Exploited
Page 27
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I grabbed the robe from the foot of my bed and got up, walking into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light. Darkness was better suited for my purposes. I sat down at the table and fired up my laptop.
My mind still too full of Mason, I brought up the search engine and typed his name.
A few minutes later I was surfing through a pile of useless information. Nothing pertinent. Nothing that I wanted to know. I had already pored over all of the surface stuff. I had done my homework. I knew I was dealing with a celebrated FBI agent. Intelligent. Talented.
Dangerous.
I hesitated to violate him completely. The basics had gotten me to this point. But tonight we had entered a new phase. If this was going to work, I had to remember what I was doing.
Getting close.
And that meant it was time to dig deeper. To know more.
Twenty minutes later I had access to his credit card statements, and I scrolled through pages and pages of purchases that revealed much about the man I had spent the evening with.
He ate out a lot, spending very little money on groceries. I knew he didn’t know how to cook, given that he had burned the popcorn he made us.
He frequented a bar on the other side of town at least twice a week. He typically spent between ten and twenty-five dollars. After looking at the bar’s menu online, I deduced he’d eat dinner and drink a beer. Only one. I had noticed that he ordered just the one at dinner as well. He was a controlled man. He knew his limits.
My stomach clenched again.
He was in control. Most of the time. But I had found the crack in his veneer tonight.
The knot in my belly dissolved into a heat that spread outward at the memory of touching him. Of his touching me.
It had taken everything in me to remember to not lose myself. Because it would be easy to do.
Too easy.
I pored over the tiny, seemingly insignificant details of his life. The breadcrumbs he left as he went about living.
Mason Kohler was a man of contradictions.
He paid for an annual subscription to a tech magazine. He spent money at the shooting range several times a month. He liked to shop at camping stores and his last Amazon shipment had included a trouser press and a crate of energy drinks.
He was an alpha male in so many ways.
Then there were the vet visits. Several of them. Purchases of specialty cat food. Even though he called his cat an asshole, it was obvious Mason loved him. Doted on him.
He sent flowers to an address in northern Virginia for every major holiday. He also donated $200 a month to a cancer research fund with the memo “in memory of Dillon Kohler.”
He had lost someone.
Someone close to him.
I remembered the man in the photographs. The boy in the basketball jersey.
More digging revealed an obituary for a young man whose picture revealed him to be the same person in the pictures I had seen earlier.
He looked a lot like Mason.
Only with longer hair and a less burdened smile.
Dillon Kohler was Mason’s younger brother. He had died last year from a brain tumor.
My heart constricted and I thought of Charlotte. Of how close I had come to losing her. I remembered so clearly those weeks spent in ICU, wondering whether Char, like Dad, would slip away. Gone forever.
It had been the most excruciating time of my life.
Knowing Mason had experienced something like that, something worse, was a little unsettling.
I wasn’t sure how I felt, knowing we shared that sort of grief.
Was this why I had hesitated to look deeper into Mason’s life?
Because then I’d see him as more than a means to an end?
I sifted through pages of information, wanting to know everything.
I needed to know everything.
Now that we were getting somewhere.
I thought of the briefcase.
Of the file with my other name on it.
I rationalized that it was important for me to understand Agent Kohler so I could stay one step ahead of him.
After all, it wasn’t by chance that I had dumped the contents of my purse at his feet.
It wasn’t my vanity that had made me take time with my appearance that morning several days ago.
I was calculating. I had learned to be.
I had known who Mason was before meeting him.
He was chasing a phantom.
I was the ghost who evaded him.
Yet I couldn’t stop thinking of that moment.
The one when lines became blurred.
When motivations were called into question.
And I was starting to rethink the wisdom of a plan that hinged on seduction.
When the heart was in play, there were no limits.
—
I must have dozed off at my computer.
I woke with a start, my face pressed into the keys. The room was still dark as I sat up, blinking sleepily, trying to remember what I had been doing before I passed out.
Mason.
I rubbed my eyes and stretched my back, feeling kinked from sleeping in an unnatural position. It wasn’t unusual for me to fall asleep at my computer. I spent most of my life behind the screen; sleeping there wasn’t unheard of.
A beeping noise caught my attention. I clicked the mouse and the screen came to life. My email icon was blinking.
I opened the new message.
From: 06050900oneforallunitynet
Subject: Bike return
Date: March 4, 2016 00:24
To: 12080512alwcawunitynet
I’ve requested answers regarding the bike. I have yet to hear from you. I will have to proceed without the pertinent information if I don’t have a response within 24 hours.
I frowned at the tone of the email. What the hell? We had left it that I would look into Virtuant. I hadn’t been aware that Toxicwrath had a deadline.
What was going on?
I fired up the IRC client and found the hidden chat room quickly.
00:30 <Freed0m0v3rdr1v3> What’s with the time limit?
I jumped right to the point. I was feeling touchy. I didn’t appreciate the demanding tone my anonymous assistant had adopted.
00:30 <T0x1cwrath> Ready to get started. Did you have a look?
I ran my hand down my face, sighing noisily to an empty room.
00:31 <Freed0m0v3rdr1v3> No. I had other things to do tonight.
00:31 <T0x1cwrath> More important than the mission?
I could feel the sarcasm from here. Condescension raised my hackles.
My fingers all but smashed into the keyboard in my irritation.
