“Typical hacker.” Tristan scratched at the dark five o’clock shadow on his chin. “We could at least check and see if there is a police presence outside. We were only able to put a few changes of clothes for each of us in your bag, Jian. Colleen could get new clothes to wear at her apartment.”
She had packed most of her decent clothes for the trip. “I suppose I have something in there,” she muttered.
Tristan continued, “And I’ll bet her Wi-Fi is secure.”
She perked up. “Oh, it is. I have a double-VPN network with black ice anti-hacking programs. I’ll bet even you couldn’t hack my firewall.”
He grinned at her, but his smile was tired. “That’s right. A few nights ago, I tried to locate where QueenMod had sent that picture from because I was trying to convince myself that you, Colleen, couldn’t be the same person as QueenMod. The ISP number seemed to have originated from Phoenix rather than down the hall at the hotel. It was one of the reasons I didn’t put it together.”
Colleen chuckled. “Of course, I logged into my home VPN to send files. I mean, jeez.”
“I should have expected nothing less.” He lifted his head to speak to Jian. “And that is the best reason to at least try her apartment. If nothing else, the cybersecurity will be impeccable, and they won’t be able to find us merely by tracking our credit cards. Short of having a friend in town with a personal security force, Colleen’s apartment is our best option.”
Jian looked sharply at Tristan. “Do you have any acquaintances in the area with adequate security you could contact?”
Tristan shrugged. “No one I could call at eleven-thirty at night. If I had a few days to activate my networks, I could perhaps reach out to boarding school contacts, but we don’t have that kind of time.”
Jian sighed. “Then we shall drive by to determine whether there are police or other individuals present at her apartment.”
Driving from the airport to the zone where impoverished students and university-adjacent people lived took half an hour. Colleen sat on the floor and clung to Tristan’s knee during the ride, and he slowly stroked her hair and down the back of her neck.
The long limousine drove through the darkened city, and Colleen could not imagine what the driver must be thinking about their conversation about evading the police.
Although, the kinds of people who hired long black limousines might often be trying to duck unwanted attention, police or otherwise. It was probably all in a day’s work for her.
When they reached Colleen’s apartment complex, Jian instructed the chauffeur to first drive around the perimeter of the compound, scouting for police presence. When there didn’t seem to be any official cars or suspicious vehicles near the entrances, the driver expertly navigated the cramped, winding streets that threaded the neighborhood of apartment buildings.
Jian had Colleen peep through the car windows, checking for anything out of the ordinary.
An occasional older car slouched into the complex, people dragging in from late shifts at hospitals or jobs at restaurants that closed at midnight. Small bulbs lit the empty sidewalks and balconies along the sides of the buildings, but no one was walking around or loitering.
“Everything looks normal,” she said. “My apartment is right over there. You can see the door from here.”
Jian said, “I will scout further. You should stay in the car, Mr. King.”
Colleen didn’t like Jian putting himself in danger. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
He raised one black slash of an eyebrow at her, opened the door, and stepped out.
Okay, fine then.
Above her on the seat, Tristan chuckled. “Jian knows what he’s doing.”
They waited a few moments in silence, Tristan still idly caressing Colleen’s hair, until Jian came back. “I don’t see anyone who might be problematic, but I cannot guarantee your safety.”
“Understood,” Tristan said.
Jian continued, “I, however, will return to The Boulders for the night. If I check-in, that might confuse our pursuers, and thereby they may concentrate their efforts at the hotel instead of looking elsewhere.”
Relief flooded Colleen. At least the impeccable Jian wouldn’t judge her apartment. “That sounds like a good idea.”
Tristan chuckled. “I thank you for your service of throwing yourself on the grenade of the penthouse suite in a five-star hotel.”
Jian smiled serenely. “I live to serve, Mr. King.” He dragged his roller bag up on the seat beside him and sorted their clothes from his. Colleen’s laptop and shoulder bag were stowed on the other side of the seat, and he handed those to her, too.
They bundled up the clothes and slung their computer bags over their shoulders, and then Tristan and Colleen emerged from the car into the sultry Arizona summer night.
Behind them, Jian stuck his head out of the car. “Mr. King, your briefcase.” He handed the camel-colored bag to Tristan before slamming the door.
14
Apartment
Colleen
They nonchalantly strolled the dozen yards or so from the car to her apartment door, seeing nothing suspicious before ducking inside.
As she was closing the door, the limousine rolled forward and crept toward the exit of the complex.
Inside her apartment, the stale air was thick with heat and humidity, and the AC blew for a few feeble seconds before the thermostat clicked it off again.
Colleen twisted the locks on her door and turned to start apologizing. “I’m sorry my place is so small. It must be nothing like what you’re used to.”
Tristan’s head was inches from her ceiling. The apartment’s slightly less than seven-foot ceilings had never been a problem before. “Oh, no.” Tristan winked at her. “There’s only one bed.”
A single stand lamp threw cones of light on the walls. Ripples in the drywall drew lines down the plaster.
If Tristan had spread his arms, his fingers would’ve brushed the wall where a previous tenant had punched a hole in the drywall, and the management had patched it poorly and painted over the hump with beige paint instead of eggshell. He seemed to take up all the room and all the air, and oh Lord, humiliation at her tiny, scabby, inadequate, proof-of-failure apartment tore through her.
She said, “I’m so sorry. You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s really not a problem. I like sleeping on the floor. I like a firm surface. At least it’s carpeting. If you want to sit down, you can sit in the computer chair.” Because it was the only chair she had. “I can sit on the bed. I mean, on the mattress. The one on the floor. But it’s made up as a bed. I did what I could. We’ll be fine. I’ll make it fine. I’m so, so sorry that it’s so small and that I have nothing.”
Tristan stepped across the room, which required precisely two strides for him to be standing in front of her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and his warmth soaked through the thin tee-shirt she was wearing. His blue eyes were intense as he studied her face. “Stop.”
“Stop? What do you want me to stop? I can’t stop the light from buzzing. It’s the only lamp I have. I’m so sorry it’s so hot in here. But I can turn up the air conditioning. I set it to eighty-five when I left because I figured since I wasn’t going to be here, maybe I could save a few bucks on the electricity bill. But I can turn it up. I was going to cool it off in here anyway. It’s not a problem. The thermostat’s right there. I’m sorry.”