Prologue
Twelve years ago, Taveuni Island, Fiji
Crouched in front of the stalled speedboat’s ignition, the man couldn’t afford to get stranded. Not now. Not ever. Because if he got stuck here now—he’d be stuck here forever.
He turned the key for the third time. The boat groaned, but the engine refused to fire.
“Shit. Come on, come on.” If they found him, he was royally screwed. Turning the key again, the man swore. Still no luck.
“Why won’t you start, damn it? You worked fine last night!”
The boat didn’t give a response. He’d expected that, sure, but he still hated it—and all boats—on principle. The black water looming just beyond? Even more so.
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, pressing his forehead against it as he mulled what to do next. It was best not to risk flooding the engine, because without the boat, he’d have to make a break for it on foot.
If he chose that route, he’d never see his girl again.
He ran a hand down his face and glanced at his watch. No time to make other arrangements.
“Come ON!” he said again, teeth ground together so hard it hurt.
At last, the engine came alive. The boat puttered, but it stayed powered up. He clenched a fist in victory and pulled away from the dock. The speedboat cut through the water with ease. But with every wave it sliced in half, his pulse doubled.
The way ahead seemed simple enough. He just needed to beat them back to Washington D.C. Then again, he wasn’t sure who to trust. They all needed to be ready, and he needed to get home.
He pushed the throttle down, the beachside resort fading into the early morning light, which meant he missed the lone figure standing at the end of the dock, gazing toward the receding vessel.
He could barely believe he’d made it out alive.
Before he could celebrate further, he caught a whiff of something he hadn’t before, and in his line of work, overlooking minute details often meant the difference between life and death.
A gas leak.
The last thing he could afford. He eased up on the throttle, cursing.
He moved to inspect the engine, opening the ivory compartment. The smell of fuel engulfed him, and he gagged on the excess fumes…
Saw the short orange spark…
One final flash of white…
And then…
Nothing.
Part I: Initialization
Chapter 1
Present day, New York City
Access denied.
Blocked, again.
For the fourth time that afternoon, Carley Hawthorne slammed her palm against the table. A few other patrons looked over but likely chalked her frustrations up to a Wi-Fi malfunction.
If only it were that simple.
Carley swore under her breath, growling at the taunting cursor. Another failed hack—she’d lost count now. Her latest phishing attempt hadn’t worked; she’d tried tracing the physical address based on the IP, but had nothing to show for it. She was starting to doubt she’d ever find more about her father’s career at the travel agency—and his boating accident in Fiji. Carley wanted one iota beyond the basics.
Something. Anything.
Her fingers scrambled across the keyboard. The next approach wasn’t elegant, by any means, but it should’ve worked, and she wouldn’t give up until she’d finally found her father’s employee records.
Executing the task was in vain, but Carley hit Enter anyway, barely giving the white text a second look.
Access granted.
“Typical,” she grumbled, milliseconds away from slamming the laptop lid. “Absolutely typ—hey, wait a minute!”
Access granted!
Carley reverted from her command prompt to the notepad where she’d typed code for her last failed attempt. She scanned for errors. Halfway down, she found one: a single transposition of characters. Carley sighed and ran a hand through her long black hair.
All that wasted time, just for a typo her system hadn’t flagged.
She flexed her toes, Converse angling toward the floor. She’d spent three hours that afternoon trying to crack the database, and her fingers were boards. There’d be a crick in her neck later, too, but it’d all paid off.
She hit Enter again.
The white cursor flashed three times, and the employee directory appeared next to the command prompt.
Carley froze. She’d stepped into uncharted territory.
“Finally.” She scrolled through the list, stopping at the Hs.
Hawthorne, Terry. Head Article Writer; Knowledgebase Editor
Her heart skipped. After all this time, she’d finally learn more about his last trip! She clicked the hyperlinked name.
The page acted as if it was going to load, but it timed out. Three times she tried, but the page winked out of existence and her command prompt went blank, all previous code lost somewhere in cyberspace.
“What the hell?” Carley frowned. She double-tapped her iPhone to check the time.
Carley straightened, gulped down the rest of her lukewarm peppermint mocha, and leaned forward. She pasted in the code and ran the operation once more. The database presented itself, and she scrolled to her father’s name.
Tried to click it.
Again, nothing.
Why wouldn’t there be anything here? It makes no sense.
She compared the agency’s database to their public blog. Everything checked out. The names were legit. But she still couldn’t find anything more about Dad’s final trip to Fiji.
* * *
Carley spent the rest of the afternoon strategizing her next plan of attack. If the database was a dead end, she’d have to figure out another lead.
The side door of the cafe flung open, and Carley’s new, rather attractive neighbor, walked in.
Carley faltered at the keyboard, distracted by the raven hair with auburn streaks—not to mention the fact she was shouting into a cell phone over the din of the coffee grinder.
