CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
At the end of everything, we lost our equipment, our phones, and our vans. We’d had to start over from scratch, and the only things we had to show for it were the burnt husk of Tarasovich’s sick storage building and a single message the hacker had left behind on Callum’s computer that read, “Game over, Callie.”
The use of my first name implied familiarity, but despite the grilling from both Paride and Callum, my mind drew a blank.
“Callie?” a twin called out, and I turned, nearly mistaking CJ for his more heavily burdened brother because of the pain lingering in his gaze. “You have to stop at some point.”
Oh, this was another one of those talks.
Since his appearance marked the fourth of such conversations for the day and it was only…
I frowned at the clock, realizing I’d missed both lunch and dinner.
Again.
“Sorry,” I replied, giving him a sheepish smile.
A breath of air escaped him as he returned my small grin, closing the office door of the condemned business building—Paride’s latest safe house—behind him. “I know you are—probably better than anyone here, aside from maybe your dad. We understand what it’s like to fall down a rabbit hole and get lost in World Wide Wonderland.”
I took a long drink from the water bottle he tossed me, using it to point at him when I finished. “I’m ninety percent sure that’s not what the ‘www’ stands for on the internet.”
CJ dragged over one of the spare chairs. “Well, I like my version better.”
“Cheeky.”
“You’ve been hanging out with Mr. E too much. I think you mean sassy.”
“No, I definitely meant ornery.”
“Playful,” he corrected with a fake pout.
That killed the mood.
We were playing around when Tarasovich, a person who’d committed such heinous atrocities, was on the loose, and worse, we’d angered him.
I sighed, my shoulders slumping. “How are you so blasé about this? Don’t you feel like we’re letting our team down? We’ve been hacked three times, and in each instance, we’ve been sitting ducks.”
CJ’s head canted, his sun-kissed blond curls tilting across his forehead. “Is this your first case against a hacker you couldn’t beat?”
I shrugged, fiddling with the empty bottle in my hands. “Computers are the only thing I’ve ever felt in control of. They don’t care if you’re less than five feet tall and have difficulty developing muscle mass. The digital world has always been an equalizer, a chance to fight back.”
“And we will,” CJ assured me, his hands reaching for one of mine and clasping it between his knees as he leaned forward. He ducked down to catch my gaze. “Callie, we’re not giving up. We took a couple of hits, but we’ve learned from them and are making improvements.”
I glanced at the mess of computer parts he indicated. “Yeah.”
“And taking a break to care for yourself doesn’t mean you aren’t still giving it your best. You can’t think on your feet if your brain doesn’t have any food,” he said, knocking his knuckles against my temple.
A deep, world-weary sigh heaved up and escaped. “You’re right.” After a moment, I asked, “How’s Bryce?”
“Living up to his demanding reputation. Aleks got him a bell, probably just to tick Brock off.”
I slapped a palm over my forehead. “Would it be mean to guess that didn’t last an hour?”
CJ laughed. “Of course not, especially since Brock confiscated it and then threatened Aleks with it not even ten minutes in.”
A smile danced around my lips as I briefly scanned over the parts the others had been tasked with gathering under the CIA’s radar. Since our raid on Tarasovich’s collection, we’d been hiding deeper, attempting to escape both dangerous presences.
“Did you finish that thing you were working on?”
I glanced at him. “Way to be vague. That kind of ambiguity makes me wonder if I’m actually talking to Jace, who’s trying to prank me into believing that he’s his much more computer savvy twin brother.”
“Fine, did you boost the CPU power of that data-driven, C++ script program you’ve been coding the protocols for? And it’s been eight days, so can it now also communicate with the partition on your computer for a seamless interaction that should theoretically allow you to pull the plug on any outside access if you’re hacked again?”
I patted his cheek. “See? That’s better.”
“Don’t chide me.” He grinned as he said it.
My fingers sought the wired contraption that marked the culmination of my efforts. “It’s a little bulkier than I’d like.”
“Bulky?” CJ’s eyes bugged out. “It’s the size of a terabyte external hard drive. I could hide this in my coat pocket and use it in broad daylight at a public coffee shop.”
“Meh. It’s still conspicuous as all get out.”
CJ shook his head. “You’re so hard on yourself.”
“I’ve had to be.” The “to survive,” went unsaid. “It’s old school and definitely not my normal protocols, so maybe it’ll throw the hacker off long enough to get us somewhere. I’m sick of spinning wheels.”
“It’s worth a shot,” CJ replied. “Now come on. It’s time to eat. Everyone’s waiting.”
I eyed him as I stood. “And they sacrificed you to fetch Cranky Callie?”
“You’re not cranky. I don’t know why they are so intimidated. All those hundreds of pounds of muscles between them, and they are scared of you? Besides… we drew straws.”
