Predator (16 page)

W
hen Ryan got home, Ian was right where he’d left him. He sat on the sofa, laptop on his knees, staring intently at the screen. “Back already? So how was your date?”

Ryan kicked off his shoes and grabbed his own laptop. “I told you, it wasn’t a date.”

“Okay. So how was church?”

“Pretty good, actually.” He looked at Ian’s screen, saw a picture of Marvin Bainbridge, who held the controlling interest in Willow Entertainment. “You haven’t broken any laws from my server, have you?”

“No, I’ve just been doing research, which we probably should have done before you sold the company.”

“I did do research. I knew who those guys were, who the company was. But I was this little peon with a big idea, and they were waving money like they had it to burn.”

“You didn’t do the right kind of research. I’m not talking about their professional lives and all the PR they’ve released about themselves. I’m talking about their personal lives.”

Ryan groaned. “You’re not hacking into their personal computers, are you? Please tell me you’re not.”

“No, but dude, there’s some stuff here you need to see.”

“What?”

Ian typed something in, and a picture of Henry Hearne came up. “Bainbridge and the others look pretty straight and narrow, but Henry…”

Ryan narrowed his eyes. “What about him?”

“I found some speeches he made back in the seventies. He was a pretty radical guy back then, a member of this weird political party called the Forward Party. In one of the speeches he talked about controlling the masses by using technology to gather information about them.”

“Controlling the masses? For what purpose?”

“To advance their political agenda. I’m still trying to figure out exactly what they wanted. But the point is, he’s the one who created the Data-Gather program. It looks like this is all part of the plan. And GrapeVyne was the perfect tool. Millions of people willing to give personal details about their lives.”

“So are you implying that the whole board of directors is in on this?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only connected Hearne to this so far, but I’m looking at Bainbridge now. They may have believed GrapeVyne was a treasure trove when they bought it, or they might have had other intentions.”

Ryan shook his head. “I don’t know. It seems like a stretch. Just because Henry made some speeches forty years ago…”

“Ryan, we got fired today. They may have given you some song and dance about your making the company look bad, but this was about me hacking into Data-Gather.
That’s too close to the nerve center of their operations, and they wanted us out so we couldn’t get any closer.”

Ryan read the article, then shook his head. “Well, if it’s true, we can’t prove it.”

“I’m not finished yet.”

Ryan didn’t know whether to believe it, but he was too tired to follow Ian’s conspiracy theory. “Look, I don’t know if this is right or not. But right now, I just need to get some sleep. I’m going on the
Today Show
in the morning, really early.”

“Are you telling me to go home?”

“You can stay here if you want. I’m just saying I don’t much care whether the board members are on some political bandwagon or not. It has nothing to do with me.”

“But what if they’re doing something illegal? What if this is all some sinister plot—”

“Ian…”

“What if you just told the FBI about it and let them sort it out? What if we gave them the info I found on the search strings—”

“One thing at a time, okay? I’m seriously maxed out here.”

“Okay, never mind. I’ll just keep gathering my own data. Don’t worry about it.”

Ryan couldn’t help worrying. “So you’re staying here tonight?”

“I might go home when I’m finished.”

“Okay, lock up. I’m going to bed.”

He barely had the energy to undress. As he fell into bed, he knew that Ian would still be here when he got up.

A
fter Ryan had gone, Krista found her dad in his room, sitting in his rocking chair beside his bed. The bed hadn’t been made up in weeks—not since Ella had gone missing. A pile of clothes lay on a club chair in the corner—probably everything he’d worn since that horrible day. She should have noticed it sooner, she thought. She should have washed his clothes.

A lone lamp was on, and dust motes floated around it. The room smelled stale.

“Dad? Are you all right?”

He didn’t look at her. “Of course I am. Stop asking me that.”

“But you seemed upset that Ryan was here.”

“He doesn’t have any business here. He runs the company that contributed to Ella’s death. Why should I treat him like an honored guest?”

She sat down on the corner of the bed, facing him. “He got fired today, probably for helping me. He let me talk to the board members about changes to their site, and the next thing I knew, they fired him. I never meant for him to make such a sacrifice to help me, but he did.”

Her father didn’t answer.

“Did you hear me tonight when I told you we’re going on the
Today Show
tomorrow?”

“I heard you. You’re going to become quite a celebrity.”

That felt like a slap across her face. “I don’t want to be a celebrity, Dad. I just want to save lives.”

He looked at her then, and his eyes softened. “Are you seeing him?”

The question surprised her. “No, we’re just friends. Even that’s a surprise to me, because I didn’t think I was going to like him. But he’s just an ordinary guy, like us.”

“He’s not like us. He makes millions of dollars a year.”

