Hacker in Love, page 40
My phone.
Where is it?
Henn loaded that distress signal onto it that looks like a calculator! My heart sinks. Clearly, that’s not going to help me. Even if my phone is miraculously still on me, I wouldn’t be able to press any buttons on it with my hands tied behind my back.
Fuck.
I’m going to die today.
No, you’re not. Look around. Figure out your escape.
There’s a small window in a far corner that’s been hastily covered by a thin red handkerchief and some duct tape. One side of the fabric is fluttering slightly, suggesting the window is opened. Or maybe there’s no glass in the opening at all? Either way, the quality of light behind the fluttering red swatch of fabric tells me it’s still daylight outside, although there’s no way of knowing if it’s still the same day as when I was taken or if night has come and gone who-knows-how-many times. Is that weak light a sign that it’s dawn or dusk? I guess I’ll find out soon enough, when the light brightens or turns to black.
My eyes drift to the small card table. There’s a small, flat-ish object on it that I can’t make out from here. Also, an opened laptop, a large, plastic bottle of water, and a small black duffel bag on the floor next to the chair.
Fuck.
I’m going to die today.
My favorite true crime podcaster always warns, “Don’t let your abductor take you to a secondary location, or else your odds of survival plummet.” And yet, here I am, bound and gagged in a secondary location. Fuck.
All of a sudden, a loud thwapping noise behind me splits the silence, making me jolt and shriek behind my gag. Heavy footsteps draw closer behind me, sending shivers of terror across my skin.
“You’re awake,” a deep male voice says behind me. “For a minute there, I thought maybe I overdid the chloroform and turned you into a vegetable forever.” The footsteps stop. My captor is standing above me. It’s Angus. Or Greg Smith. Whatever the hell this man’s name is. Holy fuck, I feel like I’m seeing a ghost. Why? And why now? I would have bet he’d forgotten all about me by now. In fact, with all his presumed victims, I would have bet anything he wouldn’t even recognize me if he passed me on the street. And yet, two years later, after zero contact, he’s kidnapped me out of nowhere? Has he been stalking me this entire time?
Standing before me now, Angus looks nothing like the charming, handsome, smooth operator from two years ago—the personal trainer who so deftly wielded his traditional good looks and perfect physique to maximum advantage. No, the present iteration of this man looks manic, unkempt, unhinged, and wild-eyed. Plus, he’s even more muscular than when I knew him, which only makes him seem even more menacing to me.
Angus bends down until his nose practically touches mine. “Are you in the mood to die today, Hannah? Because today will be your last, if you don’t help me get every fucking thing I want.”
Warmth spreads between my legs and across the denim on my inner thighs. The scent of urine fills the air and mingles with the scent of Angus’ sweat.
Angus looks down at the pee spreading between my thighs and chuckles. “Glad to see you’re taking this so seriously.”
I nod, letting him know I’m taking this as seriously as a human being can take anything.
“I’ve figured everything out,” Angus says. “There’s no point in denying anything. Do you understand me?”
I nod again, even though, obviously, I don’t know what he could possibly be talking about.
Satisfied with my compliance, Angus marches across the small space to the card table. He digs around in the duffel bag on the floor and pulls out a black knit something. A cap? He then picks up the unidentified object off the table. Oh, God. It’s a knife. A big, scary, serrated one that could end my life in point-two seconds flat, if Angus were to drag its blade across my neck with any kind of force. If I hadn’t already pissed myself, I’d surely be doing it now.
Angus grabs the metal chair with his free hand and strides toward me. As he approaches, I notice a phone peeking out of his pocket. Unless he’s got his own phone with the same hot pink case as mine, then that’s my phone. Hallelujah! Surely, it’s been sending pings to nearby cell towers this whole time, which means the police can use my phone to triangulate my location. That’s what happens in so many of my true crime podcasts.
Although . . . come to think of it, the police would only be triangulating my location if my family has reported me missing by now. What time is it? Has the time come for me to pick up my mother at work?
