Slick as Ides (5 page)

I shift in my seat, angling away from him a little more.

The bus makes its scheduled path block after block, and I wait for it to take me to them.

Tracing them is easy. I have Vapor’s DNA from the gene capture on my faux stereo face. I know their faces, their code names, and the cord they did not remove from my stereo, has a tracking device inside it, so I know exactly where they’re going.

And if that wasn’t the best part—he actually plugged his iPhone into my trap.

As they continue to talk about how fabulous they are, my iPhone sucks the information out of his, like juice from a straw. A small side window on my screen rifles through his information—phone contacts, emails, music, videos, photos, and a few browsers he left open online. A few of them have information on me, or my codename of Ides.

Seems he’s got quite a sizable bank account, and a penchant for BDSM porn. He must not be too horrible a criminal if he’s amassed this kind of wealth, but still . . . not as slick as he thinks he is—the cocky jackass.

“Okay, let’s see here,” I mumble to myself, and bite my lip as I traipse through his personal information, ignoring the pangs ripping through my chest over how he’s betrayed me and wasn’t who he pretended to be at all.
Twice
.

His name is Nick Reid.

Wait . . . Those eyes, that name, Nick . . .

You’re imagining things. That was a long time ago—ten years, and what are the odds?

I blink hard and go back to my information in the palm of my hand. There’s a pit that’s settled in my stomach, making it difficult to concentrate, but I don’t care. I can do this. I can figure him out, and be a step ahead of him.

Let’s see . . . his friend is . . . well, at least Westin Crane, aka Fingers, is smart enough to keep his friend’s identity secret on his iPhone, which they’ve now hooked up to my stereo since they probably think Nick’s is broken—failing to work with my sound system.

I stifle a triumphant giggle. Here, Nick’s been razzing his friend about being an idiot, and Nick’s phone was the one that gave me all the crucial information I needed.

The bus pulls up and lets me off a block away from where they parked my car.

My skin is crawling again. I’ve touched filthy things. Maybe I should stop and get some waterless sanitizer after all? It will only take a few minutes.

I glance around and notice this is a pretty seedy neighborhood, so my legs start pushing me forward—taking me toward them without my permission.

“You got it?” I can hear them say from my phone. They’re outside my car. There are scraping sounds and stiff plastic being maneuvered about.

Shit! No! They’re about to change my vehicle’s exterior. And any minute now, they’ll realize where the model is and take it.

Wait a minute. They don’t work for . . .

They can’t, or they’d have taken it by now. Or at least they would have searched for it.

I burst into a sprint and ignore my internal battle waging over germs versus wanting to right a wrong. For once, the germs lose. I’ll take back what’s mine and kick Vapor’s hot-ass.

I rush down the block while simultaneously watching my phone in horror.

The camera view changes at my command, but it’s limited.

They really are outside my car, preparing it for a quick paint job.

Fuckers! I like black.

I really,
really
like black.

Yes, like my panties and bra. So the jerk was right. I don’t give a fuck right now. All I care about is getting my car back, along with the prototype, and shoving a rod through Vapor’s prostate so walking will be a truly enjoyable event for him over the next ten years.

My stride lengthens, and my pace quickens.

If they make it some hideous color like banana-yellow or fire-engine-red, I won’t hesitate to shoot their kneecaps off.

That’ll make walking even more fun.

They’ll deserve it if they do something that idiotic.

Before I arrive at the body shop, barely visible behind a trash-heap of a pawn shop in front of it, I wrangle out my handgun.

I swallow hard, step up to the gate and shove it open.

They’re so amateur they don’t even have an alarm system in place. I roll my eyes.

The hinges squeak a little from past rain and rust, but they can’t possibly hear it. Not with how busy and loud they’re being.

I burst through the front door and don’t even bother to shout.

A bullet flies out of the gun as I squeeze the trigger.

It hits the hubcap hanging on the wall behind Nick, or should I say, Vapor—the fucker that wounded me more than I thought possible.

A trace of bile reaches the back of my throat, and against all my instincts, I swallow it down and keep a straight face.

His reflexes make him collapse to the floor in a panic.

“That’s my car,” I snarl.

“What the fuck?” Westin, or Fat Fingers as I now call him, mutters, as he drops what he’s doing.

He was a second away from painting the bumper.

I aim the gun at him next. “What color did you choose?” I ask, baiting him. My hand is steady, while inside I’m shaking.

I’m a computer hacker, an inventor—not this. Not the monster Dad turned into. I want peace—a place where guns are unnecessary.

I’m against criminal activity, though. Well, unless it involves doing something a little shady for an invention, sitting in the backseat of my car, worth a million.

“Metallic purple,” Westin answers, his voice cracking.

“I don’t mind purple, actually, so the choice isn’t bad, but black is better. So if you don’t mind stepping away from my car.” My voice is calm. My eye twitches, but I’m far away enough I doubt they can see it.

My gun is still level when I let another bullet rip past his head into the hanging pegboard covered in tools behind him.

Tools to change my car!

My face scrunches, and my gut clenches over what they were about to take away—one of the few things I enjoy in my drab life.

“You might want to move a little faster. I had an ocular procedure last week so my aim might be a little off.” I smile.

He skulks away, and I spot Nick, trying to be oh so vapor-like, placing something under the carriage.

“Get that tracer off my car!” I jerk my head toward the spot he was just touching.

Nick stands up and glares at me.

When I glance at the shelf next to me, there’s some hand sanitizer there. I take a squirt and pass the gun from hand-to-hand as I freshen up my skin.

