Heart-Shaped Hack (27 page)

The subject line said,
You have one new message
.

Kate would have to log on to her dating account to read the message, but since she had no desire or interest in doing so, she deleted the e-mail notification.

The next day while sitting at her desk, she received another notification.
You have one new message
.

At Ian’s request, Kate had not deleted her account. But the thought of dating anyone made her physically ill, and the last thing she wanted was a constant reminder of her single status. She opened a browser on her phone and logged on to her account. Kate had modified her preferences so that she’d no longer receive alerts, but all the notification settings had been turned back on. She jabbed at the drop-down menu to turn them off again. Deciding it was time to remove her profile permanently, she went in search of the delete button.

“Kate? Can you unlock the back door for a delivery?”

“Sure,” she said, setting the phone aside to dig the keys out of her pocket. She walked to the back and forgot about deleting the account until the next day when she received another notification shortly after returning to her apartment after work.

You have one new message
.

Once again, she logged on to her dating account.

Once again, all notifications were back on.

Irritated, she clicked over to the actual messages, wondering who was being so persistent. After taking a look, she would delete the account as planned. Kate expected to find dozens of messages, but there were only three, all of which had come in since she’d received the first alert two days ago, and all from the same person.

Someone named Rion Bodoh.

Rion?
Kate thought
.

She went to his profile, but there was no picture and no bio.

She clicked on the first message:

I would really like to connect with you.

Kate deleted it and the second message filled the screen.

Please, I would really like the chance to get to know you.

Kate deleted that one too.

The final message filled the screen.

All I’m asking is for a simple response to let me know you’re receiving my messages. If you’re not interested in getting to know me, please tell me and I won’t write to you again.

Kate tapped out a short reply, hoping it would end his attempts to engage her in conversation.

Yes, I’ve received your messages. I have no interest in meeting or dating anyone. I am deleting this account.

The sound of the e-mail alert chimed in her hand almost immediately.

You have one new message.

In the interest of being polite, she’d done what he’d asked. But of course “Ryan” with the weird spelling hadn’t held up his end of the bargain.

They never did.

I can’t tell you how happy I am that you responded. I’d really like to get to know you. I like your glasses. They make you look very smart.

Her glasses?

Kate clicked over to her profile. Her bio was still the one Ian had written, but she inhaled sharply when she noticed the picture, remembering exactly when Ian had taken it.

She’d been lying in bed next to him, hair tousled, eyes half-closed, lips turned up slightly in a satisfied smile, naked under the covers. He’d reached for his phone on the nightstand and snapped the picture. When he showed it to her, he said, “This is my new favorite picture of you. I love it because I’m the one who put that look on your face. God, Kate. You are so beautiful.”

She remembered how after he’d shown her the picture, he’d pulled back the covers and asked if he could take one more. “For my eyes only,” he said.

She’d said yes.

Now the picture had been cropped to show only her face and rotated so it appeared she was sitting upright.

And she was wearing glasses.

Nice, normal glasses.

How long after New Year’s Eve—when her profile photo had still been a picture of her driving the Shelby—had Ian changed it?

It made sense he’d choose his favorite photo of her, especially because he was the only one who knew the circumstances behind it.

But when had he added the glasses?

And why?

Her irritation was replaced by curiosity. She’d never needed glasses in her life, so what significance did they bring to the photo? Ian was the one who wore glasses, not her. She thought back to the first time she’d seen him wearing them.

“Are the glasses a disguise? Because I totally knew it was you.”

“The glasses are real. I often suffer from eyestrain since I spend so much time on the computer, and I was up late last night, working.”

“They make you look very smart.”

It’s a coincidence, she told herself. That’s all it is.

Her phone chimed again.
You have one new message
.

Kate clicked over to her account, her finger shaking slightly.

Please don’t delete your account. I’ll wait.

Wait for what? Wait until she figured it out? She set the phone on the coffee table and leaned away from it, hugging her knees to her chest. Believing the messages had anything to do with Ian was a dangerous line of thinking and would rip off the scab that had only recently formed over her grief. Did she think he had somehow figured out how to communicate from the grave?

I’ll wait.

For my eyes only.

Rion Bodoh

The name stumped her even more than the glasses. It was too odd not to have significance. There was something she was supposed to
see
.

She stared at the name.

Rion Bodoh.

When she clicked over to her account preferences, they’d been turned off again. Whoever was sending the messages no longer wanted an e-mail alert to accompany them.

That night, when Kate was lying in bed wide-awake, it came to her so suddenly she couldn’t believe she hadn’t been able to see it before. Her heart thundered in her chest and goose bumps covered every inch of her skin.

Please don’t be wrong, please don’t be wrong, please don’t be wrong
.

She threw back the covers and ran into the living room, turning on the lights on her way. She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, crossing out each letter as she wrote them down in a new order.

Rion Bodoh.

Robin Hood.

Kate’s spirits soared and she began to cry.

After a sleepless night and a call to Helena to let her know she’d be in around eleven, Kate arrived at the storage facility in Bloomington shortly before nine o’clock. A little voice inside her head warned that if she was mistaken, or worse yet—if this was some kind of trick—the agony she would experience would be ten times harder to bear than the initial news of Ian’s death. But her hope was a snowball rolling downhill, gaining speed and momentum and strength, and she was powerless to stop it.

She walked through the front door of the storage facility wearing a pencil skirt, a push-up bra, and high heels. She carried a leather satchel.

The young man behind the counter looked about nineteen and very bored, but he perked up a little when she took off her coat, revealing a blouse that had one button too many undone.

