Chapter 6 #3
There’s something beneath that.
Not teasing.
Something heavier.
I type:
GHOST: Why?
No response.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Then:
VESPER: Because knowing someone through a screen is safer than knowing what they can do to you in the real world.
The words settle differently.
I read them again.
Vesper rarely offers vulnerability without burying it under three layers of sarcasm.
This isn’t casual.
GHOST: I would never hurt you.
The answer comes almost immediately.
VESPER: You don’t know that.
My fingers stop.
Not I don’t know that.
You don’t.
I stare at the screen.
GHOST: What does that mean?
Nothing.
The channel stays quiet.
I wait.
Then:
VESPER: Enjoy the wedding, Xavier.
My name again.
It shouldn’t feel intimate.
It does.
GHOST: Enjoy running, Vesper.
Three dots.
VESPER: Who said I’m running?
Then she disappears.
NULL goes dark.
I stand there with the ocean below me and her final sentence burning through my head.
Who said I’m running?
Drew joins me a minute later.
He hands me fresh Scotch.
I take it without argument.
“That bad?”
I drink.
“No.”
“That good?”
I look at him.
“She knows who I am.”
Drew whistles.
“Yeah. Saw that one coming.”
“You absolutely did not.”
“No. But it sounds wise now that I say it.”
I look back toward the reception.
“She was close enough to drink from my glass.”
“Hot.”
“Wear my jacket.”
“Hotter.”
“Leave DNA.”
Drew thinks.
“Less sexy, but useful.”
“Not if she knows it won’t match anything.”
His expression shifts.
“You think it won’t.”
“I know Vesper.”
Drew gives me a look.
“Apparently she knows you too.”
That irritates me because it’s true.
I take another drink.
“She told me to ask why she wanted to see me before she let me see her.”
Drew scratches the side of his jaw.
“That sounds ominous.”
“Thank you.”
“Or romantic.”
“It isn’t.”
“You’re not great at identifying romance.”
“I identified your naked cannonball as idiotic.”
“That was art.”
I turn back toward the doors.
Inside, Kane has Hannah on the dance floor.
His hands are around her waist, forehead lowered toward hers, neither paying attention to anyone else.
The wedding is continuing.
My friend got married.
I should probably attempt to be present for at least part of it.
Drew claps me once between the shoulders.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Dance. Drink. Pretend you have a normal personality.”
“I don’t dance with you.”
“Not what I meant.”
He starts inside, then looks back.
“One thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t look so wrecked.”
“I don’t.”
He gives me a pitying expression.
“You really do.”
I follow him in.
And for the next two hours, I pretend Vesper isn’t somewhere in California with my name in her mouth.
At two fourteen the following morning, the wedding estate finally goes quiet.
Haverhill and Hannah are gone.
Most guests have left.
Drew and Isa disappeared an hour ago.
Vale and Stella took one of the guest cottages.
Leo and Jade retired after Leo informed me that I’d created my own problem and deserved to suffer through it.
Useful.
My temporary security command center occupies the estate library.
The evidence from my table waits beneath controlled lighting.
One Scotch glass.
One red rose.
One handwritten note.
One strand of blonde hair.
My jacket hangs nearby.
I run the tests myself.
The lipstick is commercially available.
Nothing interesting.
The rose was purchased somewhere within a hundred-mile radius, which narrows the suspect pool to approximately everyone with access to a florist.
The handwriting produces no useful match.
Then the hair report populates.
I stare.
Synthetic.
Not hair.
Premium wig fiber.
Naturally.
I laugh once.
Quietly.
“Cute.”
The glass is next.
Saliva.
Female.
Enough for a profile.
No immediate match through anything available to me.
I widen the search.
Nothing.
Consumer databases.
Nothing useful.
Private medical aggregates.
No reliable match.
Government-accessible records I can legally query.
Nothing.
Then the ones I cannot legally query.
Still nothing.
I lean back.
There you are.