I gasped, scandalized, as he zipped out the door. Before I went to follow, I hesitated, glancing back at the computer. Callum’s infected laptop from Russia was wrapped in plastic inside a scavenged metal trashcan as a makeshift faraday cage.
Instead of tossing it completely, Callum sparked the idea to keep it and see if we could figure out how to back trace Tarasovich’s hacker if we waited long enough for the person to assume we’d tossed the device like its predecessors. Then, we could scour it for any remnants of information.
Since we had nothing to do but wait, I’d emailed Petrov, updating him on the situation. The fear of working with him and everything that entailed morally had eroded the longer this cat and mouse game drew out. However, after the warehouse, those ethical dilemmas evaporated entirely.
So far, he hadn’t replied, and I couldn’t help but feel like the CIA was responsible for his lack of communication this last week.
“Petrov understood what he was getting into,” I reminded myself—a useless endeavor, since it did nothing to assuage my guilt.
With a frustrated whine, I scrubbed my eyes and rejoined the land of the living, moving down the long, graffitied hallway to the conference room we’d cleaned up for a dining area.
The latest safe house, in the heart of Moscow, was less than four hours from where we’d retaliated against Tarasovich by burning his house of horrors to the ground, close enough that, according to the guys, the random warehouse fire still aired on the local news outlets when they ventured out for supply runs.
The proximity to where a ticked off, unhinged Tarasovich might lurk rendered sleeping difficult, but Payton argued that if the trophy storage held that much importance, then Tarasovich’s true base of operations might not be far.
His reasoning furthered my plight against my nightmares.
With a lack of solid answers, I knew only one thing—I was tired.
Voices, loud and boisterous, reached me before the smell of food.
Everyone was cramped inside, including Callum and Paride—an unusual site. Since we’d holed up here, at least two people stood on watch duty to discourage the vagrants and vandals who frequented the run-down city block.
“Any new ideas about the hacker’s identity?” Paride asked as he dished me a bowl of the beef stew he’d prepared on a camping burner.
“Thanks, it smells delicious.” Sure enough, my stomach growled with vengeance, reminding me how often I’d deprived it lately. I sat between Corbin and Brock. “And no, I haven’t. I just know the list must be small.”
“What? No hello kiss for the injured?” Bryce drawled, his sprained ankle propped up on a second chair while CJ served him.
Silence descended, and it was minute, but I saw Bryce’s shoulders tense as he pretended to be engrossed with his dinner.
Equal parts indignation and amusement warred within me.
Bryce had forgotten himself for a moment.
By some unsaid agreement, the guys had given me space out of respect for my dad. At least I assumed that was the case since no one brought any vote up to me.
The way they shied away when Callum entered a room was both endearing and vexing.
After being turned down for physical release the night before, horniness helped pave the way for frustration to edge ahead as the dominant emotion.
My brow rose, the only warning Bryce got before I cooed, “You looked busy, Brycie Poo. Maybe I’ll kiss it better later tonight.”
Bryce’s wide, sapphire eyes jolted up in a startled expression as his complexion paled.
Apparently not satisfied, my sassy side winked at him for an added cherry on top.
Callum’s spoon clattered in the bated silence, and Corbin flinched beside me, but not as spectacularly as Bryce, who looked like he’d been shot straight through the chest with an arrow of betrayal.
I huffed. “Don’t be dramatic.” My inner thoughts changed course because I whipped my attention to my dad. “And you.”
Callum frowned. “Who? Me?”
“Yes, you. Have you been threatening my boyfriends behind my back?”
Brock adjusted to create more distance between us as Corbin released a pained groan, slapped a hand on his forehead, and hissed, “Cal-lie.”
I ignored him, holding my father’s gaze.
“Excuse me, boyfriends?” Callum choked.
More shifting came from the guys, though Paride looked like he’d suddenly been dropped in the middle of prime theater entertainment, shoveling in spoonfuls of dinner while his eyes absorbed everything with rapt attention.
I shoved my bowl into Brock’s limp hands and leaned forward on the edge of my seat. “Really, Dad? You’re going to pretend this is news to you?”
Callum met me stare for stare, but I wasn’t buying it.
“This coming from the guy who vetted and arranged every acquaintance I’d met online for my protection? You’re going to sit there and pretend that you don’t already know each of their backgrounds, how much money they earn, their rap sheet, or anything else of relevance including but not limited to the fact that we’re all dating and living together?” My voice rose with each word as I got worked up.
The only sounds that broke the silence were the scrape of a spoon and loud slurp from Paride as he finished his bowl, his attention switching back and forth between my father and me.
At long last, Callum shrugged and resumed eating as if nothing had happened.
“Wait,” Paride complained when the rest of the room remained frozen, including me. “That’s it? That’s your reaction? A shrug? But... But you just discovered that eight men are banging your only daughter.”
“Whoa!”
“Hey!”
“Not my only daughter,” Callum corrected, humming as he swallowed his mouthful of food.
