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  He laughed. “It’s Zach, and I’m one of the good guys.”

  I smiled. “I assumed that. Were you once one of the bad ones?”

  He grinned. “You could say that.”

  “So what did it take you to turn from black to white?”

  “Confession and three Hail Marys.”

  I liked him already. He led me from the door into a spartan office with four computers against the walls and a conference table with chairs around it in the center. That seemed to be the only room. He motioned me into a chair. “Actually, it was Mike who helped me see the error of my ways.”

  “Mike? How is he? And Jericho?”

  Zach’s smile faded. “Mike’s fine, but Jericho has gone to the rainbow bridge.”

  I hesitated. “I’m so sorry. He was a great dog. Totally devoted to your brother.” I cocked my head. “So. Ethical hacking?”

  “An ethical hacker is a geek who hacks into his client’s system—with their knowledge, of course—to find flaws and loopholes that a nasty hacker might be able to penetrate and exploit.”

  “That’s fascinating,” I started but then stopped. “Wait. If guys like you are on the case, why are there still so many hacks? Big ones, too.”

  He patiently folded his hands, as if he’d been asked that question before. “Lots of reasons. Technology is always changing and evolving. You plug one leak, and another one springs a hole. You have to realize that the black hats on the other side are just as capable and smart as us. Sometimes more. And the IT guys in large corporations are, shall we say, a little territorial.”

  “How unusual.”

  He smiled. “They’re sure their systems are hack-proof. So they don’t bother with guys like us.” He grinned. “Their loss. Sometimes they come to us afterward with their tail between their legs.”

  “So you work for large corporations?”

  He nodded.

  “And you met Georgia through Mike?”

  “I do some forensic work too.”

  “Like your brother.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty amazing, actually. I get paid to do what I love.”

  “Lucky dude.”

  He spread his hands. “So what do you have?”

  “A flash drive with encrypted files.”

  “And you don’t have the key.”

  “Right. I don’t know the first thing about encryption.” I dug it out of my bag and handed it to him.

  He got up and went to one of the computers, inserted it into the USB port, and tried to open it. He stared at the files that appeared, then scratched his beard. “Well, I’ll take a look, but I can’t promise anything. Encryption is—uh—delicate.”

  “Really? Well, I’d be grateful for whatever you can do.”

  “Want to tell me what you know about it? Where it came from? How you got it?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “I figured.” He smiled again. “You didn’t steal it, did you?”

  I hesitated. “No.”

  “How do you know Georgia?”

  “We have a long history. It started with my daughter over ten years ago, when she was a teenager. My daughter, that is. Georgia was still on the force then.”

  He studied me.

  “So how much will this cost me?”

  “Depends what I find. There is a minimum of three hundred. That’s the friends-and-family rate, by the way. I’ll get to it in the next couple of days.”

  “Great.”

  “You’re sure you want to go ahead with this?”

  I frowned. Was he trying to warn me off? Did he think three hundred would deter me? I was about to answer when I heard a loud scratching noise and a bark.

  Zach rose and headed toward an alcove I hadn’t noticed. “You okay with dogs?”

  I nodded. He opened a door and a large German shepherd bounded out, his tail wagging furiously. He raced over to me and laid his head in my lap. I petted him on his head and scratched his ears. His tail wagged even faster. “And who is this?”

  “Joshua,” Zach replied with a twinkle in his eye. “He’s my credit manager.”

  I giggled. “Wait. Joshua…Jericho…and you’re Zachariah. What’s with all the biblical names?”

  He templed his hands as if in prayer. “We’re a pious family.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wednesday

  On the way home from Zach’s, my Camry chirped. Now that I have the latest Bluetooth technology, my cell rings through the radio and I can answer it hands-free. It even tells me who’s calling. I was expecting a call from Susan, but my car said caller ID had been withheld.

  I pressed “Answer.”

  A woman’s voice said, “Hello. Is this Ellie Foreman?”