Or, more accurately, there you aren’t.
Most people don't understand how difficult it is to live without leaving biological information behind.
Medical systems.
Ancestry platforms.
Police databases.
Immigration systems.
Research studies.
A dozen seemingly harmless points of contact eventually become a web.
Vesper has avoided it.
Deliberately.
The woman who left me DNA knew exactly what I would do with it.
She didn’t make a mistake.
She sent me another dead end.
My admiration becomes deeply inconvenient.
A knock sounds against the library door.
I don't answer.
It opens anyway.
My father.
No.
Not physically.
His face appears on one of the isolated Blackwell screens.
Incoming secure call.
Even worse.
I accept.
My father fills the display from somewhere in Europe.
Perfect suit despite the hour.
Perfect posture.
Expression suggesting whatever is about to happen will become my problem whether I consent or not.
“Wedding finished?”
“Several hours ago.”
“You’re still there.”
“I ran security.”
“I know.”
Naturally he does.
“What do you need?”
His eyes narrow slightly.
“Straight to business.”
“It’s two in the morning.”
“Five in Monaco.”
“Congratulations on understanding time zones.”
He ignores that.
“We have a problem.”
I look toward Vesper’s glass.
“Get in line.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
My father shifts papers somewhere beyond the camera.
“One of the legacy partitions was accessed.”
That gets my attention.
“When?”
“Earlier today.”
“Which system?”
Pause.
Too long.
My posture changes.
“Which system?”
His answer is one word.
“ARGUS.”
I stop.
ARGUS.
I haven't heard the designation spoken aloud in years.
Not since I was young enough to still believe everything Blackwell built was designed to protect people.
“What was accessed?”
“We don't know yet.”
“You always know.”
“Not this time.”
Interesting.
“Entry point?”
“European architecture.”
“Internal?”
“Possibly.”
I hate that word.
“Data loss?”
“Unknown.”
“Who has clearance?”
“Very few.”
“Send me the logs.”
“You're coming back.”
It isn't a question.
I look toward the dark window.
California.
Wedding over.
Vesper somewhere beyond the property.
For the first time in years, I don't immediately want to return to Europe when Blackwell calls.
That alone tells me I should.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“It is tonight.”
“Then stop being difficult.”
I almost smile.
Family affection.
My father looks offscreen, then back.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“The intrusion touched an archived personnel compartment.”
He sends the file.
One name appears.
BEAUMONT, ADRIEN
I stare at it.
Something about the name catches.
Old.
Buried.
Not unfamiliar.
“Who is Beaumont?”
My father goes very still.
There.
That interests me more than the file.
“You don't remember?”
“Should I?”
“He worked for us.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“What happened?”
“Complicated.”
I dislike that word even more than possibly.
“Meaning?”
My father doesn't answer directly.
Instead:
“Get back to Monaco.”
The call ends.
I remain in the dark library staring at the name.
Adrien Beaumont.
ARGUS.
Someone breached one of the most protected legacy systems in the Blackwell empire and touched the file of a man my father doesn't want to discuss.
Interesting.
My watch vibrates.
NULL.
For one irrational second, I think Vesper has returned.
She hasn't.
Only the offline status remains.
I look from her empty channel to the Beaumont file.
Two mysteries.
One woman I can't find.
One dead man I don't remember.
And Blackwell Europe waiting for me across the Atlantic.
I close Vesper’s evidence case.
Not solved.
Paused.
My father thinks I'm coming home to investigate ARGUS.
He's right.
What he doesn't know is that I now have another investigation running beside it.
Vesper knows who Ghost is.
She told me she isn't running.
Fine.
Let her stay hidden a little longer.
I spent years watching her disappear.
Now I know she wants to be found badly enough to stand at my table, wear my jacket, and leave her mouth on my glass.
I smile at the dark screen.
Game changed, Vesper.
You caught the Ghost.
Now let's see what happens when the Ghost starts hunting back.