Henry McAndrews.
That name rang a bell. And not a good one.
Chris took off his hipster beanie. He’d also grown a hipster beard. He wore hipster slim jeans and ironic sneakers and basic T-shirts, all in a fairly successful attempt to change his look from that of the more nerdy Stranger. It worked well enough, especially when you rarely left your loft. In his previous incarnation, Chris had revealed secrets that he believed were detrimental to humanity. His own life had been blown apart by secrets. His philosophy had thus been a simple one: Drag those secrets into the light of day. Once exposed to sunlight, the secrets would wither and die.
But he had been wrong.
Sometimes, the secrets did indeed wither and die — but other times, they grew stronger, too strong, taking nourishment from the sunlight and wreaking destruction. The repercussions had caught Chris by surprise. He believed that you right wrongs with the truth, but in the end that often backfired. He’d learned that the hard way — in blood and violence. Innocent people had been hurt and even killed. And yet, when you have a setback doing good, do you just give up and say nothing can be done? Do you throw your hands up and surrender to malignant evils that infect us all? That would have been the easy route. Chris had gotten away safely from the mess he helped create. He had money from his exploits. He lived comfortably and could continue to do so without worrying about righting wrongs. But he wasn’t built that way. He’d tried to let it all go, but that didn’t hold.
So now Chris helps people in a different way.
He’d formed Boomerang in order to help those who were being attacked and couldn’t fight back. He punished not only those who created secrets but those who lied, abused, bullied — and did so anonymously. He went after those who served no positive purpose whatsoever in society and only eroded and destroyed the good. He worked hard now to make sure that the mistakes he made as The Stranger were minimized. His old work had been a volatile compound. He couldn’t control it.
With this — with Boomerang — he could ensure safety.
Not always. Not a hundred percent of the time. There was always the chance, despite his absolute best efforts, that an innocent person would be punished. He got that. He wasn’t blind or dumb. It was why he double-checked and triple-checked. If Boomerang was going to go after you, Chris wanted to make sure you deserved what was coming. Sure, he could stop altogether, leave it to the authorities who were still lagging way behind in defending those being attacked in the new online world, but do we stop doing the right thing just because we fear mistakes? Our justice system is imperfect, yet no one suggests that we get rid of it because of the occasional error, do they? We don’t just give up. We try to improve and make it better. We do our best and hope the balance sheet at the end of the day shows we did more good than bad.
Boomerang helps people. It protects the innocent and punishes the guilty.
But now he read the name again.
Henry McAndrews.
Chris looked up the name and found the file.
This was bad news. Very bad.
Chris — the Lion — grabbed hold of his burner phone. On it was a dark web communication device that was as untraceable as possible. He composed a message that no one other than Alpaca, Giraffe, Kitten, Panther, and Polar Bear would understand.
CATEGORY 10
The urgent signal. Then he added, just to be sure:
NOT A DRILL.
Chapter Seventeen
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Jenn Cassidy said to Hester. “I really love watching you analyze a court case on TV.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve been a fan for years.”
Jenn’s voice was a little breathy. Hester was usually good at reading people, but it was hard to tell if the reality star was being authentic here or not. Jenn Cassidy was beautiful in a classic all-American way — blond hair, toothy smile, bright blue eyes. Her makeup, as was the wont these days, was a tad too heavy for Hester’s taste. Jenn had those overtly fake eyelashes that looked like two tarantulas baking on their backs on hot asphalt. Still, she gave off a friendly, approachable, even trustworthy air, and Hester could see why she’d be cast as the perfect good-girl reality star. Nothing about her beauty felt intimidating.
The doorman held the door for them. Jenn led Hester across the lobby of the giant glass tower of the Sky building. Once inside, she pressed the button for the second floor.
“We used to be higher up,” Jenn explained.
“I’m sorry?”
“I still say ‘we’ — meaning Peter and I. I have to stop doing that. Anyway, when we — there I go again — when Peter and I were a couple, they had us up on the seventy-eighth floor in a four-bedroom duplex. Now I’m in apartment two. It’s maybe a third of the size.”
“You downgraded after the breakup?”
“Not me. They. In this case, the owners of the building. See, buildings like this always have unsold apartments. Since they’re sitting empty anyway, they give them to influencers for free under the condition we post photographs.”
“I see,” Hester said. “You advertise the building?”
“Yes.”
“Like a celebrity endorsement?”
“Exactly.”
“And that’s how you make your living,” Hester continued. “Via endorsements. You wear a certain designer dress or you visit a new nightclub — and millions of people see you and so those businesses pay you.”
“Yes. Or like in this case, we barter. When Peter and I were at our most popular, Sky gave us a two-year lease on suite seventy-eight, under the condition we put it on our social media accounts at least once a week. When it was time to re-up, they moved us — well, just me now — down here.”
“Smaller celebrity, smaller room,” Hester said bluntly.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Jenn said, putting her hand on Hester’s arm. “I’m not complaining. It’s still wonderful that I’m here.” The elevator door dinged open. “I understand how this business works. Being an influencer has a short shelf life. You have to use it as a jumping-off point.”
“So what are your future plans, Jenn?”
The apartment door opened with a fob-wave rather than a key.
“Oh,” Jenn said, sounding somewhat crestfallen. “I thought that was why you wanted to see me. I was in the legal profession before Love Is a Battlefield.”
“In what capacity?”
“A paralegal, but I’d been accepted to law school.”
“Impressive.”
Jenn’s smile was both cute and endearingly shy. “Thank you.”
“Do you plan to matriculate now that the show is over?”
“Actually, I was thinking of trying to be a television analyst who specialized in the law.”
“Ah,” Hester said. “I would love to discuss that with you at another time, but that’s not why I’m here.”
Jenn gestured for them to sit on an off-white couch. Mirrors and generic artwork hung on the walls. There were no photographs, nothing personal, the whole thing looking more like a tasteful, if not warm, chain hotel than a true home. Hester wondered whether this was a model unit.
“I’m here about Peter Bennett,” Hester said.
Jenn blinked in surprise. “Peter?”
“Yes. I’m trying to locate him.”
It took her a second or two to absorb that. “May I ask why?”
Hester debated how to play this. “It’s for a client.”
“One of your clients is looking for Peter?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s a legal matter?”
“I can’t really say more,” Hester said. “As a trained legal professional, I’m sure you understand.”