Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) (17 page)

“I signed a nondisclosure,” I said. “I can’t just start rambling on about customers’ business or my boss.”

“You’d rather be the next target?”

“I probably already am, so what does it matter? I write software, that’s all.” I swallowed as my palms grew sweaty. “And you haven’t told me who you’re working for or why you’re obsessed with Jackson.”

“Obsessed is a strong word,” he said. “He’s a leader in the tech industry and has ties to people that would give you nightmares. And you don’t need to know who I’m working for.”

“I do if you want me to tell you anything. I don’t have anything to lose at this point, so give me one good reason to cooperate with you. You’ve already proven yourself to be an adept liar and manipulator.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.

We were locked in a battle of wills and for once, he caved first.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m a former military intelligence officer. I got out a few years ago, but in case you haven’t noticed, the CIA hasn’t exactly been on the ball with their intel over the last decade. Budget cuts and opinion-poll-sensitive politicians have reduced the CIA’s recruitment of human intel.”

“Human intel?”

“Yeah. You know, spies.”

Oh.

“So they’ve been . . . outsourcing,” he said.

“Outsourcing spies? How?”

“They pay for information, help with data collection and analysis. And in turn I’m autonomous in my sources, methods, and missions.”

“Autonomous? But . . . doesn’t that also mean you have no cover? No backup? No government agency to protect you?” It sounded incredibly dangerous.

Clark shrugged. “It’s the price you pay for the kind of money I make.”

I thought of his used Honda. Either he didn’t make much . . . or that had been part of his cover as an HR guy.

“And being
autonomous
in your methods . . . means you’re not subject to rules of engagement or mission parameters or guidelines other than not breaking the law,” China said.

“Or if I do break the law, don’t get caught.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not being very reassuring.”

“I’m not here to hold your hand. I’m here to stop bad people from doing bad things, however I need to do it.”

The look in his eye told me he was dead serious. His comment about not getting caught echoed inside my head. I didn’t trust him, but my options were limited . . . or non-existent.

“So now you know who I am and what I do, let’s discuss Vigilance,” he continued. “This software goes further than anything before in evaluating online behavior. People are dying—being killed—for it. Everyone who’s tried to cooperate has ended up dead. You were my shot at staying under the radar.”

“What do you mean
everyone who’s tried to cooperate
?”

“Tom was the one who originally contacted me,” he said. “We have a mutual . . . friend. He told me about the software, but he didn’t know who’d commissioned it. He was worried about Vigilance falling into the wrong hands.”

“And Tom committed suicide . . . supposedly.”

“Exactly. I contacted Terry next, and you know what happened there. Whoever has the Wyndemere team under surveillance is very, very good.”

“So you decided to go for a less direct approach with me,” I guessed. “Why?”

He checked off on his fingers. “You work for Cysnet, not Wyndemere. You’re a woman, you’re very young, and you don’t look like you could pose a threat to anyone.”

Well, at least I didn’t have to worry about him beating around the bush in an attempt to spare my feelings.

“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but they already know who I am,” I said. “A man threatened me the other day, got in the back of my car and told me not to make the same mistake Tom did. He said Tom was having second thoughts about delivering the software.”

He frowned. “You told me it was an attempted carjacking.”

“I lied.”

His lips thinned. “And you didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell someone that you were threatened? I thought you were supposed to be a supersmart genius?”

I took offense to being called stupid, even obliquely. “I
did
tell someone,” I retorted. “I told Jackson. And for all I knew, you were in HR, remember? What would the point have been in telling you?”

That had been the night he’d begun seducing me, and would have, if I hadn’t told him I was a virgin. So apparently my virgin status had been so off-putting, even Clark—who thought that getting me to talk was a matter of life and death—still had decided to change tactics.

The realization was even more demoralizing than the actual events had been.

“So tell me everything you know about Vigilance,” he demanded.

I eyed him. “You still haven’t given me any reason to trust you, but you have given me a lot of reasons to walk out that door.”