“Good morning,” she said. In a matter-of-fact tone, she pulled a sheaf of papers from the satchel and clicked open a ballpoint pen. “I need a copy of a rental agreement. The name is Ian Merrick. M-E-R-R-I-C-K. Do you have that name in your system?”

He typed the name into his computer and looked up.

Bingo, Kate thought.

“I’m working to settle Mr. Merrick’s estate. If I can get a copy of that agreement, I can move forward. You can imagine how comforting that would be for Mr. Merrick’s family.”

“I can’t give it to you. Our records have to be subpoenaed. People store stuff here they don’t want anyone to know about. We can’t just give out that information.”

“Yes I know. I’m an attorney.” Kate pulled one of her old business cards out of her satchel and held it up just long enough for him to see the writing. “But waiting on the proper forms so I can draft the subpoena is something I don’t have time for. The family is devastated, as you can imagine.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I still can’t give it to you. I could lose my job if I don’t follow the rules.”

Kate looked into his eyes, holding his gaze a beat longer than necessary. When she slid the business card back into her satchel, her elbow knocked a rack of brochures off the counter and they scattered on the floor.

“I’m so sorry. I guess I can tell what kind of day it’s going to be.” She crouched down to pick them up.

“No big deal.” He came out from behind the counter to help her pick them up, stealing a good long look down her gaping blouse in the process.

“You can probably get that subpoena, right? Seeing as you’re an attorney and all? I feel bad that I can’t help you.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure your adherence to company policy is one of the things that make you such a valued employee. How long have you been in charge here?”

“Almost a year,” he said. “I’m not really in charge. Not yet anyway.”

Kate smiled. “It probably won’t be long until you are. They’ve undoubtedly taken notice of your dedication.”

He stood up and put the brochure rack back on the counter. “You’re a lot nicer than that guy who came in here asking questions,” he blurted.

“Was he rude to you?” Kate’s tone was sympathetic, caring. She leaned against the counter as if she wasn’t in a hurry to leave.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. I know everything that goes on around here, but I didn’t feel like telling him on account of what a dick he was being to me.”

“What did he want to know?”

“He wanted to know when the FBI had come for Mr. Merrick’s other car. The one he left in the parking lot while he was out driving that cool old car. That’s when I knew he was crazy. They’d barely pulled the body out of the river at that point. Why would the FBI be interested in a car accident, you know? That didn’t make any sense.”

Kate kept her expression neutral. “That does seem a little odd. Was he dressed like me? Maybe he was from the insurance company or something.”

“He was just some punk wearing ripped jeans and a hoodie.”

Her pulse quickened. “A purple one? Vikings fan, maybe?”

“No. Gray I think. Or maybe it was black.”

“Thank you for your time today.” She rested a hand on his arm. “You’ve been very helpful.”

He stood a little taller. “You’re welcome. You can come back if you need anything else. I’m here all the time.”

She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. Bye now.”

Kate had never been interested in the rental agreement. There was nothing on it that would help her, nothing she even remotely cared about knowing. She’d just needed an excuse to start a conversation. Because if anyone outside the FBI had shown up, it likely meant Ian’s cover had been blown and there was enough doubt surrounding his death to warrant a visit. And it was any mention of another person who’d been nosing around, especially someone who might have been a hacker, that she’d been after from the start.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Back at her apartment, Kate kicked off her shoes and rubbed her temples.

For my eyes only
.

The glasses had definitely been his way of helping her figure out who the messages were from. But the picture itself must have been his way of telling her to use caution regarding their communication. If Ian was contacting her via her dating account, did it mean he’d been hacked? Was this the only secure connection between them? She supposed he could have used the cell phone he’d given her if she hadn’t thrown it in the river.

She thought back to the days leading up to Ian’s death. The way his phone had pinged on the way to lunch. The problem he’d mentioned not being sure how to solve. She remembered how desperate he’d seemed when they’d made love and what he’d said afterward.

Don’t ever lose faith in me.

Maybe she’d misunderstood him. Maybe he’d been trying to prepare her for a future event. Kate began to question things. Why was the tracking turned off on his phone? Why had he taken the Shelby out when he knew the roads would be bad?

She logged on to her dating account and drafted her reply carefully:

The glasses do make me feel very smart. I’m able to understand things so much better when I’m wearing them.

She waited thirty seconds and refreshed the screen. A new message appeared, its header bolded to signify it hadn’t been opened yet. Kate clicked on the message.

Smart and beautiful. Promise me you’ll wear the glasses on our date.

Kate’s heart was thumping when she replied.

You seem very nice, but I’m not interested in going on a date. I recently lost someone very important to me. He was the love of my life, and I’m still mourning him. I’m sorry.

She waited two minutes and refreshed the screen.

I completely understand that you’re not ready for another romantic entanglement, but maybe we could go to lunch. I happen to know of a restaurant that serves the best charcuterie in Minneapolis.

Mentioning the charcuterie was Ian’s way of assuring her it was really him. Tears ran down Kate’s face as she typed her reply.

I suppose lunch wouldn’t hurt.

He sent a reply immediately.

I predict you’ll be so taken with me you’ll be more than willing to move on to the next stage. I have that effect on women.

Kate typed her response:
You seem very confident. If you’re so successful with women, why are you single?

I’m currently between lovers.

She wiped away tears.

I see.
Kate wanted him to know that she understood.

I knew you would.

Kate knew he must have a plan but that it would need to be revealed carefully.

What would happen if things were to go well on our first few dates?

He replied immediately.

I was hoping you would ask. If things go well, maybe you’d consider a romantic weekend away. We could board a private plane on a Saturday afternoon and go someplace where we could be alone.