Invalid.
Hmm. He’d always complained about how hard it was to remember his passwords if they were all different. It had taken me awhile to convince him that he needed to think about digital security by using different passwords for different Websites and programs. He’d protested, didn’t know how he was expected to remember them all, and wanted me to sort it out for him.
Narrowing my eyes, I opened up the desk drawer, and nudged around the pens and paperclips. There was a small notepad inside. Much as I’d guessed, he’d kept the page where I’d written all of his user IDs and passwords, and then added a few of his own, instead of destroying it after memorizing them like I’d instructed.
The porn Website log-ons explained all the pop-ups. Ugh.
I tapped in the password, breathing a sigh of relief that it worked, and immediately went to his checking account to see if there’d been any recent activity.
Jackpot! He’d been using his debit card almost every day for the last two weeks to buy something from a store in Peekskill. That could mean he was staying at the property in the Hudson Highlands. Thank goodness I wouldn’t have to chase his ass all the way to Buffalo. Forty miles was a lot more feasible than four hundred.
I printed out the statement—then cursed when I noticed the last two purchases.
One at a gas station in White Plains, and another at a mini mart down the street from my apartment.
He was back in town. Or he had been, as of two days ago. It was entirely possible he had come back to retrieve the USB before either the police or I could get our hands on it. No doubt he knew he was being hunted. If he hadn’t known I was after his ass before, he had to know now that I’d beaten Kimberly ten shades of black and blue.
Though I was still mightily pissed, I kept my temper in check long enough to check his hard drive for any other clues. Nothing important. The page of passwords would serve me in better stead. All I found were more pictures—oh, holy hell, one of them was of me—and a rather impressive collection of porn. The picture of me had been taken while I was asleep on the bed right behind where I was currently sitting. He’d captured me without clothes, the scars on my stomach and ribs plainly visible.
Seething, I proceeded to reformat his hard drive.
Once the process was well under way, I spun away from the computer and looked up into Jack’s eyes. No telling how long he’d been there, watching over my shoulder. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d seen the picture of me.
He didn’t take his gaze off mine. “You finished here?”
Flushing, I looked away first. That was good, because it reminded me to grab the pad and the printout of the statement. “Yes. I found some useful stuff.”
“Good,” he said. “So did I.”
Neither of us elaborated. Neither of us spoke.
Bo broke the thoroughly awkward silence by poking his head in the door. “Hey, you ready to go? Patrick says he thinks someone might have noticed we’re here.”
Most of the neighbors were likely to assume it was fine we were here since a number of them knew me. Not too many people had a head of long, curly hair quite my shade of fire engine red, so no doubt if anybody had been watching, they’d recognized me. Then again, if some beat cop had been knocking on doors, one of them might have called to alert the police I was here. Peachy. Wish I’d thought of that sooner.
We didn’t run, but we moved rapidly out of the place, turning off the lights and locking up behind us. I returned the key to its place under the pot, then hopped in the backseat, pleased to see Bo had decided to let Patrick sit up front this time.
“We have one more stop,” Jack said.
Patrick shoved his seat back, narrowly missing my knees. “What’s the plan, chief?”
“One of my contacts said he’d found a lead on the Sunstrikers and that other group we’ve been looking for.” Patrick and Bo nodded, the three of them leaving me adrift. What other group were they searching for? “I’m supposed to meet him at the Carl Schurz Park. It’s on the way back if you take the Midtown Expressway.”
It added a bit of time to our route, but none of us had any objections. Though I was curious, I didn’t pry into this other group they were after. It probably had something to do with whatever that project was Jack hadn’t wanted to tell me about.
I did want to let them know what I’d found, though. “Hey, Jack? I know where Chaz has been hiding the last few weeks. He was only a few miles outside of town, over in Westchester County. He’s somewhere in town now, though.”
Patrick glanced back at me, his brows nearly raised to his hairline. “No shit? You found that crafty fucker?”
“Watch your language around the lady,” Bo admonished.
I grinned. “Almost. I’m getting closer. I’ve got access to his bank activities now. I can see when he makes a purchase. The last one was two days ago—right by my place. So he’s probably back in the city, staying with one of the other Sunstrikers.”
‘Probably shacking up with Kimberly,’ the belt said.
Nobody asked you. Out loud, I said, “It’s only a matter of time before he uses his card again.”
“Good,” Jack said, semi-distracted by traffic. “When we get back I’ll put Keith on it. He can cross-reference what we know of the pack members. Maybe we can narrow down the neighborhood to a street or two, see if we can pinpoint where he’s staying.”
It didn’t take long to reach our destination. We piled out of the car and huddled in our jackets, working our way to the Peter Pan statue in the park plaza. Some of the flowering plants in the landscaping were wilting with the onset of winter, and this close to the water was bitterly cold at night, but it was lovely and quiet. We didn’t see many people on our way to the rendezvous point, only passing a jogger and a couple of late-night dog walkers. This place was nothing like the tourist trap that Central Park had become.
At Jack’s command, Patrick broke off from us to scout the area and ensure we were alone. He melted into the shadows and was gone.
It might have been the cold or the city smog, but something was making Jack cough more than usual. I gave him a careful pat on the back when he doubled over, a fist held to his mouth while he struggled to catch his breath.
The wet sound of his breathing wasn’t good. He was running out of time, as surely as I was.
When he’d stopped gasping so much, I pulled away, giving him some time to collect himself. After a minute or so, he straightened, running a hand over his face. Some distant part of me noted the scent of blood on the air. On his hand. His lips.
Maybe he had less time than I did.
None of us acknowledged the weakness. Once he caught his breath, he resumed stalking down the path that led to the plaza like he owned the place, acting like nothing had happened. If that was how he wanted to play it, more power to him. Bo and I trailed behind.
The few lights didn’t seem to banish the darkness here. Though I had no trouble seeing in the dark, thanks to the night vision the belt granted me, I wasn’t sure how well Bo, Patrick, and Jack were doing. Jack seemed to know where he was going; he found the steps leading down to the circular plaza containing the bronze statue of Peter Pan and his four-legged friends, a deer, and a rabbit. Someone was seated on one of the benches across from the graceful arch of a bridge overlooking the landscaped depression. It was an excellent place for a clandestine late-night meeting: quiet, peaceful, and right in the heart of New York City.
The person Jack was here to meet was bundled up in a long trench coat, a fedora, and was smoking a cigarette to boot. Clearly we had a Humphrey Bogart fan on our hands.