Chapter 9
The phone rang at six in the morning. I grabbed it off the nightstand, still half asleep, expecting Angelica insisting I get up with the sun to twist myself into some hellish yoga pose.
"Katherine." Code's voice came through sharp and urgent. "We need to talk."
My heart slammed against my ribs. I hadn’t talked to Code in almost two days. "Has something happened?"
"Nothing new, but I’ve found something that you need to know about. Can you get to Onyx in thirty minutes?"
"I can be there in twenty." I was already out of bed and grabbing at the jeans I’d left on the floor beside my bed.
"Good."
He hung up before I could ask questions.
Whatever Code had found, it had him sounding more than just a little concerned. My hands shook as I brushed my teeth. The toothbrush clattered against the sink when I set it down.
Angelica's door stayed closed as I crept past. Good. I didn't want to explain yet. Not until I knew what we were dealing with.
The Honda's engine sounded too loud in the quiet parking lot. I drove through empty streets, past houses still dark with sleep. The town square looked peaceful in the early light.
Normal.
Safe.
Everything I wasn't feeling right now.
The Onyx Security building had lights on in the upstairs windows. I pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. There were three cars in the lot. My phone showed 6:18 AM. Eighteen minutes.
Code met me at the door. He looked like something the cat dragged in. His hair stuck up at odd angles. His eyes were bloodshot. The beard he'd been growing looked scraggly. When was the last time he'd showered? Or eaten something that wasn't coffee and protein bars?
"Come on." He turned without greeting and headed upstairs.
I followed him into the conference room. Multiple screens showed code and data I couldn't begin to understand. Empty coffee cups littered the table. A pizza box sat open in the corner, two slices still inside, stiff, cold and congealed.
"Sit." He gestured to a chair.
I sat.
Code pulled up something on the main screen. Lines of code scrolled past, too fast for me to read. He stopped it, and highlighted a section in red.
"This is the RAT that was installed on your laptop.” His voice was clinical and detached.
“Remote Access Trojan," I said, remembering what Code had said a couple nights ago. “Is it really bad?”
“It is. It’s like you thought. January fifteenth. Golden Globes afterparty. Someone had physical access to your computer for approximately fourteen minutes."
My stomach dropped. "Okay."
"The malware they installed gave them complete control. Camera, microphone, keystrokes, files. Everything." He pulled up another screen. "They activated your camera two-hundred forty-seven times over four months."
The room tilted. I gripped the arms of the chair.
Two-hundred forty-seven times.
"They watched me." My voice came out hollow. "For four months, they just watched me."
“Pretty much every time you had your laptop open.”
I thought about my hotel rooms. Getting dressed. Video calls with friends where I'd been crying or drinking or both. Every private moment, every vulnerable second.
Someone had watched it all.
"I'm going to be sick."
Code grabbed a trash can and shoved it in front of me. I breathed deep through my nose and pushed the can away. “I’m good.”
He disappeared and returned with a bottle of water. I might not have vomited, but I still drank half the bottle in one long pull.
"There's more." Code sat across from me, close enough that our knees almost touched. "The camera wasn't just pointed at you."
My head snapped up. "What?"
"Video calls. Friends visiting your hotel rooms and house. Anyone in frame." He rubbed his face with both hands. "Katherine, they have footage of other people too."
Water spilled onto my jeans as I crushed the water bottle.
"Those bastards! Who? Who did they get?"
"I'm still analyzing. But so far, I've identified two people with significant exposure." He pulled up files. "Your business manager, Chris Axelrod. Seventeen instances. Your publicist, Marissa Torres. Twenty-three instances."
"Dammit!"
"Neither had as much footage as you. They were usually just in frame during video calls or brief in-person meetings. But they're there."
I pressed my hands to my face. This wasn't just about me anymore. Chris. Marissa. Two people who'd done nothing wrong except be my friends and try to help my career.
"What about Angelica?" The question scraped out of my throat. "How many shots of Angelica?” I knew it was going to be bad.
Code's jaw tightened. He rubbed the back of his neck. That gesture I was starting to recognize meant he had to tell me something I didn't want to hear.
"There's a lot of footage of Angelica."
"I know that. Just tell me how much." I gritted out the question.
