And yet, some people were more observant. They knew Scott had been arrested, knew she was on her own. What if one of the store’s customers was an off-duty cop?
Come on. Relax.
She paid for her purchases and forced herself to walk slowly out the door.
What she needed was a computer with Internet access. She couldn’t risk using hers within WiFi range again. For all she knew the malware on it would automatically connect and send information about her location, even if the WiFi appeared to be disconnected. She’d only kept her laptop to see if she could find the malicious code and decipher it. Offline.
But right now her priority was checking the forums. Duncan would be even more alert now that he knew she was in Virginia and had broken into Aggressor. And while she was pretty good at surveilling an unsuspecting target, her old boss would not be so easy.
Fifteen minutes—and a quick stop at another drugstore—later, she strolled through the front door of a three-star nationwide chain hotel and nodded at the thin, twenty-something black man behind the front desk as she headed for the elevators, just another guest returning to her room. She even took a minute to fill a paper cup with coffee on her way, not a care in the world.
On the third floor, she found the vending machine room and initially stood in front of the snacks as if trying to make a decision. No one passed by or came out of the room across from her. Thanksgiving must have made it a slow weekend for a hotel that likely got much of its business from visiting defense contractors.
Eventually, two housekeepers started working the floor. Surreptitiously studying them as they cleaned separate rooms, she noticed a pattern. Both of them were in and out of each room several times and ended by taking in the small toiletry bottles, and then spending about another thirty seconds in the room, presumably for a final check.
Valerie waited until both women were out of sight, one running the vacuum, before she took the stairwell down one floor. Here, there was only one housekeeping cart located two doors down from the vending room. The small space housed an ice machine and a trash can and provided a good vantage point from which to observe the housekeeper.
When the plump woman grabbed several tiny bottles, Valerie walked slowly past the open doorway. The housekeeper smiled and nodded at Valerie’s “Good morning” as she exited the bathroom, shutting off the light, and turned toward the beds.
Valerie’s heart triple-timed as she slid silently between the cart and the doorjamb and stepped into the darkened bathroom. She crouched and scooted as far under the wide counter as possible. Her pulse throbbed in her ears, but she took slow, shallow breaths through her nose and curled up tight, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t flinch or react when the other woman walked past.
An interminable number of heartbeats later, the door to the hallway shut with a loudclankthat made her jump.
She sat in place for another five minutes before closing the bathroom door and turning on the light. After laying out a washcloth on the counter and setting a bath towel next to her on the other side, she removed the bottle of dye and a pair of scissors she’d purchased at the second store, setting them silently on the small white towel.
The housekeeper would hear the water if she ran the shower or flushed the toilet—which she badly needed to use before she left—but the sink should be quiet enough. With luck.
Forty-five minutes later, she checked her appearance in the mirror. Gone were the long, honey-blond strands, replaced by chin-length, mousy brown hair. She’d shortened her bangs to about an inch above her eyebrows and given them a slight U-shape, lined her upper eyelids with liquid black, extending the line out beyond the corners of her eyes to create “wings,” and added red lipstick. The retro look changed her appearance so much she barely recognized herself.
After adding square reading glasses, she wasn’t even sureScottwould know her on the street.
The hair dryer was too loud to risk, but someone might notice a woman stupid enough to go out in the cold with damp hair, so she sat at the room’s desk and spent the next two hours scanning her computer for malware and reviewing her notes on everything she’d done since she had turned fugitive.
The malicious code was well hidden, and she couldn’t be sure she’d removed all of it, but at least Scott hadn’t gone to jail based on an unfounded fear.
As if that were worth celebrating.
A deep ache set up camp in her chest. His sacrifice was for nothing, since that was exactly what she had. Without Jay or the emails, it was Duncan’s word against hers. A former black hat hacker and daughter of a convict versus a respected, successful businessman and former Air Force officer.
Valerie didn’t stand a chance without definitive proof of her boss’s duplicity.
A little after ten, her hair was dry. She could probably stay longer without detection, but with her luck the room would be given to someone with an early check-in. Better to leave now.
She tidied the bathroom the best she could, leaving the damp towel and washcloth tucked under the far corner of the counter, as if they had been overlooked by housekeeping.
In case the front desk attendant was unusually observant, she turned her tote bag inside out so it showed the powder-blue liner, and rolled the bottom of her jeans. She checked her reflection once more. Still startled by her appearance, she folded her parka over one arm, grabbed her bag, and looked through the peephole.
The housekeeping cart was no longer in visual range, so she waited with her ear against the door until the vacuum started running several doors down. Quickly, she exited the room and strode to the stairs—pausing only to stash a twenty between two towels—hoping like hell if the front desk attendant noticed her on the hallway cameras, he didn’t realize she had exited an unrented room.
She made her way to the lobby, ignoring the guy at the desk, who was deep in conversation with a heavyset man wearing a tool belt. Just off the main hall, she sat in a small alcove with two computers and a printer. One monitor faced the front desk, the other faced the elevator lobby.
Taking the latter, she enabled the browser’s private mode and used a free online VPN that would make it harder to trace her location—about the best she could do for security on a computer like this—and started checking her lures and shady hangouts.
After an hour, during which only two people used the other PC, discouragement had started to set in. So far, none of her queries had produced anything useful. She’d checked her fake social media accounts. Cathy Hollowell had accepted Valerie’s friend request, but her account had been scrubbed of anything useful, and now she’d be on alert. She’d know better than to click on a link or image of any kind, even one from a “friend.” Dead end.
Working through the forums, the bad news continued. No one seemed to know, or have anything on, Duncan. She’d been unable to locate any offshore accounts for him or any of his close family, found no shell corporations, or any obvious signs of laundered money. His wife came from a wealthy family, so even if his lifestyle exceeded his means, the money might be legit.
Moving on, Valerie searched for known snippets of code that matched what had been on her computer, but found nothing with a cursory search. Anything more thorough required time, access, and resources she didn’t currently have.
