Page 2

I want only the best in the business and those who can keep their mouth shut. Some people don’t necessarily need to die for the crimes they committed, and it’s just as satisfying to ruin their lives with a click of a button. I’ve always wanted my own team of hackers, and with Grim wanting to start an MC with Paul and Matt, where does that leave me? I know they’ll utilize my skills to find the ones who need to be disposed of, but motorcycle clubs are misogynistic, and I know, deep down, I’ll never really be a member.
Time to put my own plan into motion.
I set up the last of the Easter Eggs to lead only the most talented hackers to me, then sit back in my chair with my hands behind my head and take a deep breath as people begin to click around. Most of them go in circles, but two of them bypass the first level with ease.
I jump out of my chair and grab my purse and keys before dashing up the stairs. The bookcase closes behind me, securing my hidden sanctuary. I smile as I lock up my house.
The Hellfire Hackers is my future, and I can’t wait to see the havoc we cause once I build my team.
“We miss you.”
Keeping my eyes on my monitors, I wince at the sadness in my mom’s voice. I try to recall the last time I visited my parents and realize it’s been a while. We used to have dinner together every Sunday, but that was before I moved sixty miles away.
“I miss you guys, too.”
“Then come over next weekend,” she urges. “I’ll make something special.”
Her idea of ‘something special’ is a four-course meal that keeps her on her feet all day. I definitely don’t want her doing that.
“I’ll come over if you promise to keep it simple,” I say. “How about spaghetti and meatballs?”
“I can do that.”
“Then I’ll b—” The red warning light that hangs above my monitors starts to flash, and I flatten my lips when I see numerous people descending on my home. “I gotta go, Mom. I love you.”
I disconnect the call before she has a chance to respond. I know she’ll give me shit for it later, but it can’t be helped.
Clicking my mouse around on the center monitor, I zoom in on the man now standing at my front door.
Well, well, well…
“Preston Graham,” Agent Betts shouts, and I stab the volume button to lower it. “This is the FBI, open up!”
A mischievous grin forms, and I rise from my chair to move toward the stairs. I climb out of my hacker lair—yes, that’s what I call it—and lower the door to seal it shut. The hidden space can only be accessed by this hatch in my kitchen floor, and the contractor who built and installed it did such a good job that it’s impossible to see because of the grout lines in the tile.
“Open up or I’ll break the door down!”
“Jesus, impatient little fucker.”
Striding through my living room, I take a deep breath and force down the glee at being so close to one of our targets. Throwing open the door, I allow my grin to disappear because I need Agent Betts to think that I don’t know who he is.
“What can I do for you, Agent…” My eyes slide down to take in the name stitched into his blue jacket. “Betts?”
The man is of average height, and I’m sure at some point in his life he was fit, but now he has extra weight around his middle and a receding hairline.
“Preston Graham?” he asks.
“That’s me. What does the FBI want with me?”
Agent Betts lifts his hand and snaps his fingers over his shoulder. Several other agents push past him, and me for that matter, entering my home.
“We have a search warrant to collect any and all electronic devices that belong to you or your online persona, Phantom.”
I take the document he’s handing to me and skim its contents. It’s clear that I don’t have a leg to stand on here, but it doesn’t matter. They won’t find a damn thing.
“I don’t know who this Phantom person is, but—” Stepping aside, I sweep my hand to indicate my home. “Have at it.”
“Got a laptop,” one of the other agents yells from what I assume is my ‘office’ down the hall.