Clark’s expression grew hard. “Fine. One word: Mia.”

My stomach dropped. “You asshole,” I hissed. “She’s sixteen.”

“Then don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”

That sick feeling in my stomach morphed into helpless anger. Helpless because he had me and he knew it. I refused to put Mia at risk, no matter what I had to do or who I had to cooperate with. And at the moment the most direct threat to her was staring at me, waiting for me to talk.

“Just so we’re clear,” I said. “I tell you what I know, you swear to leave Mia alone.”

“I swear,” he said, and I was tempted to believe him. But he was also an accomplished actor. And I was shit at reading people.

“She’s my responsibility,” I said stiffly.

“You have my word.”

I doubted I could actually trust his word, but it was better than nothing.

Starting at the beginning, I went through the different parts of Vigilance that had been delegated to teams—social media monitoring, e-mail text searching, Internet queries and browsing history, GPS location and tracking, deciphering of third-party encrypted communications, all of it.

“. . . so the software is making a profile of who that person is—what they do, who their friends are, the places they frequent, the things they buy, everything they put in writing whether it be a comment on a Facebook status or an e-mail sent to their boss.”

“Don’t Google and Facebook already do that?” Clark asked. “I shop online for airfare to Hawaii, I see Google ads for surfing lessons in Waikiki.”

“True, but that’s different. Google’s only looking at one part of your life via what you put into its search engine. This software goes even further. It’s the most complete kind of tracking and monitoring system in existence.”

“But it’s not finished,” he said.

“Yes, it is. The final code from Wyndemere has been checked in and is waiting to be compiled. But there’s a missing piece that has me worried.”

“What’s that?”

“The algorithm that searches through those profiles and sets flags,” I said. “That’s what hasn’t been written.” I thought of Jackson and the code on his home computer, but wasn’t about to tell Clark about that. “It’s not necessary for the software to run—but without it, what’s the purpose of the software?”

“We need to find out for sure,” Clark said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny USB drive. “Can you get this in Jackson’s computer?” He handed it to me.

“Why Jackson’s? What’s on it?” I asked.

“Jackson because I have reason to believe he knows a lot more than he’s telling. And this is a program that will install a back door into his system.”

I felt sick to my stomach. “You want me to enable you to spy on my boss. Jackson Cooper. Billionaire, genius entrepreneur and owner of Cysnet. A man like him has lawyers who have lawyers. If he finds out or catches me, he could have me arrested, prosecuted, sue me, basically destroy my life, with a couple of phone calls.” I could imagine the hell my life would become if Jackson found out. He’d be livid.

“I need to know.”

“Why
don’t
you know?” I retorted. “This is supposed to be a government contract. You work for the government . . . sorta.”

“No government agency commissioned the software,” he said flatly.

“Th-that’s not true,” I stammered. “Freyda confirmed it tonight, before . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

Clark leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his gaze intensifying. “Yes, tell me what she said. Why was she in your car?”

I hated this. I hated that I had no way out of doing exactly what he told me to do. He’d lied to me, threatened me and Mia, tried to gain my trust only to betray me later. I didn’t trust Clark. Obviously, he’d do whatever he had to in order to get the information he was selling to the CIA. And if I got hurt or killed in the process, tough crapola. The only person I could depend on was myself, which meant I’d better hold what little I knew close.

“She wanted to discuss the status of the project,” I said. “She was anxious for it to be finished and delivered.” Some of that was true.

“You said she confirmed it was a government hire.”

“She didn’t have time to tell me much of anything,” I hedged.

Clark’s eyes narrowed, but I just stared back. I’d read that you can tell when someone is lying because the first thing they do is break eye contact. The second is they blink a lot. I kept my gaze steady on him.

A buzzing sound interrupted our silence and Clark answered the phone he pulled from his pocket.

“Yeah?” He listened for a moment, then his gaze returned to me, suspicion etched on his face. “Are you sure?” More listening. “Check out her home and vehicle as well as the parking lot. She might’ve left it somewhere or dropped it.” He ended the call.

