Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The outside of the diner had no name on any sign that Gideon could find, which he appreciated.
The menu listed the diner as Moose & Munch, which didn’t sound very appetizing.
But a place that didn't bother advertising itself was a place that wasn't trying to be found, and he understood that impulse completely.
He'd been coming here for three mornings in a row, which was two mornings too long.
But the coffee was real, the eggs were hot, and the corner booth gave him a clear sightline to both the door and the parking lot, and those were the kinds of things that mattered to him now in a way they hadn't in the last seven years.
He'd been a different person back then. That person had believed in things like institutional trust, the fundamental decency of his colleagues, and the idea that if you built something good, it would be used that way.
That person had been way too idealistic and not to mention a damn fool.
He had his laptop open on the table beside his plate, running a passive scan of the local network traffic as well as the feed of the security cameras he’d hacked into.
His backpack was on the bench beside him rather than on the floor because a backpack on the floor was one someone could easily grab.
He lifted his coffee and took a long sip, savoring the flavor. It might be a few days to a week before he had anything but unfiltered cowboy coffee to serve as his caffeine intake. He'd adapted to living in a tent, but it was still a struggle to go without good coffee.
As he set his mug back down and reached for his fork, Praline, the server, appeared at the end of his table as if she'd materialized from a vortex he hadn’t seen.
"You need a refill, sugar?" She held the pot upright. Her smile was wide, and her blue eyes, while pretty, were like that damn flower from the movie The Little Shop of Horrors, because he wondered if they were going to devour him.
"Please," Gideon said, and meant it, because the coffee was genuinely the best thing about the last few days.
Praline was somewhere in her mid-thirties, with hair the color of a wheat field in August, piled high in a way that suggested structural engineering, and an accent that had no business being this far north—and in Canada.
He guessed she might have been from Texas because of the way she stretched her vowels like taffy and every sentence ended like it was an invitation to agree.
"Anything else?" She leaned her hip against the table.
"I’m good." He shifted his gaze toward his screen.
"You’re always in here on your computer," Praline said, setting the pot on the table.
"Getting a head start on the workday."
"What do you do?" She’d been flirting with him from the moment he'd walked in, and Praline was anything but subtle.
Praline wasn’t his type. She was nice enough. Pretty enough, in an outspoken way, though looks weren’t always what attracted him to women. But the one thing he didn’t care for in anyone was the inability to read the room.
"Boring stuff." He shifted in the booth, doing his best to be polite, yet discouraging. And he sure as hell didn’t make eye contact. Not again. She seemed like the kind of woman who'd interpret even the barest of smiles as an invitation to sit on his lap.
"I bet you live your life on adrenaline."
Most people, when they heard what he’d done for a living, figured he was an introvert who didn’t know how to people.
And worse, that he was a basement dweller who never got out.
Not even to do the grocery shopping. The truth was the complete opposite.
Or, at least, it used to be. He loved sports.
Loved things like white-water rafting, downhill skiing, mountain climbing—anything that got his blood pumping.
"And you look like one, too."
Now, that was a line if he’d ever heard one, and he wasn’t falling for it. His ego wasn’t that big. "Looks can be deceiving." Shit. He shouldn’t have moved his lips. His words weren't meant to prolong the discussion, yet he realized she might interpret them as interest.
"Do you have any plans this weekend?" She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and framing her cleavage.
It was impossible to miss and made more prominent when she reached across the table, gliding her fingertips over the shoulder straps of his backpack as if she were touching fine silk. "This pack looks like it’s seen better days."
"It was my dad's." One of the few things he still had from that time in his life, and he didn’t like her fondling it. He reached for it, doing his best not to act like a total dick as he pushed it further away.
She lifted her hands. "We've got a pie baking contest happening Friday night. I’m making peach, and you look like a man who likes peach pie."
Gideon let out a long breath. He’d been raised to be a gentleman, and most of his life, he’d been just that. But this woman was wearing his patience thin.