  I knew that voice. “This is she.”

  “This is Charlotte Hollander.”

  It’s a good thing the call was hands-free. Had I been holding the phone, I would have dropped it on the floor of the car. “Uh—really? What can I do for you?”

  She cleared her throat. “I was wondering whether we could meet—for a drink.”

  “You? And me? Together?”

  “I live in Lake Forest, and I know you’re up that way as well.”

  Of course she lived in Lake Forest. It’s the most affluent village on the North Shore.

  “Why don’t we meet at the Happ Inn, say, at five? It’s right on my way home.”

  “I—guess that would be okay. But why—”

  She cut me off with a crisp good-bye. “I’ll see you there.”

  I pressed “End Call,” my stomach knotting in shock. What did she want? To hammer the final nail in my coffin?

  • • •

  The Happ Inn is the latest incarnation of a space in Northfield that’s gone through so many rebirths over the past twenty years that even Buddha would approve. Now owned by the chef of an upscale restaurant in Highwood, it’s a trendy bistro, with enough menu variety to please six-year-olds as well as sixtyish gourmands. Previous versions of the place had been decorated by each owner, but this rendering suited the affluent suburb in which it sat: polished oak booths and tables, private rooms for parties, and pieces of wall art that made puns using the word “Happ.” There was even a flat-screen TV, just to remind everyone it was a “HAPPening” place.

  I put on a pair of slacks with a silk shirt and applied my makeup carefully. I walked in an appropriate five minutes late and looked for Hollander. She wasn’t at the bar, but the hostess came up to me and asked if I was waiting for Ms. Hollander.

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  “I’ll take you to her.” She led the way across the dining room to a private room, which was small and cozy, with brocaded sofas, chairs, and a polished wood coffee table, more like a living room than a restaurant. Hollander was the room’s only occupant, and she sat on a sofa, sipping what I thought was a scotch and soda and talking on her cell. She swiveled toward me and motioned me over to the sofa. I sat in the chair next to her. She finished up her conversation with a “Gotta go. I’ll call you later.” Then she smiled.

  This had to be the first time I’d ever seen her smile, and it altered her entire face. Her brow smoothed out, and she suddenly looked softer, even appealing.

  “Thank you for coming, Ellie. Especially on such short notice. What are you drinking?”

  I debated whether to order scotch too, then thought, To hell with it. I’m a wine drinker. “Chardonnay. With ice on the side.”

  “And I’ll take another as well,” Hollander said.

  The hostess, who’d been hovering, said she’d be back.

  “I know you’re wondering why I wanted to meet.”

  “You might say that.” I eyed her. She was wearing a soft beige suit that looked like a St. John. It was more feminine and delicate than I’d expected.

  “I want to explain.” She paused dramatically and finished her scotch. “And apologize for my behavior on Monday.”

  I inclined my head. Was this the same woman who’d humiliated me in f
ront of Delcroft’s top execs? What was I supposed to say? I had no idea, so I said nothing. The hostess brought my wine and another scotch for her.

  She didn’t seem bothered by my lack of a response. “So first, the explanation.” She leaned toward me. “What I’m going to say is top secret. And highly confidential. I know David did a background check on you, so I’m relying on your discretion.”

  “Of course.” I slipped an ice cube into my wineglass and took a sip. She pretended not to notice.

  “I know you set up a meeting with Gregory Parks yesterday. I also know it never happened. And I know why.”

  I stiffened. “If you knew, why didn’t you—”

  “We’ll get to that.” She picked up her glass and swirled the contents. The ice cubes tinkled.

  “I’m sure your motives were legitimate.” She gave a dismissive wave. “And probably had something to do with me. But”—she set the glass down firmly on the table—“you’ve managed to end up in the middle of something rather nasty.”

  I took another sip of wine.

  She went on. “I’m sure you noticed the Asian cast to our late friend, Mr. Parks.”