The cacophony tore Carley’s focus to shreds.
“Oh no, it was way smaller!” the woman yelled.
Her neighbor was several inches taller than she was, though that wasn’t hard for anyone, considering Carley was just over five feet. The hair had the perfect amount of wave and bounce, and it hugged her flawless complexion. The cell phone practically disappeared into the voluminous strands.
Carley had seen her a few times now, and she always spent a little too long staring. It wasn’t a crush, exactly, but it did bring up too many…other…past feelings.
“Yeah. After a night like that, I’m not sure I want to see him again,” the one-sided call continued.
Carley huffed. After a few moments, the grinding stopped, but the phone conversation didn’t. Concentration shattered, she sat back, arms crossed.
The normally bustling coffee shop was far from busy; not a lot of people chose to sip lattes by themselves on a Friday afternoon. The wall to Carley’s right was a mess of chunky glass and steel beams, and it provided a nice view of Washington Square Park, although everything was brown and barren as autumn had long since turned to a wintery December. Based on the clouds forming overhead, snow would fall again later, transforming New York City into an even noisier, more chaotic version of its already noisy, chaotic self.
A soft pang rippled through Carley as she watched a small group of friends laugh together. Ever since she had learned the news about her father’s accident, Carley had nearly always been on the outside looking in.
What she wouldn’t give to have that kind of connection with someone again.
Carley’s eyes flashed to her neighbor again, her mind tumbling through a thousand things at once.
Buzz, buzz.
The vibration pulled Carley back to the present, and she picked up her phone to read the text.
Zac isn’t able to make his shift. No one else is answering. Need you to come in.
Carley considered ignoring her manager like her coworkers had, but she had nothing better to do—her focus was shot. Work could push the problem to the back burner, let her subconscious work its magic.
The job, after all, was dull enough; it could be just what she needed.
She deposited her laptop into her bag and picked up a to-go refill on the way out. As she headed for the exit, she tapped out a quick “I’ll be there” text to her manager with the other hand.
Next thing she knew, the coffee cup crunched on impact, its murky brown and white contents splashing across the floor and her shirt—not to mention the wall of blond man who’d just entered the cafe.
Carley sputtered and juked to the left. The thirty-something, mocha-covered man stepped the same way and they nearly collided again, but he held out a hand to stop her.
She backpedaled and her cheeks turned scarlet. “Oh damn, I’m—I’m so sorry!”
“Mhm, clearly,” he said, incensed, in a British accent. “Blimey.” He regained hold of the unzipped leather messenger bag she’d knocked off his shoulder and refluffed his hair. He peered down his nose, eyes narrowed.
“Are you okay? I didn’t mean, I-I was distracted—”
“M’fine. Guess I can add dry cleaning to my to-do list, though.”
Carley raised a brow at his tone. “Sorry. It was an accident.”
He waved his hand, a few more droplets flying. The silence drew awkward, yet he didn’t step out of the way.
“I should go.” Carley jerked a thumb toward the door and walked the opposite way. Flustered, she course-corrected for the side exit. When she rounded the corner to the front of the building, the Englishman was still standing in the same place, the remains of her drink dripping from his jacket, bag, and cashmere sweater.
Wow, smooth move. Hope I never have to see him again.
Chapter 2
Carley handed the Chromebook across the counter. “Looks like a simple reset fixed the problem, so you should be all set, Mrs. Maxwell. There’s a sticker on your laptop with my number if any issues come up.” Carley gave the elderly woman a small smile, and, in her best customer service voice, she said, “Thanks for stopping by Best Buy.”
The woman said nothing and left the store. A typical reaction in the thankless world of IT repair.
Jeesh. You’re welcome! Carley eyed the clock on the computer. Three hours left.
She stepped over to see what was up next on today’s list of repairs when someone new arrived at the counter.
“Huh, you again,” he said, glancing at the nametag resting against her bright blue polo. “Carley. Nice to have a name for the face, I suppose.”
Carley’s eyes widened at the surly British man she’d spilled coffee on that afternoon. He’d changed clothes, now wearing a dark green, form-fitting V-neck sweater—she again assumed cashmere—with a checkered shirt underneath. In place of the coffee-doused pea coat, he sported a black utility jacket.
“Oh, God,” she said. “You know who I am. I’m gonna have to move.”
He chuckled. “Well, if you’re worried about that…” He stretched a hand across the countertop. “I’m David. Now we’re even, and you don’t have to get packing.”
Carley’s lip tugged upward, and she shook the proffered hand. “Well, thanks, David. What brings you in?”
He removed a black and red gaming laptop from his bag. “My computer won’t turn on.”
Carley, brow furrowed, took the laptop. She examined it from a few different angles and lifted the lid. A sticky, grimy residue covered every surface, and Carley’s face dropped. She asked her next question, despite already knowing the answer. “What happened to it?”