“Look, lady . . .” he huffs and narrows his eyes “. . . I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not a superhero here.” He’s even more spectacular to look at when he’s seething at me. My heart flutters, and my lips part as my mouth goes wet. “We have a job to do, and you’re only slowing us down.”

I laugh. “This is a
job
? Oh, forgive me . . . I thought it was a hobby, since you’re never going to be as slick as Ides,” I repeat what they said in the car, smirking.

His eyes go wide, followed by his whole body slouching forward.

“How the hell did you know what we said?” His mouth makes an O shape when I grin hard at him, and it’s almost as impressive as the saucer shape of his wide eyes.

“Oh, I know a lot of things . . .” I smile wider, and then the humiliation really begins when my eidetic memory kicks in. “Nick Reid, who lives at 2259 Madison Rd, Los Angeles, California.” I quirk a brow, mocking him. “That’s a pretty expensive neighborhood you live in. I love gated communities, but they’re so nineties, wouldn’t you agree?”

They gape at me silently.

“Must be a hefty mortgage, but then you’re not solely responsible, now are you,
Nick
?” I spit his name as harshly as the bullets I’d let loose from my weapon moments ago.

“How can you know all of this?” Nick asks.

I smile broadly, enough he can probably count most of my white teeth. Not as white as his, but still . . . They’re in good shape.

“This is impossible,” Westin adds.

I move toward my car.

“Even now, as I stand here, your fingerprints are downloaded on my phone. Thanks for making sure to touch my car stereo—so brilliant of you.” I snicker. “My database I have at home is searching for a police file on you both. When it’s done, it’ll shoot it back to me, and I’ll know even more.” I look at Nick. “By the way, you probably shouldn’t be pulling up your bank account on your cell when you’ve stolen my car and have your phone hooked into my wiring. You don’t mess with this bitch.” I take one hand off the gun handle, glance down at my phone for a second, and it comes up empty. “Oh, too bad, you’ve never served jail time before. I’ll have to remedy that for you, but it appears your roommate, sharing the title of the home with you, a Mr. Jason Michaels, has served two years for petty theft.”

Westin gasps.

“Well,
helllllllloooooo
, Jason,” I say, as a picture of Vapor’s roommate pops up on my phone. I make a face like he’s pretty decent to look at.

He’s got brown
hair, looks like he’s kind of short with a thin build and beady, dark eyes.

A moment later, and I’ll know more about who he is, too.

“You know, for a crook with two-point-nine-million dollars in your bank account—that I’d diversify if I was you—I would think you could train your accomplice here to hone his skills. He needs a better poker face, but then you’re the one with the ‘thespian’ skills, aren’t you, Nick?”

I circle around the car, and they give a wide berth, moving away from me in the opposite direction, looking nervous like I’ll shoot them if they don’t orbit around my vehicle, keeping the appropriate distance from me.

“Move all of this plastic off my car—all of the tape, too.” I motion with the gun for them to move closer to my car before I take my vehicle back.

“Who the hell are you, lady?” Westin asks, sounding in awe.

“Just call me Shadow, because you never saw me. You never touched my car—I’ll need to sanitize and detail now, thanks to you bozos—it’s gonna take a good week to complete.” I growl low in my belly. “And you never talked to me.”

“Who. The. Hell.
Are
.
You
?” Nick’s face turns red, and his hands set on his hips.

“Man, she’s gotta be . . .” Westin trails off.

I smirk. Well, well, well . . . Westin’s smarter than I originally thought, and definitely more so than Nick believes him to be. He knows Ide’s work when he sees it.

“You can quit pretending you don’t know who I am,” I tell Nick.

“Knock it off,” Nick tells Westin. “Ides is not her. This woman has no clue what she’s doing.” He rolls his eyes.

I shrug.

“Nobody knows what Ides looks like—no one’s ever seen the person. You’re the only one I know who even thinks it’s a woman and not some dude,” Westin says, ripping the plastic off.

It sounds like they’ve had this argument before.

“Careful!” I say, worried he’s going to mess up my pristine paint job. I’ve only driven this car a little more than two dozen times. The mileage is low, along with the normal damage from use.

“Think about it . . .” Westin goes back to his line of thinking, continuing to clear off my car. “Only Ides could do all this. No one else has this kind of technology. What she’s done is unreal. It has Ide’s signature all over it.”

A grin spreads across my face.

“Stop it!” Nick yells. “This bitch is lying! She’s making shit up as she goes!” He grips his head like he’s trying to keep it from spinning off. “She’s not Ides!”

Does he honestly not know who I am? Is this all a coincidence?

Well fuck. He’s still an asshole, but I back up to create some distance.

He’s got me all turned-on when I know I shouldn’t be.

How was I to know he’d be this hot when I was talking to him online a week ago?

I prepare to leave but stop myself.

What the hell . . . I can spare a few minutes to watch the show.

Chapter 4

Vapor continues to throw a fit and insist I’m not Ides.

I chuckle inside over his insecurities. The man’s got a temper. He really is cute.

The last of the plastic drops to the floor, along with the ball of tape Westin wadded up. When he’s finished he backs away.

“Step away from my car, Son,” I tell Nick. “I don’t want to run you over—blood is the worst to clean up.” I lean over and pump another glob of sanitizer into my hand and liberally spread it back and forth between my hands again. Just the thought of blood.

Fuck . . . So yucky!

He groans and remains stuck in his spot.

“
Son
?” He glares. “I’m sure I’m older than you. You barely look twenty.”