“Is there any chance he’s been closer than that?” Brandon asked.
Sam went very still. “What do you mean?”
Alec had a feeling he knew where this was going, and he did not like it.
“This wasn’t a random hack attack, and it wasn’t a dummy front page.” Brandon clicked a few keys on his keyboard and brought up a blog hosting site. “This post was made directly on your account. Whoever this was, he knew exactly which content-manager software you were using, Sam. He was logged in as an administrator.”
Hell.
To his surprise, Sam took the statement with utter calm. “Figuring out the CMS wouldn’t be that difficult.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” Brandon leaned forward, dropping his elbows onto his knees to stare intently at her. “But your ID and password-they weren’t exactly common. It’s not like you were using your dog’s name; they were random letters and numbers.”
She looked away. “Well, not exactly random.”
Brandon tilted his head, waiting.
“I know, the expert who says to never use relevant dates or initials, right?” She blinked, as if her eyes had suddenly grown hot. “The initials are my late grandmother’s name. The numbers are the date she died.”
“Ahh.” Brandon sat up straight, nodding. For some reason, he looked almost relieved, though Alec didn’t know why this was good news. As if realizing that, he looked over and explained. “Anybody who Googled Sam here…”
“Would find my name in my grandmother’s obituary,” she said. “Along with her initials and date of death.”
“You were close?”
She nodded. “I have mentioned her on my blog on a few occasions. She, uh, was my inspiration, the reason I became Sam the Spaminator.”
The eyes blinked again, moisture definitely in evidence. Alec somehow suspected he was finally on the verge of learning why Sam did what she did, beyond the need to take some time out of life to heal from what her ex had done to her. This crusade she was on… it suddenly sounded as though it had started for very personal reasons.
“Even better,” Brandon said.
“Why better?” Alec asked.
“Because we already know he reads her site. If he knew she was close to her grandmother, and he was trying to figure out her passwords, it would be a logical thing to try. Especially if you’ve mentioned her as an inspiration, Sam.” Brandon nodded, as if convincing himself of what he said. “This really is good news.”
He didn’t have to explain further. Alec got the alternative. If Sam’s relationship with her grandmother had been a closely held secret, that would imply the unsub had dug deeper into her life. Something none of them really wanted to contemplate.
“Okay.” Brandon tapped his fingers on his desk. In the brief time they’d worked together, Alec had noticed the guy couldn’t remain still, a picture of frenetic energy. As if his body had to stay in motion to keep up with his constantly moving mind. “So forget my concern that he might have actually gotten into your apartment.”
Sam flinched as if struck. “What?”
“No, seriously, forget it. It was a passing concern, when I thought your password was totally random.”
“Jesus, Cole,” Alec muttered, seeing the way Sam’s face had completely lost its color.
“Master of tact,” Lily added. She had just returned, holding a steaming cup of coffee, which she placed on the desk close to Sam. “Ignore him.”
“Sorry,” Brandon said. “Gimme a sec to check something.” He swung back around, attacking his keyboard with a vengeance, muttering something under his breath.
Lily took a seat at her own desk. “I’ve got satellite images from last night. Too many vehicles on Sam’s street at the time you took her home,” she said, sounding disappointed. “And nothing within two blocks of the construction site. He probably intentionally parked in another area, since a vehicle would have stood out there.”
“Red-light cams between the crime scene and Sam’s?”
“Already working on them.” As if suddenly remembering, she added, “Oh, and I heard back from Flynt through his attorney.”
He glanced over at Sam, who didn’t appear to be paying attention to anything except the images flying across Brandon Cole’s monitor.
“And?”
“His client would be happy to talk to you. If Ms. Dalton accompanies you.”
“Damn.”
“Told you.” The softly spoken comment came from an obviously listening Sam.
Lily wasn’t finished. “He also has a time restriction. This weekend or never.”
“Arrogant bastard.”
“You’ve no idea.” Another interjection from Sam.
Alec gave her his full attention. “Do you honestly think it’s worth talking to this guy?”
She thought about it, not snapping off a casual reply. Sam was in this up to her neck now; she knew they had no time to waste. Every minute they didn’t catch the unsub was another one she had to spend in fear and in hiding.
Finally, she nodded. “I do. I’m no expert, but I really think he is just a less violent version of your Professor. If you want to think like your suspect thinks, Flynt’s is a good mind to explore.” She offered him a weak smile. “Besides, it’s not like you can just dump me at home now, anyway. If you have to keep an eye on me for my own protection, what could be safer than doing it at a prison filled with armed guards and security?”
“She has a point,” Lily said. “In case you’re wondering, when Wyatt called to see if you were back yet, he said to tell you to go with your instincts if you think it is worth pursuing.”
Great. All obstacles cleared. There really was no legitimate reason for him not to bring Sam with him to interview Flynt. Nothing except his own reluctance.
“Do you need to go today?” Brandon asked, looking over his shoulder. “I’m trying to track any failed password tries on the account, figure out where he posted from. I might need some input from Sam.”
“I need to get back up to Baltimore this afternoon, anyway,” he said. “Maybe talk to Flynt tomorrow.”
Sam sipped her coffee, then said, “My day’s pretty wide-open.”
“Why do you want to do this?” He had no idea what she was up to-why she wanted to remain involved with something she’d admitted scared her spitless.
Alec had at first assumed she needed to feel as if she had some control over what happened in her life, like anyone who’d had a brush with a violent crime would. Since this morning’s developments, though, she hadn’t just brushed up against the world of a psychopath; it had turned and aimed directly at her. He’d figure any smart person would be lying low until the threat was eliminated.
“What else am I supposed to do?” she asked with a simple shrug. “Sit at home and worry some more? That hasn’t gotten me very far.”
They were talking about more than a visit to the prison; he knew that much.
“I need to start taking an active role in my life again, instead of merely reacting to what goes on around me,” she added. “Not just with this case, but with everything.”
Meaning them. She’d certainly been active last night, laying out what she’d wanted. Though the sexual invitation had been wrapped in innuendo, it had also been pretty damned clear.
“Can you understand that? The need to act, to move on, get past the fear and insecurity?”
Oh, hell, yeah, he could understand that. It was exactly what he’d been trying to do since the minute he’d come back to work: Regain his footing, his confidence in his own intuition. He needed to stop seeing the mental pictures of Ferguson taking a bullet to his heart, to stop feeling the slow, steady pump of his own heart pushing the blood out of his body, to stop hearing the blasts-pop-pop-pop-pop-and to stop wondering if he was ever going to be able to trust his instincts again.