  I nodded, thinking of Keanu Reeves.

  “Gregory Parks was a spy for the Chinese government.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wednesday

  “Holy shit.” I couldn’t help it. “Parks was a spy?”

  She nodded. “The Chinese like to steal our technology. Which they copy and produce for half the cost. And then either use it themselves or outsell us in the marketplace.”

  “I thought we had a truce,” I said. “They won’t steal our stuff, and we won’t steal theirs.”

  “Right,” Hollander replied. “If you say so.”

  “But—but how do you—” I sputtered, sounding like a Fourth of July sparkler losing its hiss. Mac was right. I was way above my pay grade.

  She held up a palm. “I’ll answer your questions. But first I want to tell you something. I’ve spent most of the past year out in Utah, designing and putting the finishing touches on a new system.”

  I thought about the thousands of drones we were using to target ISIS. To hear the military spin it, we’d dropped so many bombs we should have knocked out every terrorist in the Middle East. “What’s so special about it?”

  She shot me a patronizing smile. “That’s a need-to-know situation.”

  I countered, unwilling to let her get away with that. “If it was important enough to cancel a video and now Parks is dead, maybe I do need to know. Especially since, as you say, I’ve ended up in the middle.”

  She peered at me with a look that said she was unsure whether to criticize or praise my doggedness. “You are persuasive. But, remember; anything I tell you going forward is highly classified.” She lowered her voice.

  Was she actually praising me? Or was it just another tactic to tell me what she wanted me to know?

  “It’s a counterdrone system. We call it DADES, Delcroft’s Air Defense Energy System. Whether an enemy deploys smaller, tactical drones or ones the size of a B-1 bomber, we need a way to protect ourselves. That’s what DADES does. And it works anywhere, no matter what the weather or terrain.”

  “It shoots down drones?”

  “It takes control of them. Takes them off course, jams them, shoots them out of the sky. Whatever we want.” She smiled confidently. “Actually, the system is almost flawless.”

  “How so?”

  She looked around the room, then lowered her voice even more. “It can be mounted on a plane, a tank, a ship, even a drone itself.”

  “But how is it almost flawless?”

  “Because we’re using artificial intelligence. But that’s all I can tell you.”

  It was enough. I swigged the rest of my wine so quickly I missed savoring the oaky smooth taste of good Chardonnay.

  “It’s not a new idea, of course, but only a few of us know how much success we’ve had in the trials. So you can imagine my reaction when I saw a man whom I know to be actively trying to acquire the plans for China on your video.”

  “He said he was a consultant,” I said dully.

  “They all do.” She picked up her glass, which, I noticed, was practically empty.

  Hollander could put it away better than I. “And our so-called truce with the Chinese is a sham.”

  “Is that why you canceled the video?”

  She smiled, but I had the sense it was practiced. “At the time I thought it was better to be safe than sorry. In hindsight, I was rash.”

  I’ll say. But I was polite. “In what way?”

  “It did present us with an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity?” I frowned.

  She leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial voice. “To exploit the situation. Find out exactly what and how much Parks knew.”

  Spy on the spy. I squirmed in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. “How did you figure out he was a spy?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  I looked at her. “How did you know he and I were going to meet?”

  “How do you think?” Her voice turned prickly, as if her patience was wearing thin.

  “You tapped his phone,” I said.

  She raised her glass in mute acknowledgment. “Would you like another wine?”

  I should stay razor-sharp. If Hollander had tapped his phone, she was probably tapping mine, too. I remembered how I’d dismissed Mac’s worries about talking on the phone. When would I learn?

  A waitress suddenly appeared. “Another round?”

  Yes, I should stay razor-sharp. But a distinct sense of unease whispered across my skin. “Sure.”

  A threesome, two men and a woman, walked in and sat at the other end of the room, where there was a similar arrangement of sofa, chairs, and coffee table. They had clearly already had a few and talked in too-loud voices, sprinkled with too many laughs and giggles. Hollander looked them over but seemed to decide they were no threat. She turned to me.