“Freyda’s missing one of her cell phones,” he said to me.

I frowned. “She had two?”

“Yes. One for work and one for personal. She’s missing the one from Wyndemere.”

“Weird because I bet she always had it with her,” I said.

“Did you take it?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Seriously? In between being shot at and dealing with the fact that someone was murdered in the
front seat of my car
, you think I had time to search and rob the body?”

He considered that, then nodded. “You’re right. It’s doubtful. Now when can you plant that in Cooper’s system?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like we’re buddies and I go over there for dinner.”

“He kissed you the other night.”

My face went hot and my hands clenched into fists. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“Nothing is private. You should know that.” He looked unrepentant. “My point is that he likes you. Use that.”

“So you want me to . . . what? Sleep with him and hope he likes pillow talk?”

Clark stiffened, his expression hard. “I didn’t say you had to sleep with him. But you can get close enough to plant that.”

I got to my feet. “I’ll do what I can.” I headed for the door and pulled it open, pausing to turn and say, “And thanks so much for all your
help
tonight.” It wasn’t hard to miss my sarcasm. I slammed the door behind me even knowing how teenager-temper-tantrum that was.

It wasn’t until I got home and locked myself in my bathroom that I dared to pull the phone I’d taken off Freyda from its hiding place inside my bra. Thank God for Victoria’s Secret elastic.

I turned it off before anyone might try and track it. I’d have to hack into it to find out what information it contained, including which secret government brainchild had resurrected Vigilance.

12

“What happened to your head?” was the first thing Mia wanted to know. She’d been in her room when I’d come home but had emerged fairly quickly when she heard me.

I rummaged in my closet, trying to find a T-shirt to lay out for work tomorrow. As often as I could, I picked out my clothes the night before because it saved time and was more sensible than waiting until morning. Of course, “as often as I could” really meant “every night without fail.”

“What did you do with my
X-Files
fandom T-shirts?” I asked, digging for the one that said
Sure. Fine. Whatever
. It fit my mood.

“What color is it?”

“Black. Gray. I don’t know.” I rarely paid attention to color, just what the shirts said.

She pointed. “Darks are on the right.”

“‘Darks are on the right.’ Whatever,” I grumbled, wondering when I’d find time to reorganize my closet. Though the
Trust No One
shirt was probably a better choice, I didn’t want to be too obvious about my state of mind.

“So what happened to your head?” she asked again.

“My windshield had a piece of rock go through it,” I lied. “Some glass cut me.”

“Oh my God! While you were driving?”

“Yeah, but I’m okay, obviously. It was just a scratch. Tell me about school.”

Mia gave me the rundown on her classes and her teachers, going on at some length about the advanced calculus teacher. “. . . and I tried to show him another way to reach the same value, but he said I still had to do it the other way or I wouldn’t get credit.”

“You know as well as I do that you have to do it their way, even if you’re ten times smarter than they are,” I said, finally finding my T-shirt. I pulled out a flannel shirt with a tiny black-and-white checked pattern. “Get the grade, then you can do what you want.”

“I know, but it’s ridiculous. He should’ve been glad to see another solution. My way was much easier and more intuitive than his.”

I could sympathize. Most of the high school teachers I’d had were uncomfortable with me being smarter than them, especially since I’d barely been into double digits while taking advanced geometry. I’d also made the mistake once of correcting a teacher in front of the class and I’d paid the price. I still remembered him ridiculing me while everyone snickered.

“Why thank you for that,” he said. “Shall I let them know you get an extra cookie with your milk this afternoon?”

“Did you make any new friends?” I asked, shoving aside the embarrassing memory.

“Yeah. There’s a group of girls Jen introduced me to,” she said. “They want to go to the movies tomorrow night. Can I go, too?”

“So long as you’re back home by ten. Tuesday is a school night. Speaking of which,” I glanced at my watch. “Two minutes until
Supernatural.
”

Mia was off the bed like a shot. “That’s long enough to make popcorn. I’m on it.”

