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not what anyone expected.”

“He had a gun!” protested Bee. “He had a gun pointed at Paul and Chloe and he’d shot their friend.”

Raff laughed, although there wasn’t any humor in his voice.

“It’s not funny!” Bee shouted, and now everyone was looking at them.

Even Raff had to acknowledge they were drawing too much attention. He said something to Bee in a soft voice that Chloe couldn’t make out over the microphone, calming her down. Then, in more normal tones, he said, “I was just laughing - and I shouldn’t have been because no, it’s not funny - but when Owen found out who he’d shot. That he’d shot Winston, he was devastated. Turns out they were old friends.”

Chloe’s heart raced at Raff ‘s mention of Winston. Old friends? Could that be true? That her mentor and Raff ‘s had known each other at some point? Maybe even worked together? It didn’t seem likely. As a matter of fact, she knew that Raff was bullshitting at least a little bit. Winston had been wearing a mask when Owen shot him. And he was dead less than six hours later. There was no way he could’ve known it was Winston. She just hoped that Bee’s bullshit detector was working as well as her own.

“Really?” asked Bee.

“It’s true. Or that’s what Jeanie told me anyway. Jeanie and Owen and Winston go way back she said.”

“That’s… that’s horrible.”

“Yeah,” said Raff. “It kind of is, isn’t it?”

The two sat in awkward silence for a while. Chloe knew that Raff was letting Bee stew in her shame, hoping that she’d make some big mistake. Chloe hoped that she wouldn’t, but this particular situation was beyond her experience, and she just couldn’t predict what Bee would do next.

“Is she very sad still?” Bee finally asked.

Raff put his hand on Bee’s shoulder as he said, “I think so, yeah. But she hides it well.”

Bee looked up into Raff ‘s eyes. “Can you tell her I’m sorry?” she asked.

“I can…” said Raff before a dramatic pause. “Or better yet, you could tell her yourself.”

Oh shit, thought Chloe. This is it.

“We could call her? If we called her I could…”

“No, Bee. She’s here. In Key West. You could tell her in person. You could tell her to her face. Don’t you think you owe her that much?”

“No!” said Chloe, across the street in her private room. “Jesus, no, it’s a trap.” This Jeanie person may or may not exist, but there was no way Raff was going to lead Bee to her - not when he had to assume that Chloe was still watching him.

But Bee said, “Maybe… Maybe that would be good. To see her.”

“To give her some closure,” Raff interjected. “And maybe give yourself some too.”

“I’d have to think about it,” Bee said. “Chloe’s going to be expecting me to be back at the house soon.”

“Chloe can wait,” Raff said. “I can’t. I can’t risk being followed back. Not with Paul being so mad at me. Did he tell you they attacked me?”

Bee ignored this last question. “How would it work? Is she close?”

“Well,” said Raff. “I need to be careful, you know. I need to make sure you don’t have any tracking devices on you. So I’d take you to a neutral place and sweep you for bugs and then take you to Jeanie. Blindfolded of course. Then, after you two have a chance to talk, I’ll take you back here or wherever you want to be dropped off.”

“I don’t know,” said Bee. “That could take a long time. What if Paul or Chloe…”

Raff reached down into his pile of clothes and pulled out a cell phone from his shorts’ pocket. “I can call right now and set it up. It won’t take an hour for the whole thing.”

Bee thought this over, before finally saying, “Ok.”

Raff smiled. “Great, Bee. This is the right decision.” He stood up and turned his back to Bee as he dialed the phone. Chloe watched as Bee idly fingered Raff ‘s shorts, which were in a pile in front of her. It was hard to tell for sure with the camera’s crappy resolution, but Chloe thought it looked like Bee was crying.

With his back to Bee, Chloe couldn’t hear what Raff was saying into the phone, but when he turned around he said, “All right, you ready?”

“Sure,” said Bee. “I guess so.”

“Lemme just get dressed.” Raff quickly slid his shorts, shirt and shoes back on and then offered Bee a hand up. “Come on, we’ll get a cab downstairs.”

Chloe slammed her laptop shut, and shoved it into her shoulder bag as she raced down the stairs into the restaurant below. She came out onto the street just as Bee and Raff emerged from the front door of the Bull and Whistle. Raff saw her immediately, and a moment later so did Bee. Chloe dodged through the slow Duval Street traffic and came to a halt in front of them.

“What the fuck kind of stupid shit are you doing?” Chloe said to Bee.

“I was…” Bee stammered, as Chloe grabbed her arm.

“What’s wrong Chloe?” asked Raff. “We were just catching some sun.”

“Shut up, shitbag,” Chloe spat at him. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

Raff didn’t try to stop Chloe as she dragged Bee back across the street except to say, “She’s not your mother, Bee. You can still do the right thing here.”

“Fuck off, Raff. Next time I see you, you’re dead,” Chloe shouted without looking over her shoulder. She heard him laughing as she flagged down a cab and stuffed Bee into it.