“Made.”

“Somehow I think he’ll survive losing his job.”

“So you don’t like him because he’s rich?”

“I don’t like him because he created a portal for the worst kind of evil.”

“He didn’t mean for it to be. And he’s trying to change it. Going on the
Today Show
will stir up a lot of trouble for him, but he’s willing to do it to keep any more girls from giving out the kind of information that leads predators to them.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared straight ahead. She wondered where he’d gone.

“Dad? Are you going to watch?”

“I might go back to work tomorrow. I have to do it sometime.”

“But we’re on in the first hour, before work.”

He sighed. “Guess I will, then.”

She went over to him and kissed him on the cheek, then hugged him. He put his arms around her, but they lacked strength or warmth.

She missed her father.

“You’d better go to bed if you have to get up that early,” he said.

She straightened, aware that he was trying to get rid of her. “Yeah, you’re right. Hope I can sleep.”

When she went to bed, she lay awake into the wee hours, going over and over what she would say in the morning, and praying that her words could make a difference and protect the thousands who would hear her.

She prayed for Ryan, that the worship service tonight had impacted him in an eternal way, and that God would help him with his troubles.

And then she prayed that God would forgive her for the thoughts she’d let slink into her consciousness tonight. She prayed he would take them away and restore her faith in him. But the more she wished them gone, the more they plagued her.

How could God know the number of hairs on Ella’s head, but not stop this crazed killer from abducting her on the street?

How could a family who served God be ripped apart by such tragic events?

How could a trusting young girl be molested that way?

How could a perverted monster still be free to roam the streets looking for someone to devour?

She finally gave up sleeping and turned on her laptop. Sitting at her desk, she opened her real GrapeVyne page, the one where she posted her Bible studies for the girls at the center. She had email from two of them. They were turning
in their assignments. She checked their answers, saw that they really had understood what they’d read. They were learning to get sustenance from God’s Word. Learning that their security was in Him.

It wasn’t false security…was it?

Certain that her thoughts were pushing toward blasphemy, she banished them from her mind, signed out, then signed back in under her fake name. Maxi’s page came up, and she saw that she had five emails. They were all from the same person—a boy named Steven, who claimed he was seventeen.

As she opened his first email, a shiver went down her spine. A real kid would have communicated with her by commenting on her Vyne, out in the open, where others could view his quips. This one was doing it out of the public eye, in her private Inbox.

Don’t tell me a girl as hot as you doesn’t have friends. I’m here if you ever need to talk. I’m a good listener.

She clicked on the second email. It said simply,

Hello? Are you there?

“Yes,” she whispered aloud. “I’m right here.” She clicked on his third email, biting her lip.

Maxi. I love that name. I don’t know anyone else with that name. It’s one of a kind, like you. I love your sense of humor on your Vyne. Most people I know are pretty boring, so I put a high premium on girls who make me laugh. I’m feeling very insecure that you haven’t written me back. What gives?

A high premium? That wasn’t something a kid would say. It sounded like something a man
pretending
to be a kid would say.

She clicked on Steven’s face, and his profile came up. It said he was born in October, was a junior in high school, played guitar in a band, and also played soccer. He listed Cold Play as his favorite musical group,
Big Brother
as his favorite TV show. The high school he’d listed was only twenty miles away. She clicked on his photos and saw an album with pictures of him with his band, pictures with girls, pictures with friends and family.

If the killer had designed this profile, he’d done a good job of making himself look real. But she knew he could have stolen those pictures from anyone’s site. As long as no one who knew the real boy saw them, the killer could get away with it. That would be another reason to email her privately, instead of commenting publicly on her Vyne.

She replied,

Sorry, I’ve been busy today and didn’t see your email. I had to go to a science fair for home-schoolers. I didn’t win, but oh well. It’s okay because I’m not that into the whole bacteria thing. (I’d tell you about my project, but it’s pretty sick.)

I looked at your profile and love that you’re in a band. What kind of music do you play?

We should get together sometime. We don’t live that far apart.

Maxi

She drew in a ragged breath, set her laptop on her bed,
and hugged her knees, wondering if he’d be up this late, scavenging the Internet for his next victim.

What was she doing? This was crazy. She was setting herself up for disaster. Her father could have another tragedy on his hands.

But it wouldn’t be as tragic as Ella’s death was. Ella was the one her father adored.

But nothing was going to happen. She had a gun, and as long as she could get both forefingers around the trigger, she could use it. She wouldn’t hesitate to do that to defend herself…and to catch him.

She heard a chime and looked back at the computer. Steven had written back.

I’d love to meet you. Just say the word. I’d even skip school to see you.

Muscles rigid, she typed,

Let me think about it. I’m pretty busy for the next couple of days, but I can probably spare an hour sometime.