I grinned as I followed her out of the bedroom. It was nice having her there, even if it now took me three times as long to pick out clothes for work.

I didn’t try to get into Freyda’s phone until I’d left the next day. I didn’t know if I was being watched at home or someone was listening in somehow. So I was up at the crack of dawn, leaving a note for Mia that I’d gone into work early. I also didn’t want Mia to see the damage to my car and have to explain how it happened.

Except when I went outside, I saw that my car was completely whole again. Both the front and back windshields had been replaced. It would appear the CIA also specialized in twenty-four-hour car repair, not that I was complaining. Likewise, the interior was spotless as well.

“My tax dollars at work,” I muttered to myself.

By 7:00 a.m., I was buzzing the doorbell on an apartment building on the west side of downtown. When there was no answer, I buzzed again and the intercom crackled.

“No one I know would be visiting at this hour,” said a familiar voice.

“It’s China,” I said back. “Let me in.”

“I’m still in my pajamas,” he argued.

“I’ve got something special for you,” I said, hoping that would do the trick. Sure enough, a few seconds later, the door clicked open and I grinned.

My friend Yash lived on the top floor of the three-story building and I took the stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator. He was one of the small group of people I gamed with twice a month. I knocked on his door, then let myself in.

“I’ve only drank half my coffee,” he complained as I entered. He was wearing a matching pants and shirt set of striped pajamas, complete with bedroom slippers. All he needed was a robe and nightcap to complete the look.

“Good because I could use a cup while you look at this.” I thought of tossing the phone but decided against it after considering his lack of any kind of sport-related skill. I set it on the counter instead.

“A cell phone? You do know I am already familiar with these devices.” His dry humor made me grin.

“Yes, I’m aware. But
A
, this isn’t mine, and
B
, I need you to hack into it.” I poured myself a cup of coffee from his way-too-complicated machine. I could fix myself an espresso or latte if I could figure the damn thing out. Internal combustion engines? No problem. But a five-hundred-dollar espresso machine stumped me.

“Intriguing,” Yash said, looking over the phone. “I assume it can be tracked?”

I nodded. I’d turned it off last night to prevent that very thing. “Yep. You’ll need to have a jammer running before you fire it up.”

Yash examined it. “Looks like a two-step verification system. ID and PIN.”

“I thought that might be the case.”

“You have a fingerprint?”

“It’s in my car. Just need your good camera.” A fake fingerprint could be made relatively easily, provided you had a really good print available. Take a high-res photo, clean it up in Photoshop, print it on transparency with a laser printer, and you had a template. Brush on a thin layer of glue, let it dry, peel, and stick. Voila: a fake fingerprint. Good enough to fool most phone sensors anyway.

“It’s in my office,” Yash said, waving vaguely toward the hallway.

I knew where his office was and headed down the hallway. As usual, his apartment was spotless. Fastidious to a fault, Yash had a cleaning woman come three times a week. He worked as a consultant because, frankly, no one could afford to keep him on staff permanently. Not that he needed to work, having made his fortune writing games for smartphones, but he’d go nuts sitting around with nothing to do. Which was why I’d brought the phone to him. No one knew cell phones and their operating systems better than Yash.

Yash’s office was as organized as the rest of the house, and the camera I needed was in its place inside its case on a shelf. Taking it outside, I took several close-up shots of the fingerprints on my rearview mirror before returning to the apartment.

“One of those should work,” I said, setting the camera on the kitchen table. “Any idea when you’ll get a chance to crack it?” It was a polite request so I didn’t sound anxious, but I knew Yash would start immediately. He loved puzzles and challenges.

“Don’t rush me, you know I hate that,” he groused. I just hid a grin at his crankiness. Yash was all prickly on the outside, but he’d do anything for his friends, of which I was lucky enough to be counted among those select few.

“You’d know I’d never rush you, Yash. It’s just important. Shoot me a text when you crack it.”