"Forty-seven instances. You two spent a lot of time together. Video calls, girls' nights in hotel rooms, that weekend in Miami." My head dropped to my chest. I tried to suck in air, but it was hard. "Katherine, breathe."
Angelica. Sweet, trusting Angelica who'd dropped everything to help me. Who'd driven me here, introduced me to her family, made me feel safe for the first time in weeks.
And I'd brought this nightmare into her life.
“Breathe, Katherine. It’s going to be okay.”
"They're going to do to her what they did to me. They're going to make videos of her saying horrible things. Destroy her career. Ruin her life."
"We don't know that. We have no idea at this point, what this asshole has planned except for what he’s done to you." His voice was calm and steady. I looked up at his face, and his eyes told me he had it all under control.
God, please say that was true.
"But he could come after Angelica," I whispered.
"Anything’s possible."
The honesty hurt worse than a lie would have.
A knock at the door made us both turn. A man stood in the doorway. Tall, lean, with dark hair and sharp eyes that assessed me in one quick glance. He wore jeans and a faded Navy t-shirt.
"You must be Kit Lord." He held out his hand. "Hart Laramie. I work here at Onyx part-time on the technical stuff."
I shook his hand automatically. "Nice to meet you.”
"Code called me in early. Said we had a situation that needed two sets of eyes." Hart moved to one of the other computers and logged in. "I'm going to start tracing the command-and-control server while Code focuses on identifying all the surveillance targets."
"How many targets do you think there are?" I asked.
Hart glanced at Code. Some unspoken communication passed between them.
"Hard to say," Hart said carefully. "Could be just the ones we've identified. Could be more."
"Tell me straight. No sugarcoating."
Code leaned back against the table. "Based on the data collection patterns? I'd estimate at least six to eight people were captured on camera with varying degrees of exposure. Some brief, some extensive. We need to analyze all the footage to be certain."
Six to eight people.
Six to eight lives I'd potentially destroyed by leaving my laptop unguarded in a hotel room.
"I need to warn them."
"No." The word came from three voices simultaneously.
I turned to find Jase standing in the doorway with Simon and Roan behind him. When had they arrived? How much had they heard?
"Why not?" I stood up. "If someone's planning to destroy their lives, they deserve to know."
"Because we can't be sure who's been targeted." Simon moved into the room. His gray eyes were sharp, assessing. Military commander mode. "If we warn the wrong person, then we tip off the blackmailer that we're onto them."
"We don't even know if creating deepfakes of multiple people is the plan." Roan crossed his arms. "This could still be focused entirely on you."
"But it might not be." I looked at each of them. "You just said six to eight people were captured. That's six to eight potential victims."
"Who might never be targeted at all," Jase said. "Kit, I understand you're scared. But we can't warn people about a threat that might not exist. We'd cause panic for no reason."
"So I'm supposed to just watch and wait while they build cases against my friends?" My hands curled into fists. "That's bullshit and you know it."
"We don’t just wait, we investigate," Code said quietly. "We find out who's behind this and stop them before they can target anyone else."
"And if we're too late?"
No one answered.
Jase moved closer. His expression softened. "Maybe we're looking at this from the wrong angle. Instead of focusing on potential victims, what if we figure out why someone wants you to quit this movie?"
All eyes turned to me.
I blinked. "What?"
"Someone went to enormous effort to create that deepfake," Jase continued. "Military-grade technology, months of surveillance, custom malware. That's not random. There's a reason they specifically targeted you and specifically demanded you withdraw from this film."
"I have no idea why." I shook my head. "It's a period drama about a war that happened seventy-five years ago. Nothing controversial about it."
"What happens if you quit?" Simon asked.
I thought about it. Really thought about it. “The producers were having a tough time getting financial backing before Marcus and I signed on. If I back out, it’s possible it will be on hold for a while until they find someone else with comparable name recognition."
"Would they?" Roan leaned against the doorframe. "Or would they cancel the project entirely?"
I thought about it. The studio had been hesitant to greenlight Passing Through Jordan in the first place. Historical dramas were risky. They needed stars to make them viable. Marcus and I were the draw, our chemistry on screen, our names on the poster.
"It's possible they'd cancel," I admitted. "Or water down the script. Make it safer, less challenging. The director fought hard to keep the integration plot central, not the romance. Without me, they might cut that entirely."