"I do," he said. "But I’ve got plans all weekend. With my girlfriend." Lying had never come naturally. Even in situations like this where a small lie was intended to spare feelings, he always carried that good old Canadian guilt.
However, these last two months, he hadn’t felt guilty about much, and he hoped this wouldn’t be any different. He had planned a mission, and he wasn’t going to stop until he’d completed it. Whatever happened after that, he’d live with the consequences.
"Girlfriend, huh?" Praline stood tall, curling her fingers around the coffee pot. "How long?"
"It’s new." That was the best he could do on short notice. He took no pride in hurting Praline.
"If your girlfriend can bake a pie, she’s welcome to enter the contest."
"I’ll let her know. Thanks."
She turned on her heels and strolled toward the hostess station, her hips swaying as if he hadn’t shot her down at least half a dozen times in the last three days.
It had been a long time since he’d had a girlfriend. His work had been his life until Finch had decided to fire him under false pretenses. Gideon still hadn’t quite wrapped his brain around that one. But Finch would soon take notice when Gideon destroyed what he’d built from the ground up.
He pulled his laptop closer and brought up the encrypted messaging app. He’d been looking for Hopper for a little over a month. He owed her an apology for disappearing, but now he couldn't find her anywhere.
Of course, he hadn’t dared show up anywhere as MacGyver.
He couldn’t risk anyone knowing he was online.
He’d covertly fed the rumor mills hints that he’d become a recluse.
And while it wasn’t too far from the truth, it was something he’d never thought possible.
While he might not have ever been a full-on extrovert and often enjoyed time in quiet contemplation or chasing adrenaline alone, he did like being around people. No matter how exhausting they could be.
And Hopper, whatever her real name was, had been someone he’d wanted to get to know.
He logged back into the dark web as Flatline.
A fitting name for someone who’d spent his life on the grid, not living off it.
He peeked in the spaces Felicity tended to hang out, but she wasn’t there.
Hadn’t seen her since yesterday, but that wasn’t totally uncommon for her.
Completely unpredictable, and yet, he could see patterns—especially in her speech.
They reminded him of Hopper, which was probably why he’d gone looking for her so often.
Or maybe because for the first time since his parents died, he was lonely.
He hated that sensation. Especially now, because every time he entered a building, he couldn't wait to get out.
Even this quaint little diner. After about thirty minutes indoors, he got twitchy.
It was like the walls were closing and he'd be trapped inside with no way out.
The front door opened, and Praline scurried to the entrance.
She greeted two men who gave a full sweep gaze.
At least, that’s what he called people who walked into a space and glanced around as if they were memorizing every detail.
He used to do the same thing when he’d been in the military, and it had been a hard habit to break.
But an easy one to pick back up.
Praline sat the men in the booth near the front door. She smiled and twirled her finger in her hair swaying her hips like she did whenever she approached a man. It had to be hard living out here in the middle of nowhere.
Gideon had been a city boy. He’d grown up on the streets of Vancouver.
Back then, he liked the clatter and energy.
He liked the way it settled his mind. As if the white noise of the constant flow of people buzzing around pushed out everything else that cluttered his mind.
Pushed out everything that made it impossible to sleep or focus on anything other than work.
Now, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to go back. The silence had created its own white noise, and it settled the parts of him that had been humming at the wrong frequency.
He leaned back, watching Praline as she rested her hand delicately on the side of her neck. The man closest to the door was clearly her new mark.
Poor bastard.
They wore plaid over base layers and work boots with real mud on them.
The mud might be genuine, but he wasn't sure much else about them was.
He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about them screamed pretense. And that made Gideon antsy.
Another sensation he’d never grown accustomed to but had now become a way of life.
When he’d entered the Royal Military College, he knew he didn’t fit in, and that was fine.
He did what he had to do for his degree, then spent five years serving his country.
He’d been lucky. In a world that he struggled to understand, he got to do what he loved the most.
Now, he’d never been so grateful for all the other training the military had ingrained, not just in his mind, but in his body.