank God for people who decorated down to the last detail.
Each whisper that appeared more than once, even if the details were different, she scribbled on paper. Her eyes protested at the full day of staring at the tiny screen, and she lay back on the bed, blinking several times to find the energy to stare a little longer. She was so close. She could feel it.