Chapter 32 Lucy #2
“I’m moving into one of those three bedrooms,” Catfish says. “Because I want to be a part of figuring this out. They stole that money on my watch as treasurer.”
“Won’t it be obvious, though?” Jackal asks. “Suddenly having a bunch of bikers living on Main Street.”
“It’s not like we’ll be coming and going that much, though,” Catfish says. “If Wren is as good as they say they are, it’ll be about getting digital intelligence.”
“You can feed that back to the rest of us, through Grudge, for anything that needs actioning,” Atom says.
“Are we really sure this is a better plan than Wren being out in one of the ranch buildings?” Smoke says.
Saint shakes his head. “Hidden in plain sight is best. We believe Wren is geographically far away from trouble. But it’s harder for anyone to try anything in public. Too remote gives people time and unwitnessed access.”
“I’d be happier above the bakery,” Wren says quietly.
King looks over to them. Then, back to Grudge. “The bakery it is. And we should get Wren out of here as quickly as possible while we take care of other business.”
“I can take them,” I say. “We can get Wren settled, then dig in.”
Grudge shakes his head. “The two of you going off alone is the anthesis of what we’re talking about.”
“I’ll take them both,” Catfish says. “We can get started. Smoke, can you let Quinn know we’ll be coming in through the back of the bakery rather than the street entrance?”
“Will do.” I can hear Smoke’s nervousness about the whole plan in those two words.
Wren looks a little uncertain. I can’t imagine how they must feel. Spark reaches for them and squeezes their hand, and while I don’t know their exact ages, Spark is likely mid-thirties, while I’d put Wren in their mid-twenties. The move feels strangely familial.
“You know how to reach us,” Spark says.
Wren’s lip quivers, as if they’re holding back tears. “I do.”
Saint puts his palm on their back. “It’s not forever.”
“I know.” Wren blows out a breath. “I’ll be okay.”
Grudge turns to me. Concern is ripe in his eyes. “You okay going with Catfish?”
“Yeah. I’m good,” I reply as calmly as I can. Because I can tell my man needs the reassurance.
It takes ten minutes of goodbyes to end up in my truck with Wren. Catfish and Wren’s luggage follow us in his truck to the bakery. Wren spends the whole ride to the bakery braiding and unbraiding the ends of their hair.
Catfish parks on the street behind me, then hurries to my door. “You two good to go?” he asks.
“Ready,” I say.
“Not like I have another choice.” Wren reaches for the door.
“I’ll come back and get your luggage,” Catfish says.
Wren shakes their head. “You won’t. What’s in them is irreplaceable. And I won’t be able to do what I’m here to do if I don’t have it.”
“I’ll help carry it,” I say.
Catfish looks over at both of us. “You really think I’m gonna let you two baby kittens carry heavy cases? Get your asses in the apartment so I’ve got fewer things to worry about.”
Wren raises an eyebrow. “Kittens.”
“Fine, puppies. Lambs. Whatever tiny version of any animal you wanna be.”
Wren bites down on a smile. “Fine.”
Quinn is there when we enter the rear kitchen of the bakery. In her hand are two paper bags. “Yours and Catfish’s favorites, plus a few extra of different types because I don’t know what you like, Wren.”
“Thank you, and before you ask, Wren doesn’t read,” I say.
“I don’t?” Wren asks.
“Unless you want to get dragged into her smut-lovers convention of a book club, you don’t read.” I nudge Wren to the door to the apartment. “Go, before she signs you up.”
“Hater,” Quinn yells after us, but it’s followed with laughter.
I show Wren to one of the two spare rooms because I’m already established and unpacked in the main bedroom. But as I do, I realize we don’t have enough bedding. “Don’t worry, I’ll get Grudge to bring some from his house,” I say.
Wren sighs as they sit on the bed.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Some days I feel like a hero. Others, I feel like a pawn.”
“I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into whatever this is.”
Wren huffs. “I’ve been in my own vortex for the last three years. One more thing happening isn’t the worst of it.”
“What the hell is in these that they weigh so much?” Catfish shouts as he noisily kicks the door into the apartment open.
I chuckle at the exasperated tone in his voice.
“It’s a mobile digital warfare station, be gentle with it,” Wren shouts.
“That sounds way more glamorous and exciting than it being a laptop,” I say.
Wren grins. “It’s so much more than a laptop. Wanna see?”
We walk into the living room where there is a large dining table with benches on either side. Catfish points to the cases on the ground. “Good job you came by private jet, because those cases are way over the baggage limit.”
Wren grins and immediately opens one of the cases with a mechanical snap. Inside are neatly organized cables, hard drives, and tools that look half NASA and half magic. Laptops and mini servers.
When they open the second case, the only thing I recognize is a Faraday bag, but that’s it. Everything else is a mystery.
“I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified,” Catfish says.
Wren is slotting things together. “Why not both?”
“What’s all this?” Catfish reaches out to touch a black box on the table, and Wren whips their hand out to slap him away.
“You want the technical answer or the layperson’s answer?” Wren asks.
I take the out. “For my sake, please start with the layperson’s answer.”
Catfish shrugs. “I could handle the technical answer, but we’ll start basic for Lucy.”
I roll my eyes at him. “There is no way you’d understand the technical answer.”
He grins as he winks at me. “It’s a lie that you can’t be pretty and smart.”
“From the top,” Wren says. “There’s one main laptop.
I run everything on it, but each ‘section’ of it is like a different locked room.
So, if someone gets into one part of it, they can’t get into the rest. This little guy”—they tap a small black gadget—“is my background engine. It’s always on.
Runs background attacks, downloads huge data sets and hosts fake websites so I can trap people.
Those tools over there come in useful when I want to sneak into a locked network, like a digital locksmith.
And the router bounces everything I do through so many locations, it looks like I’m hacking from the Artic Circle. The burner phones are obvious.”
“Color me impressed,” I say.
“You’re a digital assassin,” Catfish notes, his mouth agape.
They pick up a small object that looks like a USB stick married a hand grenade. “Thank you. And this is an EMP keychain. Can scramble all electronics within a five-foot radius. Handy if you need to make a quick exit. But, Lucy, how about we start with the phone you can’t get into.”