I’d known he had another child, but now… I had a sister out there somewhere.
Callum pointed his spoon down at his bowl. “This is superb. What spices did you use?”
Paride had to pick his jaw up off the floor. “T—” He cleared his throat, his eyes cutting to me to share his confusion. “Uh, thyme.”
“Hm. A little on the nose, an Italian who likes his thyme, but hey, who am I to knock something that so clearly works? Your country’s on to something.”
“My country’s America.”
“Uh-huh, but I bet your mother originates directly from the heart of Tuscany. Am I right?”
Paride just shook his head, still looking lost, as did everyone else. In fact, Payton looked like he was on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Callum paused in the middle of scraping up the drippings with his roll. “What?” He popped the bite of bread in his mouth. “I like your boyfriends. They were respectful enough to feign fear of their girlfriend’s father, even though I’ve never been physically present in her life and hold zero say in how she lives as a grown-up. That says a lot about their character.”
My ire dried up as a curl of amusement let loose. Pretended to be scared? I thought to myself, turning to my right as Brock finally unclasped his fists, only to glance down in dismay to find he’d bent his spoon. My scaredy-cat boyfriends had been truly terrified when I’d called our relationship out.
“Well…” Paride began, sounding put out. “That’s healthy and boring. I expected more action.”
Callum startled, glancing up with a disgruntled look on his face. “What? From me? I can’t throw a punch to save my soul, and have you seen the people my daughter surrounds herself with? They are live-in bodyguards. Not all that surprising, considering the world she grew up in. How could I knock their relationship if it makes her feel loved and protected?”
Paride huffed, waving him off with his spoon as he returned to his meal with less enthusiasm. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you. It’s still boring though.”
Callum snorted. “Sorry you couldn’t get a dose of violence to enhance your entertainment for the evening. Missing the Colosseum, are you?”
“Hilarious,” Paride deadpanned. “Should I expect nothing but poor taste Italian jokes from now on?”
“No,” Callum promised, sounding sincere right until his lips twitched. “Italians have the cornerstone on gastronomy. They couldn’t possibly have poor taste.”
“Moving on!” Paride rushed to say. “Callie, why don’t you guide us through this small list of suspects?”
I tilted my head. “They are mostly people I brushed elbows with, so to speak, online. I wouldn’t know their actual identities, and they shouldn’t have mine either. That’s why I keep getting thrown by that message they left, using my real name.”
Duane propped his elbows on his knees, cradling his bowl in front of him as he leaned forward. “But you’re thinking it’s someone from your past?”
I pushed around a piece of carrot. “That’s the thing. Why would they suddenly go crazy after Ivanov’s takedown? When his death became publicized, most of my dark web contacts burned any bridges, not wanting to be affiliated with me in the fallout, despite how careful the CIA was to keep my identity buried from the news cycles.”
Jace bobbed his head. “That’s a good point.” He glanced at Payton. “You’re the psycho expert. What would cause a change in behavior like that?”
“I’m a psychology expert,” Payton corrected.
Jace shrugged. “Yeah, but don’t you learn all the boring stuff about norms and general behaviors so you can dissect the outliers?”
“Fair enough.” Payton paused. “A shift such as the one Callie describes would need a substantially drastic catalyst. There are the commonly known factors, such as a major life event—loss of family, loss of job, illness or injury—but there are also studies that have linked certain brain tumors to abrupt changes in personality. An old colleague of mine—”
“There you have it, Damsel,” Jace interrupted. “Your hacker foe is a recently fired, recently widowed man who’s been diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.”
Payton pinched the bridge of his nose, and I easily spotted the signs of him trying to rein in his exasperation. Normally, I let them needle our leader longer, but the warehouse horrors were still too fresh in my mind to find much entertainment in their antics.
“Like I said, I don’t have their names. How could I begin uncovering their life stories without the most basic of facts?”
“You seem to know him pretty well,” Corbin joked, nodding at Callum.
“Yes, we were a lot closer than most, but the reason why is pretty obvious in hindsight, wouldn’t you agree? So unless I just so happen to have any other long-lost relative hackers stalking me from the eaves, then it’s pretty safe to assume we can rule out—”
“Oh, God,” Callum whispered. “No.”
Fear crashed over me in an icy wave at the devastated look on his face. “What?”
“Callie, I need to see the infected computer.”
“You know who it is?” I guessed, but he jumped up and raced from the room. I moved to follow. “Wait, but we’re not sure if we have everything ready to protect our equipment! Callum!” When that failed to get a response, I yelled, “Dad!”
He faltered in his pace for a second but didn’t stop or turn around.
“Well, that was certainly more interesting,” Paride quipped.
I glanced behind me. They’d all gathered in the doorway.
“Come, let’s see what he found,” Payton suggested, leading us down the hall.
A small part of me suspected the reason behind such a strong reaction, but I didn’t want to admit it.