She sent it, then closed out of the program. Her heart raced. Maybe she should just contact the police with his name.

And tell them what? That she’d created a fake persona, and some kid had taken the bait? That he’d done what any kid might do?

No, it wouldn’t raise any red flags for them. But it did for her. She could take care of it herself.

She went back to bed, stared at the ceiling, trying to imagine how it would play out. She would set up a meeting time…a place. She would see who showed up and lingered,
see if he was a middle-aged man or a seventeen-year-old kid. She would try to get a picture.

Sleep never came, but morning did. She finally got up, and saw that her dad’s bedroom lamp was on. She went to his doorway, saw him asleep in his chair, still fully dressed. She went in and touched his shoulder. “Dad?”

He stirred and looked up at her.

“Why don’t you get in bed? You don’t have to get up for another hour or so.”

He moved to the bed and lay down on top of the covers, his back to her. She went to his closet, got out a blanket, and laid it over him. Then, kissing his cheek, she went to get ready for her interview.

K
rista sat in front of her makeup mirror, staring at her reflection, hardly recognizing herself. She had dark circles like bruises under her eyes, and lines were etched from her nose to her mouth. She was aging too fast.

She didn’t even know how to do makeup for television, but she needed to look her best. People would listen if they thought she looked nice. She put on her base a little thicker than usual, smudged a light retoucher under her eyes. It helped a little. When she finished, she went to her closet. Standing in front of it, she tried to imagine what would look best on television. Should she wear a pattern or a solid?

Why hadn’t she figured this out last night?

She pulled out a black dress with a scooped neck and long sleeves. Ella had been with her when she bought it. She had insisted she buy a cute belt to go with it. She slipped the dress on and found the belt.

Ella had good taste.

Who would have thought she’d wear the dress and belt Ella picked out, to talk about her murder on national television?

That sick feeling returned to the pit of her stomach.

She checked her watch. It was almost time for Ryan to be here. She went into her living room and sat in front of the window, watching for headlights through the sheers. A yellow streetlight lit the area just in front of their house.

Somewhere out there, a killer lurked.

Her head began to ache, and she wondered if she would make it through the interview. When she saw headlights turn into the driveway, she stood up and drew in a deep breath and told herself she could do this. It would be over in a little while.

Ryan thought Krista looked lovely as she walked out to his car. He considered getting out and opening her door for her, the way his mother taught him, but nobody did that anymore, and he didn’t want to look too anxious. Still, if anyone deserved that kind of attention, she did.

She got into the Jaguar, closed the door. “Hi.”

“Morning,” he said.

She tried to smile. “Feels like the middle of the night.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Not one wink.”

“Me either. Well, you look nice, anyway,” he said.

As he backed out of her driveway, she folded her arms as if she were cold. He turned on the heater.

“I’m pretty nervous,” she said.

“You’ll be great. Just pretend you’re standing in front of those kids you spoke to the other day. And this can’t be worse than talking to my board of directors.”

“Yeah, but look what happened with that.” She sighed and got comfortable in the plush leather seat. “Besides, that was easy, because I was angry at everyone at GrapeVyne.”

“Then get angry again, if it helps you. People will listen to you because of what happened.”

She looked out the window as he headed for the highway that would take them to the part of town where the NBC affiliate was. There were few cars on the dark road, but an occasional pair of headlights passed them. He glanced in his rearview mirror. A pair of headlights behind him was blinding him. He moved the mirror so the reflection wouldn’t be so bright.

He pulled onto the interstate, his Jaguar swallowing up the road.

“If I get too shaky or lose my train of thought, you’ll jump in and help me?”

“As much as I can without saying anything myself about GrapeVyne and Willow.”

“Have you talked to a lawyer about this?” she asked. “Are you sure that your being there isn’t enough to get you sued?”

“Nope. But if I’m the one giving you access, I’m going to do it, whatever happens.”

He looked in his rearview mirror again. The headlights were too close. “Wish this truck would stop tailgating me. It’s six in the morning and the road’s wide open, and he has to sit on my tail.”

She glanced out the back window. “Maybe it’s a teenager. I tried to teach Ella to drive, and she always wanted to hug the car in front of us.” She turned back around. “So you didn’t sleep last night?”

He shook his head. “Not much. Ian was there all night on the trail of some big conspiracy theory.”

“He didn’t go home at all?”

“No, but that’s no surprise. He used to stay at work for days on end, which is the reason I made sure we had showers in our new building. He’s single-mindedly focused on whatever he’s working on. That’s why he’s so valuable. I think part of it may be that he doesn’t like to be alone. He grew up in a family with ten kids, so he always had roommates. Never had any privacy, so he’s not really into that.”

