“This is Chloe.”
“The phone number only has six digits.” I laid it out there, no preamble.
“Say what?” To her credit, she didn’t waste time insulting me.
“The phone number that Gray gave to Hayes. It only has six digits.” I paused and stated the obvious. “It’s not a phone number.”
Chloe sighed. “You couldn’t have noticed this an hour ago?”
“Can you just get me the files? If there are any more of these numbers, I need them.”
I don’t know what made me ask for the files, or what made me think there might be more to the number set than I already had. Maybe it was the sixth sense that always came into play when there was a code to break, or maybe it was the fact that I knew asking for the data would annoy Chloe, and annoying Chloe was quite possibly one of the only pleasures I could still wring out of my pathetic existence on this planet.
“If you give me a few minutes, I can scan for phone tones on the tape. I’ll isolate two minutes on either side of every tone sequence, and send it to you when I’m done.”
What was this? Chloe … being helpful? Chloe having a civil conversation with me? For that matter, the fact that Chloe Larson could scan audio tracks for a particular sound and isolate the relevant areas all in a matter of minutes was almost as remarkable as the fact that she’d gone off autobitch to do it for me. I thought of everything Zee had told me: chubby little Chloe, theStar Warsfanatic. Brooke saving her from her own dorkdom. The two of them fighting over Jack. Me representing everything that Chloe wanted to forget. It was times like this that I really didn’t appreciate having a profiler take it upon herself to enlighten me. This was exactly what Zee had been aiming for. I couldn’t just disregard Chloe as Chloe. She was an actual person.
“Chloe,” I said, knowing I was going to regret it. “Thanks.”
No response. I made a face at the phone, and when a few more seconds of silence went by, I rolled my eyes. “It’s customary to say you’re welcome,” I said dryly.
No response.
“Chloe?”
As quick as I’d been to figure out the six-digit telephonenumber thing, it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that Chloe had hung up on me. Gritting my teeth, I redialed her number and got sent immediately to voice mail.
“Hey, this is Chloe. I’m probably screening your call, and I probably won’t call you back. Isn’t life a bitch?” Beeeeeeeep.
To my credit (and possibly because of my little psychosession with Zee), there wasn’t a single obscenity in the message I left in response. “Hey, this is Toby. You’re probably screening my call, and you probably won’t call me back.”
As this was an exercise in complete futility, I hung up the phone. I opened my mouth to curse Chloe, but then I thought of the whole hopeless dork/light saber thing, and couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. Darn Zee.
CHAPTER 19
Code Word: Bubbles
Checking your email every fifteen seconds isn’t a healthy habit. I know this, and usually the only reason I check my email is to activate new user accounts through which I can mask my own internet activity, but Chloe had said she’d send the files my way, and as much as she wasn’t exactly the Honest Abe of the cheerleading world, I didn’t think she cared enough about what I thought to lie to my face. At least not about this.
I refreshed my inbox.
“Wow. You get like totally no email.”
I physically jumped in my seat, and Bubbles tilted her head to the side.
“Bubbles,” I said slowly.
“Uh-huh?”
“What are you doing in my room?”
“Watching you check your email.” She tilted her head in the other direction. “You don’t have any.”
I was tempted to thank her for the clarification, but became incredibly distracted when, without any warning, she hooked her hand around one of her ankles and lifted her leg straight up until it nearly hit her ear. To top it off, she just stood there, looking at me, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, like she hadn’t just contorted herself into a position that was painful to even look at.
“Stop doing that,” I told her.
“Doing what?”
