The old lady with the crochet was waiting for me.
“Name, phone, destination, ice cream flavor,” I said, holding out my hand.
The old lady had the kind of perfect eyebrows that could only be achieved with a mirror and a steady hand. Her hair was silver and mouth quirked up at one corner. “Elle,” she said. “Headed for Vancouver. I prefer frozen yogurt to ice cream. And here’s my phone, but it won’t help you.” She held out a hand and I saw the old-fashioned phone. It could make calls, but that was it. It was definitely not designed to hack into a bus navigation system.
I let out a startled laugh. “How old is that thing?”
Elle shrugged with one shoulder. Her other hand was still curled around her crochet project. It looked like a tiny sweater—maybe for a baby or a stuffed animal. “Older than you, probably. Phone company’s been trying to get me to upgrade for years, but I like this one.”
She reminded me a little of my nonna—forthright, sharp, and calm even in the midst of a dangerous situation. I found myself softening toward her.
I glanced over my shoulder at the rest of the bus to make sure no one was near enough to hear me. I leaned in closer. “Who do you think it is?”
Elle laughed. “Why ask me?”
“Because you’re the only person on this bus who hasn’t been buried in a book, tablet, or phone,” I said. “I’ve been watching people, but I’m just one pair of eyes. And normally I’d have backup, but he’s currently recharging. You see anything suspicious?”
Elle’s gaze swept out across the bus. I could see her considering. “That young man,” she finally said. “With the sunglasses.”
“Archer,” I said promptly, “headed to Portland for a programming conference, carrying one phone and a laptop, likes rocky road.” The bus bounced as we hit a pothole. “Which seems rather fitting.”
Elle exhaled through her nose. “He’s got another phone on him.”
I blinked. I hadn’t caught that. “How do you know?”
“See how he’s looking down,” said Elle with a nod at Archer. “I was a teacher for enough years to know when someone’s texting under his desk.”
I grinned at her. “Score one for Team Crochet.”
I stood and began making my way down the aisle.
Archer had dark hair with an undercut and the kind of lanky build that reminded me of a fashion mannequin. He lounged in his bus seat, one arm thrown elaborately over the back. His mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes, but his head was angled down. He was headed for a programming conference. He’d kept a phone hidden. And while this was all circumstantial, something else struck me. He looked… unafraid.
What kind of person wasn’t afraid during a hijacking?
During the first few years of automated cars and buses, hijackings weren’t uncommon. Criminals realized they could take people hostage and demand ransoms with a few taps on a keyboard. It was only after the vice president was taken and identity theft became an automatic federal felony that the hijackings became less common. These days, most drivers pay for layers of firewalls and virtual security for their private cars. Those who can’t afford it… They take their chances. Public transit companies either hire their own cybersecurity experts or contract with a larger company. It’s cheaper than being at the heart of a wrongful death suit if a hacker manages to drive a bus off a cliff.
I plopped down in the seat beside Archer. He jerked back a few inches and my gaze roamed over him. One hand was shoved inside his jacket pocket. He could have been holding a phone.
Or a gun, a quiet part of me whispered. Everyone getting on the bus had gone through security, but a man capable of hijacking a bus was surely able to smuggle a weapon on his person.
Archer regarded me coolly. A teenager posed little threat to him. I couldn’t force him to give up that phone, couldn’t stop him physically if he was the hacker. Which meant I’d have to handle this carefully.
“Hi,” I said brightly. I couldn’t meet his eyes through those mirrored sunglasses, so I found a freckle beside his nose and focused on that.
“Yes?” he said.
I didn’t retreat. One did not show fear when facing a predator. My voice was pleasant but very quiet. “Give me the phone.”
His shoulders twitched in surprise. “What?” Shadows flickered across his face; the sun was falling behind the dead trees as the afternoon wore on.
“The phone,” I said, my smile fixed in place. “The one you have in your pocket. Give it to me and I won’t raise my voice.”
His brows drew together over his sunglasses. “And why wouldn’t I want that?”
“Because,” I said lightly, “there are other people on this bus. And if I raise my voice and call you the hijacker, people are going to panic. Some might eventry and hurt you. Give me the phone, let me disable the hijacking, and I won’t say a word. The feds will arrest you, but it’s better than being buried under a mob.”
The bus rumbled, the windows creaking as we took a sharp turn. Was it my imagination or was the bus going just a little too fast? I couldn’t tell. Adrenaline was a hot flush against my skin and sweat prickled against my back and neck.