  “You have a daughter, I understand?”

  I stopped in mid-motion at the abrupt shift in topic. Where was she going with this?

  “I do. She lives downtown.” Was she trying to intimidate me? Show me she had dug into my background? Well, two could play this game. “And you have a son.”

  “He’s twelve.”

  I tried to picture her as a soccer mom. I couldn’t. “Was he with you in Utah?”

  Her eyes narrowed fractionally, as if I’d ventured into forbidden territory. Then her composure returned. “Yes.”

  “What kinds of things is he interested in?”

  She waved a hand. “Oh, you know, the normal things. Soccer, ham radio, computers.”

  “Really? My best friend’s husband is a ham radio freak. Has been since high school. I would have thought ham radio is too tame a hobby for kids today.”

  “Oh no. He loves talking to people all over the world.”

  I nodded. We continued to chat about unrelated things. I leaned back against the upholstered chair cushion and started to relax. The waitress brought us a third round, and I started to feel warm and fuzzy. Charlotte was turning into a person I might even like. That’s when she switched gears.

  “Now,” she said, “I owe you an apology. I am sorry this—this snafu changed your plans and your schedule. I know what it’s like to be a single working mother.”

  What didn’t she know about me?

  “I want you to know I am going to make it up to you. I’m going to give you a huge video project, much bigger and probably more relevant than those—website videos.” She waved her arm.

  I straightened up. All was not lost.

  “Ellie, would you be amenable to that?”

  I smiled for the first time since we met. “Of course.”

  “Good. Let’s set up a meeting for next week.”

  “Great.” I tapped my finger on my wineglass. Maybe Hollander wasn’t such a bitch. In fact, I felt a grudging respect for her. It ta
kes guts to make nice with someone you’ve previously battled. The air cleared and my mood soared. The people at the other end of the room weren’t drunk; they were happy. I was no longer persona non grata, and I had another shot at a video. Life was good.

  The wine had definitely kicked in. In some dark recess of my brain, I knew I should still be careful of what I said. But before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “You may be right about Parks.”

  She inclined her head in a much too casual way. “How so?”

  For a fleeting moment, I wondered whether I should say anything. Then again, both of us had been drinking hard, and she’d answered all my questions. In fact, I wondered if she’d told me a little too much about DADES and Parks and spies. Still, I leaned forward and whispered, “About his—Parks’—activities.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I found something that may have belonged to him.”

  “What?”

  “A flash drive.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Really? What’s on it?”

  “I don’t know. The files are encrypted.”

  She studied me. I couldn’t read her expression. But I was beginning to sense that maybe I’d said too much.

  “Where did you find it?”

  Crap. No way to unspill the milk. “On the subway platform in a cigarette box near the spot he jumped.”

  She didn’t say anything. Then: “Do you still have it?”

  I had enough presence to shake my head.

  Her expression turned calculating. “That’s too bad. We could have used that drive.”

  “Even though Parks is dead?”

  “The information on it is still out there. We need to get it before someone else does.”

  I shivered. “You’re starting to make me think that maybe Parks didn’t jump. That maybe someone pushed him.”

  She leaned toward me and lowered her voice. “That’s exactly what worries me. If someone killed him for the flash drive, and they think you have it…”

  She let the rest of her sentence trail off.

  Chapter Twenty

  Friday

  The word that best describes Susan Siler is “style.” It’s part of her DNA. I’ve never seen her with her strawberry blond hair out of place. Tall and willowy, she wears the perfect outfit for every occasion. Her house is beautifully decorated, and she has a lovely family. She’s also a gourmet cook, and she has a calm, wise perspective on life. I’ve seen her lose her cool only once, when someone outbid her for a Louis XVI chair at an estate auction. Susan is my closest friend, which gives meaning to the adage that opposites attract.