He glanced up at me, his eyes peering over the top of his glasses. “How important?”

“Galactic.” Our code word for urgent, end-of-life-as-we-know-it important.

His perpetual frown deepened. “What did you get yourself into, China?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. I just need whatever info you can find on that phone. Especially anything about something called Vigilance
.
” It was a shot in the dark, but I had no other leads at the moment to try to figure out who’d hired Wyndemere or who was killing people.

Yash sighed dramatically. “All right. I’ll get it done.”

“Thank you.” I gave him a quick peck on the cheek before he could shoo me away.

“None of that,” he complained. “You’ll give me your germs.”

“You can’t fool me—I know you love my germs,” I tossed over my shoulder as I headed out the door.

I had an unpleasant surprise when I got to Wyndemere: my security badge wouldn’t work.

“I was just here last night,” I explained to the security guard as he typed my ID code into his computer terminal. “It should work.”

“It says here that your clearance has been revoked,” he replied, looking at his screen.

I stared open-mouthed at him. “But . . . that can’t be. I’m still working on a project—”

“China!”

We both turned to see Lana hurrying toward us from the elevators. She came past security and took my arm, propelling me toward a corner of the lobby.

“We have to talk,” she said.

“I can’t get past security. What’s going on?”

“It’s Freyda. She was found shot to death late last night.” Lana looked scared, her face pale and her eyes wide with panic. “John didn’t come in today at all and George isn’t answering his cell.”

My stomach turned over.

“That’s not all,” she continued. “The software. It’s gone. All of it. The entire project file wiped out.”

Oh no. “There are backups, I’m sure—”

“The whole system was hit by a virus. It’s corrupted everything. The backups they’re trying to restore have been useless. Everyone is having meltdowns.”

I was stunned, momentarily at a loss as to what to say. My gaze was caught by a news van pulling up outside. “Oh no. Look.” I pointed and Lana turned. We watched as three people got out of the van, one obviously the camera-ready reporter.

“You have to leave,” Lana said. “I haven’t told you the worst part.”

I turned back to her. “What could possibly be worse?”

“They think
you
did it.”

That phrase,
feel the blood drain from my face
, came to mind. I never knew that was an actual Thing. Until now.

“How . . . why . . . how?” I stammered.

“You were the last one to check in the files. They have security footage of you and Freyda in the parking lot, her getting into your car. Then she was dead this morning.”

“I didn’t kill her!” But the proof—my bullet-shattered windshields—was long gone.

“Someone used her credentials to remotely access the project and copy the files. They have a log, but whoever did it rerouted through so many servers, they couldn’t pinpoint the origination. They’re assuming corporate espionage.”

“And they suspect me?” I was incredulous, stunned, and kind of pissed off, too. The idea that someone would think I did that—

“You need to go. Now,” she said. “I know it wasn’t you, but everything looks really bad right now. If you want to clear your name, you’re going to need to find the stolen software
and
the person who stole it.”

“But . . . but . . . where do I go?” I didn’t have anywhere. I went two places: work and home.

“Go to my place,” she said, then rattled off an address. Thank God I had a good memory. “The garage code is zero eight one five. I’ll meet you there tonight. Now go, before the police arrive.”

I hurried to my car, giving the news people a wide berth. As I left the lot, I passed another news truck going in. Wyndemere attacked by a virus was big news, along the lines of Microsoft going down.

Going straight to Lana’s sounded like a bad idea. Sitting around all day waiting wasn’t in my disposition. I thought of going to Clark’s, but if the police were looking for me, they’d be watching for me at home.

As I was driving aimlessly, my phone rang. It was Jackson.

“What the hell is going on? Where are you?”

So much for a
Good morning, how are you?
I thought sourly.

“I’m driving. I just left Wyndemere.”

“I’m watching the news and they’re saying a Cysnet employee hacked Wyndemere and stole proprietary software. What the fuck is going on, China?”

I winced at the fury in his voice even as nausea threatened to overwhelm me. Oh my God, this was really happening.