00:32 <Freed0m0v3rdr1v3> It was part of the mission. An integral part. One that you suggested.
My mind still too full of Mason, I brought up the search engine and typed his name.
A few minutes later I was surfing through a pile of useless information. Nothing pertinent. Nothing that I wanted to know. I had already pored over all of the surface stuff. I had done my homework. I knew I was dealing with a celebrated FBI agent. Intelligent. Talented.
Dangerous.
I hesitated to violate him completely. The basics had gotten me to this point. But tonight we had entered a new phase. If this was going to work, I had to remember what I was doing.
Getting close.
And that meant it was time to dig deeper. To know more.
Twenty minutes later I had access to his credit card statements, and I scrolled through pages and pages of purchases that revealed much about the man I had spent the evening with.
He ate out a lot, spending very little money on groceries. I knew he didn’t know how to cook, given that he had burned the popcorn he made us.
He frequented a bar on the other side of town at least twice a week. He typically spent between ten and twenty-five dollars. After looking at the bar’s menu online, I deduced he’d eat dinner and drink a beer. Only one. I had noticed that he ordered just the one at dinner as well. He was a controlled man. He knew his limits.
My stomach clenched again.
He was in control. Most of the time. But I had found the crack in his veneer tonight.
The knot in my belly dissolved into a heat that spread outward at the memory of touching him. Of his touching me.
It had taken everything in me to remember to not lose myself. Because it would be easy to do.
Too easy.
I pored over the tiny, seemingly insignificant details of his life. The breadcrumbs he left as he went about living.
Mason Kohler was a man of contradictions.
He paid for an annual subscription to a tech magazine. He spent money at the shooting range several times a month. He liked to shop at camping stores and his last Amazon shipment had included a trouser press and a crate of energy drinks.
He was an alpha male in so many ways.
Then there were the vet visits. Several of them. Purchases of specialty cat food. Even though he called his cat an asshole, it was obvious Mason loved him. Doted on him.
He sent flowers to an address in northern Virginia for every major holiday. He also donated $200 a month to a cancer research fund with the memo “in memory of Dillon Kohler.”
He had lost someone.
Someone close to him.
I remembered the man in the photographs. The boy in the basketball jersey.
More digging revealed an obituary for a young man whose picture revealed him to be the same person in the pictures I had seen earlier.
He looked a lot like Mason.
Only with longer hair and a less burdened smile.
Dillon Kohler was Mason’s younger brother. He had died last year from a brain tumor.
My heart constricted and I thought of Charlotte. Of how close I had come to losing her. I remembered so clearly those weeks spent in ICU, wondering whether Char, like Dad, would slip away. Gone forever.
It had been the most excruciating time of my life.
Knowing Mason had experienced something like that, something worse, was a little unsettling.
I wasn’t sure how I felt, knowing we shared that sort of grief.
Was this why I had hesitated to look deeper into Mason’s life?
Because then I’d see him as more than a means to an end?
I sifted through pages of information, wanting to know everything.
I needed to know everything.
Now that we were getting somewhere.
I thought of the briefcase.
Of the file with my other name on it.
I rationalized that it was important for me to understand Agent Kohler so I could stay one step ahead of him.
After all, it wasn’t by chance that I had dumped the contents of my purse at his feet.
It wasn’t my vanity that had made me take time with my appearance that morning several days ago.
I was calculating. I had learned to be.
I had known who Mason was before meeting him.
He was chasing a phantom.
I was the ghost who evaded him.
Yet I couldn’t stop thinking of that moment.
The one when lines became blurred.
When motivations were called into question.
And I was starting to rethink the wisdom of a plan that hinged on seduction.
When the heart was in play, there were no limits.
—
I must have dozed off at my computer.
I woke with a start, my face pressed into the keys. The room was still dark as I sat up, blinking sleepily, trying to remember what I had been doing before I passed out.
Mason.
I rubbed my eyes and stretched my back, feeling kinked from sleeping in an unnatural position. It wasn’t unusual for me to fall asleep at my computer. I spent most of my life behind the screen; sleeping there wasn’t unheard of.
A beeping noise caught my attention. I clicked the mouse and the screen came to life. My email icon was blinking.
I opened the new message.
From: 06050900oneforallunitynet
Subject: Bike return
Date: March 4, 2016 00:24
To: 12080512alwcawunitynet
I’ve requested answers regarding the bike. I have yet to hear from you. I will have to proceed without the pertinent information if I don’t have a response within 24 hours.
I frowned at the tone of the email. What the hell? We had left it that I would look into Virtuant. I hadn’t been aware that Toxicwrath had a deadline.
What was going on?
I fired up the IRC client and found the hidden chat room quickly.
00:30 <Freed0m0v3rdr1v3> What’s with the time limit?
I jumped right to the point. I was feeling touchy. I didn’t appreciate the demanding tone my anonymous assistant had adopted.
00:30 <T0x1cwrath> Ready to get started. Did you have a look?
I ran my hand down my face, sighing noisily to an empty room.
00:31 <Freed0m0v3rdr1v3> No. I had other things to do tonight.
00:31 <T0x1cwrath> More important than the mission?
I could feel the sarcasm from here. Condescension raised my hackles.
My fingers all but smashed into the keyboard in my irritation.
00:32 <Freed0m0v3rdr1v3> It was part of the mission. An integral part. One that you suggested.
