Page 1 of Hack
PROLOGUE
He'd fucked up.
It didn't matter how many times people told him it wasn't his fault, it was. There was no denying that he could have tried to do something had he just done his job. It wasn't like it was hard. Somehow, he'd missed the call, and now everything was fucked up.
Carter tossed back the shot of whiskey and slammed the glass down on the bar before nodding at the bartender for another.
It was clear from the frown on the bartender's face that this would be his last one. He'd either have to find another bar or head home and stare into the darkness as he tried to figure out how he'd fucked up.
Once again, he'd failed to protect someone he cared about. At least this time it hadn't ended up with someone dead, but being locked up in jail was close to as bad.
Dyson had trusted him and he'd let him down. Nothing anyone said would change that fact. He'd been the one with the police scanner, and he'd been the one not to hear the call when they'd sent the police to check on suspicious activity at the home Dyson had been stinging.
Carter blinked, trying to make out the time on his cell phone, but the black screen was all he found. He couldn't remember the last time he'd charged it. Hell, he hardly remembered what day it was.
He'd spent the last two weeks working his contacts, trying to work out exactly what he had to do to get Dyson out of jail. He'd had a plan for years, but putting it into action wasn't as easy as planning it. He was close to having everything in place, but he needed to time everything just right.
If this all worked, it would be a miracle.
Ignoring the bartender's stare, he tipped back the last shot. He wasn't much of a drinker, or at least he hadn't been before all this shit started. He'd found himself at this bar three nights in a row now.
Up until Dyson's arrest, he hardly ever left the team house, but being there now was a constant reminder of how he'd failed one of his best friends. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined Dyson in that six by eight cell.
He'd made it his job to keep the team safe. They'd gone years without anyone being arrested. Sure, they'd had close calls, but they'd always managed to protect the guys. How were they supposed to ever trust him with their safety again?
Carter took the last gulp of his bourbon and Coke before reaching for his wallet and pulling a hefty tip out for the bartender. He slapped the bills down on the bar before giving the young man a nod and heading out the door.
The night air was warmer than the air-conditioned bar, and he took a second to inhale deeply before he started walking down the sidewalk. He'd hoped the alcohol would numb his mind, but all it seemed to do was make him think more.
That was the last thing he wanted. He didn't want to think. He wanted to forget. Forget the pain, forget the failures, forget the past.
"Fuck!" He arched his head back, looking up at the sky. The full moon shined brightly, almost as if it was following him, illuminating him as a failure.
The downtime was killing him. All stings were called off until further notice. While the rest of the team sat around the team house still digging through the dark web and collecting evidence on pedophiles in the area, he found it too hard to be there. He went in a couple of hours each day to make sure that things were ready to break Dyson out of jail when the time came, but once the work was done, he was out of there. He couldn't handle looking at everyone, watching them worry, staring at him, reminding him how he'd fucked up.
The time away from the house was good. He didn't need to be there right now. He'd done all he could for Dyson for now. The rest would be up to Bryon setting things up with his contacts. Trenton and Matt could handle the searching, and Bryon would call him if there was anything going on as far as getting Dyson out. Carter sighed, remembering the dead battery on his cell phone.
At least he had his side of things ready to go. As soon as Bryon gave the word, he would hack into the jail's computers and change records to show Dyson as able to bail out. Once he did that, it was just a matter of making it look as if bail had been posted, and Dyson would be free. Well, if you could call on the run as a wanted felon free.
How could this have all happened? How had he missed that neighbor calling the police? When the team was out hunting pedophiles, Carter was aware and alert, focused on every little detail. Yet, this one time, he'd not heard the call that a neighbor thought someone was breaking in.
Bryon kept telling him it might not have made a difference, but if he could have contacted Dyson somehow and given him a few minutes warning, or if he could have caused a distraction, keeping the police away for five more minutes, things might be different. He could have tried.
He'd replayed the night in his mind a million times, trying to figure out how he'd missed that call. He had no excuses, but he also had no clue how he'd missed it. It didn't matter now. Dyson was fucked, and it was all his fault.
Turning down a small side street, he focused on his house halfway down the block. Maybe tonight he could sleep. For the last two weeks, he'd caught naps here and there, but most nights he tossed and turned, his mind racing with what changes he could make to make sure the team was safer.
Carter reached into his dress pants and searched for his keys as he walked toward the house. The small neighborhood was friendly enough, but Carter was seldom home to enjoy it. Up until recently, he practically lived at the team house, sleeping in one of the extra bedrooms for a few hours here and there. He only came home to check his mail and make sure the place was secure. His neighbors were probably wondering what was going on with him home so often the last couple of weeks.
He made his way up to the front porch and paused, leaning against the railing as he looked out over his yard. The lawn was mowed, the bushes trimmed, just like always. He hired a company to look after it since he wasn't around. To anyone looking, it appeared he was just a normal everyday person, working his life away, but that was far from the truth. Only those close to him were aware that he was one of the best hackers in the world and that he had helped create an elite team of men and women who hunted down pedophiles for a living. His home didn't give away anything about his real life.
If they knew him as well as his inner circle did, they'd find a complex man who weaved his way through the dark web, collecting evidence of sex trafficking and child abuse. They'd see the way he planned for his partners to go out to homes in the middle of the night and hunt the evilest of men and women in the world.
His modest home didn't give away any clues to how rich he really was. The money wasn't important to him. He used it to support the team, help others in need. His own needs and wants were few.
What most people never saw, even those close to him, was the broken man beneath the façade he presented to them. The man who lost his daughter years ago to a predator. Carter had searched for her from the time she'd been taken. She'd been nine the last time he'd seen her alive and fourteen when he'd buried her.
Carter turned, pushing the memories from his mind. If he let himself get stuck remembering, it would only make his mood worse and his night longer. He pushed the key into the lock, opening the door, then rushed to turn off the alarm system that secured the house.
