Page 62 of The Rough Ride

She slipped into a black ensemble, including her custom-made jacket with the protective pockets for her electronic notebooks, and thought a minute.This might take a while.She crammed extra chargers into the big pockets and found her black lipstick. She’d need it in the dark.

While the coffee brewed, she stuffed her curly hair into a black cap. With thermos in hand, rope slung over one shoulder, and Jazz’s duffle weighing down the other, Illusia avoided the elevator and trotted down the service stairwell to her parking garage. This time, she’d succeed in eliminating Liz Nelson.

Because—fool her twice—shame on her.

Illusia drovepast Nick as he pulled out of the lot and turned left in a hurry. Within seconds, he was gone.

She drove the block a few times before parking in the darkest corner of the lot behind his building. She put her sun shield across the front window to keep the motion sensor lights and cameras from detecting her before she got to work.

Liz’s phone pinged from inside the building.Hmm.Nick had left her alone. She checked his location. He’d entered the highway. Good. He wasn’t on a short run for Chinese food or something. Even so, she’d work fast. No telling where he was going or when he’d be home.

She didn’t want Liz calling Nick for help tonight. She’dmake sure of it. She contacted the chip she’d left in Liz’s phone at the zoo and tappeddisable phone.On second thought, Liz wouldn’t need the phone from now on anyway. She may as well erase the damn thing.Illusia cocked her head and thought a few seconds.Sure, it was spiteful, but what the hell? She tappederase memory.If only she could’ve erased Jazz’s mistakes this easily, he would’ve come home, and they’d be working together again.

Illusia set up her tablets and got to work. She’d investigated Nick’s security one other time and navigated quickly, casually leaning toward the side window to peer up at the fourth floor. Not a light on in the place. That had to be a smoke and mirrors effect, because Liz was definitely in there.

Just like the previous time, the security grids were spaced every few inches or so and rotated constantly. Illusia checked her watch. They were shifting every four seconds. She scanned the four entrances on her monitor. There was the main lobby, a side entrance that led to the service elevator, and two entrances in the underground parking garage.

Last time, she’d tried to crack the code for the parking garage and couldn’t get in. Tonight, she wouldn’t give up until she strolled inside one of the first-floor doors or Liz came out.

Illusia slammed the notebooks shut and scooted down in her seat as the high beams from a sports car on the road illuminated her parked car. It was probably some neighbor, because Nick didn’t have tenants.

During the next half hour, she isolated the security grid and endeavored to freeze it. The second she caught the sequence, the grid shifted from vertical to horizontal or vice versa and shut her out. Nick’s system had the unique quality of unpredictability. It never repeated an algorithm. Sheslammed the notebook against the steering wheel and took a deep breath.

The feds could learn a thing or two from Nick’s program. Their programs lumbered along like cyber manatees, changing only when challenged by an intruder. Nick’s setup never stopped moving. It was like trying to catch grasshoppers.

She grabbed her coffee and sipped. A joint would really help her narrow her focus, but she didn’t dare open the windows. And the last thing she needed was a clambake rendering her useless instead of a few mellow tokes.

She shook her head. There’d be no climb up the building tonight either.Ifshe could even get the fire escape down, the stairs contained an electric current similar to the precision of a large dog’s collar. Same thing with the windows and rooftop. And she’d bet her life that he’d replaced the old windows with bulletproof glass, because hey—Nick was just enough of a detailed freak to do that.

But Illusia hadn’t earned her reputation by giving up. There had to be vulnerability somewhere. She poked and prodded foranythingshe might have missed previously. There was a possible back door she’d ignored during her searches thinking it a dead end. She backtracked through a dozen saved pages and found the spot.

One line in the system sat inactive. She worked on it for a few minutes and turned it on. The pulses resembled an old phone or intercom system. A quick search for public info on the property stated it had been a sewing machine factory in its heyday and converted to office space in the 1970s.

For the next ten minutes, Illusia traced the old cables to the fourth floor and activated them. They fired right up. But the only way she’d know if the wall boxes were intact was tolisten and see if she heard anything. She clicked the first circuit and nothing. She tried the second and heard the faint sound of a hairdryer in the distance. When she checked out the third circuit, footsteps echoed on a wood floor. Illusia snatched a pad and made notes on which circuits worked and those that didn’t.She was a freaking genius.Yes, sir, the truly intelligent in this world adapted to their circumstances and overcame.

If she couldn’t get in the building—she’d motivate Liz to come out.

35

Major Chan scrambled from under the weight of her husband’s arm and leg. She climbed over him to answer her work phone.

“Chan.” She glanced at the clock. It was way after midnight.

“Sorry to wake you, Major. This can’t wait.” The young analyst’s voice quavered.

“It’s alright, Phil. Go ahead.” She slipped into the bathroom and put the speaker on.

“That hacker we’ve been researching? She’s been busy. Las Vegas police issued a warrant for her arrest tonight and issued a nationwide APB. They found the body of some Canadian demo specialist in the desert three days ago. He’d been there a couple weeks. Shot point blank through the head. He’d gone to Vegas for a work convention and never returned home. Family filed a missing person’s report ten days ago. Vegas PD combed through his phone and computer. Illusia’s digital fingerprint is all over his emails.”

Poor guy.Not good. “Did Vegas PD get an ID? Did she check into a hotel?”

“Oh yeah. Penthouse suite. She spent the big bucks.”

“What name did she use at check-in?”

“Genevieve Ralston. But that’s just the name on the credit card. FBI’s been chasing this perp for several years. Credit card fraud is one of her specialties. She’s on a dozen security feeds up and down the Vegas strip. She left the hotel with the demo guy in a rented Buick and returned several hours later alone driving a rented Mercedes. And her fingerprints are all over the dead guy’s belongings. She did nothing to disguise herself. Her real name is Paula Mumford, born in Wisconsin, age thirty-one. No rap sheet as an adult but there’s a long juvie record, according to my source. I didn’t actually get to see it.”

“The condensed version, please, Phil.” She fumbled for a Dixie cup and drew some water.

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