Aw, fuck. As Angus comes to a stop in front of me, I can plainly see my phone screen in his pocket is pure black, which means the device is turned off, or, worse, its battery dead. Fuckity. Thanks to my true crime obsession, I know phones have to be turned on to be trackable. So much for the police triangulating my location.
“Eyes here, bitch,” Angus barks, as he places the chair immediately across from me.
I jerk my gaze from the blackened screen in Angus’ pocket to his angry eyes as he takes a seat before me. He lays his two objects—a black, knit cap and that scary knife—onto his lap and says, “I’m going to talk now, and you’re going to listen carefully. And when I’m done talking, you’re going to realize you’ve only got one option, if you want to see another day. You’re going to call your rich boyfriend on FaceTime, so I can see his face and make sure you’re not trying to pull a fast one, and you’re going to convince that motherfucker to a) stop fucking with me, and b) pay me five million bucks in exchange for your life.”
My thoughts come fast and furious, as my breathing becomes shallow. Angus knows about Henn? How? My Instagram is set to private. But regardless, I don’t post about Henn or tag him in photos because Henn abhors social media and doesn’t have any accounts. Also, why does Angus think Henn can afford to pay five million bucks to save my life? Yes, Henn has done well for himself lately, but he doesn’t have that kind of money. Although I suppose Henn could hack a bank to get the money or perhaps ask Josh or Reed to give it to him. Yeah, the more I think about it, I guess Henn could get his hands on that kind of ransom. But how does Angus know that?
Wait.
Angus wants Henn to stop “fucking with” him. So, that means Henn not only knows about Angus, but he’s also hacked Angus and has been doing something to inflict pain upon him. Oh, God. The draft protective order! It’s still on my laptop. Henn must have seen it when he hacked me. Goddammit! Bettina had me feeling guilty for never telling Henn anything about Angus, but Henn has known about him from the earliest days of our relationship and never once asked me about him. Motherfucker! Has Henn been screwing with Angus for months and months as some sort of revenge plot for what Henn read about in that draft protective order? And is that what set Angus off and motivated him to hunt me down and drag me here? Ha! I guess Henn isn’t quite as talented a hacker as he thinks, if someone as stupid as Angus figured him out.
“Listen up!” Angus booms, so I return my darting eyes to his angry face and nod effusively. “Listen to me,” Angus says, a bit more calmly. And when I nod again, he settles back into his chair and begins his tale. “At first, I thought it was an honest mistake—a glitch—when all those impound notices started coming to my mom’s place for cars registered in my name. So many fucking cars. I thought there had to be another Greg Smith who hadn’t paid a bunch of parking tickets and impound fees. But then, two notices turned into twenty. Then fifty. Then a hundred. Collections agencies started hounding my mother. And then, bounty hunters showed up with warrants for my fucking arrest.”
What the fuck? Henn hacked into the Department of Motor Vehicles to make it look like a hundred different impounded cars were registered to Greg Smith? I’d actually think the strategy kind of brilliant, if it hadn’t landed me here. But wouldn’t someone at the Department have noticed a massive hack like that?
Angus leaps up and shouts, “I can’t even visit my own mother, or else someone’s gonna arrest me for not paying impound fees on a hundred-fifty cars that aren’t even mine! And I can’t use my real name anymore, either. Not even for stuff relating to my mother, or twenty different bounty hunters are gonna find me and drag me to jail.”
I wince as his hot breath and spittle hit my face. The black knit something and knife both fell to the floor when Angus leaped up, and looking at them now, I can tell the black thing is a knit mask—the kind skiers wear in blizzards and bank robbers wear in movies.
Shit. I think that ski mask is a bad omen for me. Surely, it means Angus is planning to obscure his identity from Henn when we call him on FaceTime later, which therefore means he can’t let me go at the end of all this, even if he gets the money he wants. How could he let me go, when I’ve seen his face and could identify him to police? I’m sure Angus decided it was worth it to show me his face, even though it means he now has to commit murder, simply because his ego demands I know it was him who so cleverly bested Henn.