“Are you ok, Bee?” Chloe asked.

Bee nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. Chloe hugged her close. “It’s ok, sweetie. It’s ok. Don’t worry about it. Everything’s going to be ok.” And maybe, thought Chloe, just maybe, it actually would be.

Chapter 23

PAUL didn’t even own a tie until he became a con man. As an artist and then videogame designer, there’d never been a need for much in the way of formal wear. And when occasion called for dressing up, a button-down shirt and maybe a sports coat were usually all he’d ever needed. But once he and Chloe had arrived in Key West, he’d soon found that a tie could be a necessary evil. In the ultra-casual Key West culture, wearing a tie was a sure sign that you were either a stuffy-ass businessman or some kind of government official, and any simple article of clothing that could make people jump to such immediate conclusions about you was a valuable tool.

Wearing a crisp, white shirt, dark blue tie with deep red stripes, and navy slacks with loafers, Paul marched with officious determination into the lobby of the Hyatt and straight to the front desk, cutting in front of three people who were standing in line. He heaved his briefcase up onto the counter and popped it open saying, “I need to speak with a manager right away.”

“Excuse me?” said the handsome, tan young man behind the counter in a light Spanish accent.

Paul flipped out a business card from inside the case, presenting it to the receptionist as if it were a badge. “Mike O’Conner, Verizon Wireless Security Services Department,” Paul said, which was exactly what it read on the business card. He also had an ID to match it in his wallet, both made by Bee several months earlier as a cover for him to help set up the camera and RFID network. “I need to speak to your manager about a computer security issue,” he said.

“All right,” the man said. “Please hold on a moment.” He picked up his phone and dialed a number, turning his back to Paul as he spoke into the phone in a low whisper. Then, to Paul he said, “She’ll be right out. If you could wait over there?” he asked, pointing to a nearby potted plant.

“Thank you,” he said, and moved over to his assigned location, which was too near the elevators for Paul’s comfort. The worst thing that could happen right now would be for Eddie to come down that elevator, followed in close second by Raff walking in the front door. Two tense minutes passed before he saw an attractive, middle-aged woman with dyed blonde hair come out from the back room. The receptionist pointed her toward Paul, and she came over, a wary smile on her face.

“Can I help you, sir?” the woman asked.

Paul held out his hand and read her name off the tag on her blouse. “Mike O’Conner, Verizon Wireless Security Services Department. You’re Ms. Jawolski?”

“I am,” she said as she shook his hand. “The assistant manager.” She seemed surprised that Paul knew her name. People tended to forget they were wearing name tags, especially since few people actually paid much attention to them.

“Great,” said Paul, “Just the person I need to see.”

“What’s this about?”

“We’ve been tracking a series of network security breaches over the last twenty-four hours. There’s been a rash of virus and hacker attacks on area networks and local ISP’s and we’ve been doing our darnedest to sort it all out.” Paul looked around the lobby. “Is there somewhere we can sit for just a moment? How about over there?” He pointed to some chairs and a coffee table that were out of line of sight from the elevator.

“Of course,” the manager said, playing the perfect hostess and ushering him to a seat. As soon as he sat down, Paul opened the briefcase again, producing a stack of papers covered in complicated graphs and spreadsheets with columns like “Transfer Rates” and “Unknown Server Contacts” and even more technical terms like “TCP/IP.” They were meaningless of course, but he was betting she didn’t know that. Hell, if Paul didn’t know they were fake, he wouldn’t have been able to tell himself.

“As you see here,” said Paul, “There’s been a great deal of unusual activity in the area. And we’ve had several reports of unauthorized access to some very secure networks near here. You haven’t had any problems with your wireless network here at the Hyatt have you?”

“No,” said the woman, scanning the papers as Paul handed them to her, trying to make some sense of them. “As far as I know, we’ve had no complaints.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Paul said. “We have reason to believe that the attacks are originating from your network here.”

“One of our guests?” she asked, real concern in her voice.

“That’s a possibility, of course,” said Paul. “But we think it’s an outside hacker who’s hijacked your network for his own purposes. An all too common occurrence I’m afraid.”

“Do we need to shut it down? Are our computers ok?” she asked. “I should get our IT guy down here.”

“Your own internal network should be still secure. But we do have a list of room numbers where the hacker has used open access points for his own purposes, and any computer users in those rooms might have had their personal systems compromised, so you should probably warn them.” Paul handed her a sheet of paper with twenty room numbers on it, including the one they’d identified as Eddie’s.

“Ok,” she said, looking up and down the list. “You know security is Verizon’s responsibility. We’re only…”

“Don’t worry about liability,” Paul interrupted. “You’re absolutely right. This is Verizon’s problem and our liability issue, but we’d like your help nipping this little bit of trouble in the bud.”

“Of course. What can I do to help?”

“Using some pretty advanced tracing techniques, we’ve managed to develop a suspect.” He reached into his briefcase one final time, and drew forth a stack

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