“You bet. It’ll tell the difference between a gorilla and a person.”
Chad was more than impressed. Satellite surveillance relied on telescopic photography during the day, and it was damn good. You could hit the magnify button and look at a drop of dew on a leaf, but at night surveillance went to infrared. Every living thing had a thermal signature that showed up as red on the screen.
Objects such as cars in use gave off enough heat to be confused with people when viewed on the screen. In populated areas, all that could be seen at night was a big red blob. Essentially satellite surveillance after dark sucked.
“Sounds promising.” Chad deliberately kept his tone noncommittal. “So why isn’t the military testing it?”
“It’s top secret. I mean double classified. Most of the world thinks we can’t track them if they move at night. We’d like to keep it that way.”
Chad would bet his life there was more to it, but he was smart enough to accept what Danson told him without comment.
“You in?” Danson asked.
Chad hesitated, thinking of everything he had going on in his life. The insurance investigations, his dive boats—most of all, his family. Five years ago, his father had died and soon after, his mother. Being the only son with three sisters and a slew of nieces and nephews meant he became head of the family. He liked it, but their activities took up a lot of his time.
“I’ll test it for you, if I can do it in Honolulu.”
“Not a problem.”
“You know I’m going to look for every flaw and report it.”
“Just what we want. When you report, call me at this number.” He pulled a card out of the pocket of his swimming trunks. “Use a pay phone, not a cell phone. No IMing. No e-mails.”
Chad nodded. Now he knew the problem. Somewhere, the brass had a leak.
CHAPTER TWO
IT HAD BEEN SUCH A BUSY morning that Lindsey hadn’t taken time to phone in her usual order for a turkey sandwich from The Basket Lady who delivered lunch to businesses. It was hard to believe she was hawking jewelry to tourists instead of working in finance. She loved numbers and always had. She had an MBA in statistics. When would she be able to work in her field again?
Until last year, what she’d known about crime, she’d learned watching DeNiro and Pacino. Hul-lo! Welcome to the real world. White collar criminals were just as deadly as the Mafia.
Looking up, she saw a couple from the Midwest pass her shop. They were slurping soda from huge plastic cups. They didn’t even glance at the jewelry in the window.
She’d selected this shop not only for its historic beauty, but because it gave her a good view up the street and there was a back way out. Two, actually, if you counted the back door to Romero’s gallery.
Ever-vigilant, she’d learned to memorize people’s faces. If someone was following her, she would know it. At least that’s what she told herself. With so many tourists swarming through the city now that summer had arrived, it was impossible to truly memorize every face.
Still, she continued to try.
She squinted against the early-afternoon sunlight at the dark-haired man striding toward the gallery. He was a head taller than most men, but even if he hadn’t been, Lindsey would have been able to pick out Derek Albright, her WITSEC field contact.
The deputy marshal had square-jawed good looks and carried himself with an erect, military bearing. He’d been a Marine before joining the Federal Marshal’s group that ran the witness protection program. His training showed not only in his posture but in the way he talked and acted.
What was he doing here now?
Not that he ever announced his visits. In the beginning, he’d popped in to see her several times a week. As she became acclimated, he visited her each week. Lately she was lucky to see him once a month.
Derek had appeared at her condo one night last week. It was much too soon for him to be here again. Wasn’t it? Maybe something had happened to her sister, Tina or her niece, Ariel. Her stomach cramping with apprehension, she braced herself for bad news as Derek opened Dreamcatcher’s door, but he greeted her with a smile.
“Hey, Lindsey.”
A thought suddenly hit her. Maybe a date had been set for the trial. Perhaps an end to this nightmare was in sight. Something in her chest felt lighter—almost hopeful.
Derek’s eyes were on the open door leading into Romero’s gallery. “Close it.”
Lindsey slipped over to the connecting door and saw Romero animatedly talking to a couple about a Kevin Red Star lithograph. Without a sound she shut the door.
“I need to talk to you,” Derek said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Close the gallery. Let’s go to lunch.”
“Okay, but let me tell Romero. He’ll watch the shop and take care of Zach.”
It took her a minute to explain an old friend had dropped by and needed to talk to her. Since Romero couldn’t see Derek from where he was standing, she thought he would assume it was a woman. From his wink, she decided he believed she had a boyfriend.
What a sweetie, she sighed inwardly. He genuinely cared about her. Too bad she couldn’t tell him how much his friendship meant to her.
She left Zach in the gallery and walked outside with Derek. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you all about it.” He sounded happy. “I made lunch reservations at La Casa Sena.”
“Really? Since when does WITSEC bankroll lunches at pricey restaurants? This must be good news.”
“Good news and bad news.” Suddenly the air was fraught with tension and an undercurrent of expectation. “Which do you want first?”
She’d been so battered down with bad news that she almost opted for the good first. No. This experience had taught her to face her fears and deal with them.
“The bad.”
His eyes shifted, a subtle movement most people would have missed, but she knew he was checking out the people around them because that’s what he’d taught her. Tourists, she decided, covertly skimming the clusters of people strolling through the area.
“Headquarters intercepted an expert hacker who was attempting to access your file.”
His words beat against her temples. Fear she’d been trying too long to ignore spread through her with a mind-numbing punch.
“Don’t worry. We stopped them.”
THE FRAGRANT YEASTY SCENT of warm sapodillas filled the air in La Casa Sena. Ordinarily Lindsey would have been ready to fill one of the hollow centered buns with honey and gobble it down, but her mind wasn’t on food. Derek had insisted on putting off telling her the good news until they had ordered lunch and wine had been served.
“Okay, now for the good news.” Derek raised his glass of Pinot Noir to hers.
Lindsey clinked her goblet against his, concealing her frustration with a manufactured smile. She still held out the hope that the good news was a date had been set for the trial.
Derek grinned and took a swig of wine before, saying in a voice charged with excitement, “I’ve been promoted. I’m going back to headquarters in D.C.”
He kept talking, but all she heard was a blur of words. This was the good news? Anger mushroomed inside her. What had begun as frustration morphed into something larger, darker.
Derek was her lifeline, her contact with the people who had taken control of her destiny. They weren’t close—exactly—but there was an immeasurable, unseen bond between