“I told you to listen to me!” Angus bellows, and it’s only then that I realize my mind has been wandering while he’s been speaking. I return my eyes to his, but it’s not soon enough. All of a sudden, I feel the shocking sting of a fist punching the side of my face.
I scream behind my gag. I’ve never been hit before, and the experience isn’t one I’d recommend. Zero stars. Even in my terror, however, my true-crime-obsessed brain is gathering information. Namely, if Angus feels this comfortable screaming at top volume, then we must be in the middle of nowhere, since this structure doesn’t look soundproofed in the least.
With a deep exhale, Angus retakes his seat across from me and resumes his rambling monologue. “And then, I didn’t get an interview at Climb & Conquer, even though that chick said she’d put in a good word for me. I couldn’t understand it. I’ve gotten every job at every gym I’ve ever applied to. Every fucking one. And I couldn’t even get an interview at that one, even though I climbed the expert wall at the party like it was nothing? It made no sense.”
My head is spinning. Angus attended the Climb & Conquer party? How? Why? Is that proof he’s been stalking me all this time, or was it pure coincidence that he was there, and I never saw him? Did Angus see me and that’s why I’m sitting here now, bound to a chair?
Wait.
Henn and his explosive diarrhea.
Mother trucker!
Henn must have seen Angus at the party and told me that gross excuse to get me out of there on a bullet train. I’d find it funny that Henn fell on his sword like that to keep me from bumping into Angus, if I weren’t sitting here now. Except, of course, for the part where Henn only knew about Angus in the first place because he’d secretly hacked me the day after meeting me . . . and then embarked on some kind of vengeance crusade on my behalf that somehow led Angus straight to me. Son of a beach ball.
Angus runs his hand through his hair. “I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t get an interview, and why nobody was answering my emails, so I went to Climb & Conquer’s Instagram to message them there. And who did I see in the background on one of their shots from the party? You. Cuddled up with the hot blonde girlfriend of one of the brothers. It took me a minute to even remember your name, but when I did, I sent a request from a fake profile, and that’s when I went through your Instagram and saw you cuddled up at the other Faraday brother’s wedding with your rich boyfriend. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Not only did Hannah-What’s-Her-Name go to a billionaire’s wedding, but she was there with that guy?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I did a little research and found out you’d worked with blondie, which meant blondie must have set you up with her boyfriend’s rich best friend. Well, that explained it. Obviously, I knew you had to be nothing but a fuck buddy to him because why would someone like him want someone like you as an actual girlfriend? But, anyway, I made a mental note to keep tabs on your relationship with him, just in case I could somehow benefit from your access to him in the future.”
I’m baffled. Angus thinks Henn is out of my league, based on looks alone? It’s the least of my problems at the moment, but I’m offended. Henn is adorable and gorgeous to me, and his smile lights up every room, but it’s his personality that makes him a perfect ten. He’s certainly not out of my league in terms of looks, sir.
“And then, weird shit started happening,” Angus continues. “I couldn’t get a job at any of my usual gyms. My photos were being posted everywhere with warnings about me. My bank accounts were glitching. Freezing me out. It was small stuff at first, but it never let up. I’m thinking, ‘Am I under attack or having a string of bad luck?’” His dark eyes narrow. “And that’s when I went back to your Instagram and saw what finally helped me figure the whole thing out.” He gets up from his chair and begins pacing the small space. “There was a selfie of you in your new apartment in LA. And what did you say in the caption? You thanked your rich boyfriend for his generosity.”
Well, he’s got that wrong. I thanked Reed in that caption, not Henn.
“And then, there was another selfie—this one bragging about landing your dream job. And who’d you thank in the caption again? Your rich boyfriend, again. And then, to cap it all off, there you were with him at blondie’s wedding in Maui to his best friend. How sweet for you both. Double dates for life, huh?”
If my jaw weren’t firmly taped in place, it’d clank into my lap. Angus thinks Reed is my rich boyfriend.
