Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(36)

Easy for you to say.

So what are we doing?

I just need some information right now. I’ll decide later what I’m going to do with it. I need as much information as I can get on Ian Cartwright and Paul Michaels. Addresses in New York and Miami.

I’m not a private investigation service. I can almost hear the tension behind his words. This is not what Tracker had thought I’d ask. Before I can respond, he writes, You can find out all that yourself. Google it.

I already did that, and there’s nothing. I didn’t think there would be. Where I need to get the information from, I have to get behind a pretty serious firewall, probably more than one. It’s a system that might not have any open portals.

Where exactly are we hacking into?

The FBI.





NINETEEN


Even if the police found Ian’s fingerprints in my house, I’d be surprised if he’d ever used his real name again, considering. When I left him, he’d been using the name Paul Michaels, the name on the passport I arranged. I have no idea if he’s still using that name – he might not be. But it’s the only one I know. The fact that he has been calling himself Zeke Chapman here on the island makes me wonder if he truly has taken on that persona, but he had to realize that it would muddy the waters, since Zeke is dead.

Every time someone mentions his name, I cringe inside.

I am the reason Zeke died that day.

The FBI? Tracker’s message pulls me out of my thoughts.

I need any information relating to those two names in connection with those accounts fifteen years ago. You know the ones. I pause. I also need the names that went along with all those accounts. Names and pertinent information – employment, places of residence, that sort of thing. Ian had told me that the job was ‘just like before.’ I wonder if this new plan is targeting one of the victims.

I had seen the stories in the paper about the theft. It was too huge for anyone to keep it under wraps. Ten million. But there had been no mention of the victims, just the amount stolen and the search for the hackers who did it. When the real Zeke, the FBI agent, showed up at my father’s house, more interested in me than my father, I began to question everything. I never had names. I had anonymous usernames and passwords. Nothing was personal. At least, not for me.

It was only then that Ian told me about my father and Tony DeMarco.

You can do some of that yourself, Tracker is pointing out.

I didn’t keep a list of the accounts. I had been safeguarding myself. I really only need the information on the accounts on our original list. The list I had been given, culled from some unknown person – unknown at least to me. Ian had been very tightlipped, said I didn’t need to know and it was better that I didn’t. I was fine with that. The papers said it must have been an inside job, someone inside the bank, but I never knew who it was.

I’ll post them here within the hour. I knew Tracker would have it. I’m going to need some time for the other. I don’t know exactly how long. I’ll leave you a message, so check back.

And then he was gone.

I stare at the screen, wondering what I can do myself. He is right that I can get some of the information on my own. At least, I used to be able to. But I am afraid that if I try to get in myself, I will leave a trail. I’m too rusty. I hate relying on Tracker, putting him in this position, but I need to find out about Ian.

Steve finds me sitting in front of the dark computer screen, my head in my hands.

‘Did everything go OK?’ he asks tentatively.

I look up at him. ‘I know you want to help, but this might be bigger than I thought. I can’t put you in danger. I’m going to have to leave.’ I stand up, realizing that I have no clothes except the ones I wore yesterday. Maybe I can borrow some from Jeanine or Veronica. I am sure they’ll have heard by now about my house and the state it was in when the police arrived, and they will want to help. But can I afford to lean on any more friends?

‘Who is after you, Nicole? Just answer that, OK? And let me be the judge of how much danger I’m in.’

I can’t help myself. I give him a small smile. ‘The FBI. Ian. The people he was working for.’ I don’t mention my father or Tony DeMarco.

His eyebrows are clear up into his forehead. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘I wish I wasn’t.’

He sees now that I am dead serious. ‘Can’t the FBI help you?’ he asks innocently.

I chuckle. ‘The FBI wants to put me in prison, Steve. For a very long time.’

Steve shakes his head slowly. ‘This is beginning to sound like one of those bestselling novels. The FBI and computer hackers.’

And murder. But I can’t tell him that. He will find out. Just not now. I have already been diminished in his eyes. I am not ready for more.

‘I’m going to need a new laptop,’ I tell him.

Steve eyes me warily, and then says, ‘Mike Burns lives over near the Great Salt Pond. He refurbishes machines in his house. It’s not really a business officially, but it is. It’s just not something he tells the IRS about.’

I don’t like the idea of a refurbished computer, but it will have to do. And if Mike Burns is running a business without really running a business, I can count on his discretion.

‘I’ll take you over there,’ Steve offers. ‘After you get dressed.’