“Does it bother you when he stays at your house all night?”

“No, I like having him around. It’s like the old days, when we shared a twelve-by-fourteen-foot dorm room. Good times.” He glanced in the mirror again. The headlights reflecting off his rearview mirror lit up his face.

“So what’s the conspiracy?”

He hesitated, not sure he should mention it. “Before we were fired, we saw some things on Willow’s servers that worried us. Things that weren’t supposed to be there.”

“What kind of things?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s just that…I’m not sure that we really know what’s going on yet. But Ian thinks Willow is gathering way more data about our GrapeVyne clients than we thought. Things that aren’t just for targeting advertising. Things that they’re collecting…for other reasons.”

“That sounds pretty scary.”

“Yeah, it is. So he’s been up all night trying to figure out who’s in on it and what they could be using it for.”

“I knew it,” she said. “People are putting way too much information on the Internet, and there’s not really any such thing as true security, is there?”

“No, actually, there’s not. Databases are only as secure
as the people who control them. And even with the best developers and engineers and designers, with every change to a site come security breaches. But we don’t have the whole picture yet.”

“If they have something to hide, they’re not going to like your going on TV, are they?”

“No, they’ll be mad as hornets. I may only get one shot at this before they try to shut me up.” He slammed his steering wheel. “That truck is getting on my nerves.”

She turned again, saw that the truck was still riding way too close to their bumper. Ryan had sped up to eighty, and the truck kept up. Finally, it changed lanes and sped up. “He’s going around you.”

Ryan slowed down to let them go by. But the truck got even with him and stayed there. He slowed even more, and so did the truck. “What is he doing?”

Moonlight glistened on the truck’s window, and he saw it coming down. Ryan touched his brakes.

Thunder cracked…his windshield shattered. No, not thunder…gunfire.

Krista screamed.

Someone was trying to kill them!

“Get down!” Ryan cried.

Krista bent double, covering her head. Ryan’s car spun as another bullet knocked out the backseat’s side window.

He turned the car around, going the wrong way on the interstate, hoping to put some distance between him and the shooter, but there was more gunfire. A bullet knocked out a tire, making him skid and lose control.

The skid threw Krista against the door. They were going to go off the road…into a ravine.

The firing stopped, and Ryan looked out the back window.
The truck was in reverse, backing up. Turning around, it came toward them again, rammed Ryan’s car, making it slide to the edge of the embankment.

Who
were
these people?

His tires lost traction, and he felt the slide. His head rammed against the window as the car flipped. Airbags blew out, and he managed to touch Krista’s back, as if his arm could protect her as they rolled and bounced…and crashed at the bottom of the ravine.

When the Jaguar came to a halt and stopped moving, they both hung upside down. Blood rushed to Ryan’s face as he looked at Krista. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She was gasping for breath. “Are you?”

He steadied himself on the roof of the car, which was now on the ground, and unbuckled his seat belt. “I’m okay,” he said. “We gotta get out now. It could blow up.”

He helped her get her seat belt open, helped her right herself in the car. “Out your side, so they won’t see us.”

She tried to open her door, but it was bent and stuck. Her window was partially broken, and Ryan looked around for something to break through the glass. An umbrella was wedged between the seats. He yanked it out and rammed it into the window, knocking out the rest of the glass. Thankful it was still dark, he urged her through the hole first, then slid out behind her.

Protecting Krista with his arm, he pulled her along, away from the car and into the dark woods. He couldn’t see where he was stepping. Twigs tore across his skin. She hit a tree branch with her forehead and ducked, stumbled. He helped her back up.

They heard gunfire again from the road above them, then a sudden
whoosh.

“Down!” He pulled her to the ground and covered her body as fire swelled from the car like a greedy demon. The gas tank exploded in a thunderous bolt.

“They must think we’re in there, dead.”

The fire from his car illuminated their path, and he grabbed her up and ran deeper into the brush. He turned and looked up at the road. The truck’s headlights turned as it righted itself in the lane. As it drove away, he let out a grateful breath.

“God help us, they were trying to kill us.”

Krista was trembling, and she struggled to catch her breath. “Who…who was that?”

“Had to be two people—the driver and the shooter—but I didn’t see their faces.”

“Could it be Ella’s killer?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Or someone who didn’t want us doing that interview.”

“Your board members?”

“No, couldn’t be. They’re businessmen, not killers. Just because they fired me doesn’t mean they want me dead.”

“I want to get out of here in case they come back,” she said. “Do you have your phone?”

Ryan reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his phone, grateful it hadn’t gotten smashed in the wreck. He made the call to 911. But he knew that by the time the police got there, the shooters would be long gone.