Angus says, “I did some research on your rich boyfriend and Reddit is full of stories about him being a vindictive prick. Did you know he dropped a band from his label simply because their lead singer fucked his ex? Nice boyfriend you’ve got there, Hannah. You can really pick ‘em, eh?” He chortles. “So, that’s when I finally figured everything out: Hannah-What’s-Her-Name cried to her rich, vindictive boyfriend about me, so he hired a hacker to fuck with me. God, I’m good.”
I can’t believe it. This unhinged lunatic reached the correct conclusion through totally incorrect reasoning. It’s just my luck. Fucking hell.
Angus rambles for a while about how brilliant he is for figuring me out. And then, about what he wants me to say to my rich boyfriend when we call him, shortly, on FaceTime. In conclusion, Angus says, “When you call him, you’re going to convince him there’s no point in denying what he’s done because I’m smarter than him and his fucking hacker and I’ve figured it all out. You got that?”
I nod.
“You’ll tell him to pay up, if he ever wants to see you alive again.”
I nod again, even though my brain has now shifted into rapid-fire problem-solving mode. What’s my survival strategy here? If Angus frees my hand and gives me my phone to make the FaceTime call to Reed, then I’ll somehow get to that distress signal button. That’s a no-brainer. But I think the chances are low he’ll free my hand. More likely, he’ll keep me tied up and use my contacts to call Reed on my phone. If he does that, that’d be a good thing for me, in theory, since my newly turned-on phone will start pinging nearby cell towers. In reality, however, that phone call to Reed will probably get me killed before anyone can find me.
First off, Reed probably won’t even pick up my call, since it’d show up to him as an unknown caller. Yes, I saved Reed’s number when Kat included him in a group chat once. But I can’t fathom why Reed would have saved my number. How many times will Angus let Reed fail to pick up his “girlfriend’s” call before Angus realizes Reed isn’t, in fact, my rich boyfriend, and won’t, in fact, pay to keep me alive? But even if Reed does miraculously answer my call, I’ll be dead, regardless, because Reed’s natural, immediate reaction to the crazy shit Angus has instructed me to say will quickly make Angus realize Reed isn’t, in fact, my rich boyfriend. Shit. There’s no way in hell I’m getting out of this mess alive, is there?
Oh, yes, you are. Calm down and think, Hannah. Think!
Angus stops pacing, pulls out a small phone from his other pocket—one that’s not mine—and resumes his seat across from me again. “I hope for your sake you know Reed’s number by heart,” he says. “Because we can’t turn on your phone to get the number.” He rolls his eyes. “I fucked up in the parking garage and forgot facial recognition doesn’t work on closed eyes. So, I couldn’t get Reed’s number off your phone back there. And then, I realized after we got here, if I turn on your phone now, someone could use the signal to find you.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now what?
“I’m going to take the tape off your mouth now,” Angus says slowly, like he’s talking to a skittish kitten in a tree. “Don’t scream. No one but me will hear you, if you do. But I don’t want to hear it. If you scream, I’ll punch you even harder than last time. Understand?”
I nod and he removes the tape.
“I don’t know Reed’s latest number by heart,” I blurt. “He changes his number every month for security reasons. But I do know his assistant’s number, so I can call him and—”
“You’re not calling anyone but Reed on FaceTime.”
“If Reed is going to pay you five million bucks for my life, then he’s going to need his assistant to help him get those funds in order. Even rich people don’t have five million bucks in cash sitting around. They have to move things around. Sell stocks and stuff. I guarantee Reed will need to tell his assistant what’s going on to get you that money because his assistant is his right hand in everything he does. Well, since that’s the case, then what’s the harm in me calling his assistant first on FaceTime and calmly asking for Reed’s number? He knows I always forget to save my boyfriend’s latest number. It happens every month. He won’t think anything of it.”
Angus looks like he’s actually considering saying yes to this change of plans. At the very least, he’s not presently punching me in the face, so I forge ahead. “I promise I’ll get you the money and get Reed to call off the hacker, too, if only you’ll let me call Reed’s assistant first. What could go wrong? You’ll be there when I talk to him, watching to make sure I’m not saying something I shouldn’t. I know if I mess up you’ll kill me, so I won’t mess up.”
