Page 18 of Ignite (Iron City Knights MC #1)

“Yes, ma’am, you will have to go to the CVS and get four gift cards in the amount of one thousand dollars each. You must pay this fine, or the IRS will come to arrest you.”

Jazz rolled her eyes before answering. “The CVS is all the way on the other side of town. Cain’t I just go to my bank? It’s a lot closer for me to walk. Uphill. Both ways.”

Today, her voice modulator was set to her favorite old lady voice speaking with a thick Southern accent.

“No, you can’t go to your bank. This is the SSN, ma’am. Please do as I say and go to the CVS. The police are on their way right now.”

Jazz continued to type. “My knees have been givin’ me so much trouble lately.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but we need to get this debt paid or else you will go to jail.”

“I’ll call my grandson to come get me.”

“No, ma’am, you must go yourself. Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing.”

Ha. Gotcha. “Give up, Sparky. Check your screen.”

Jazz didn’t bother to hear the shocked dismay of the scammer as she erased not only his computer but crippled his entire operating system.

It had been quite some time since she’d taken anyone down, and tonight she’d gotten several of them in a row.

Nothing like the big one she did a month or so ago.

She’d been staying away from the bigger call centers, but it was still satisfying to stop whoever she could from harming anyone else.

She leaned back in her desk chair and ran her hands over her tired face.

Between the bakery and the database job, she pulled roughly seventy-odd working hours per week, and it was starting to show.

Wolf came to the bakery in the mornings and worked with her when possible.

He did the register and treats until Madge came to take over for a few hours.

Then he visited Bill in the afternoons, napping there until he had to go to work at Attic.

Her schedule was similar. She slept when she had a chance, but the catnaps she usually took weren’t enough anymore, and fatigue was catching up with her.

Not once during their many hours together had he brought up the kiss he gave her in front of her parents’ house.

Nor had he repeated it.

Of course she’d also become completely self-conscious and tongue-tied around him.

Would she appear flirty if she talked to him or desperate?

Or pathetic? Did he like her or just find her amusing?

The pretend boyfriend/girlfriend thing was a cute little trope for a cheap romance movie, but in real life, that sort of thing didn’t really happen, right?

She sighed as she stretched her arms over her head and several bones cracked in her neck and spine. How much longer could she keep up this schedule? Something had to give, and soon.

A message popped up on her screen.

Copperpot100: You hear from Bomber123? He’s been dark for a while.

Jazzyhands: No, I haven’t.

Copperpot100: He’s always online between 8:00 p.m. and midnight every night like clockwork for years. He hasn’t been on in a week.

Jazzyhands: Maybe he’s on vay-cay?

Copperpot100: He doesn’t take vacations.

That was true. Bomber123 was so regular in his hours, it was almost like punching a time card into a job.

Jazzyhands: Maybe he’s sick?

Copperpot100: Glynda has been out for a while too.

Jazzyhands: I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.

The bouncing dots stayed still for a brief moment, then starting moving.

Copperpot100: There’s been some movement on the dark web about revenge against those who took down that huge network a while back.

Scumbags will talk a big game when they’re only voices over the phone or emails over the internet.

That shakedown took out a major network and then some.

They’re still recovering from it on the legit side as well as the call centers.

We’re talking a shit ton of lost revenue.

A few hundred bucks, no one blinks an eye.

A few thousand will raise an eyebrow. A few hundred thousand, someone’s pissed. We’re talking millions right now.

Jazz read the message twice. It was true she always felt safe sitting anonymously behind the screen, moving a cursor and clicking the mouse.

No names. No locations. No cybertrails. Not one shred of an ID of any kind.

All the shielders knew about one another were their screennames.

Jazz took care to erase and scrub her activities, deleting any information from the web that might come back on her.

The thought that someone had found a way to identify any of their group was frightening.

Jazzyhands: You think something has happened to them? Like physically? I hope you’re joking with me. We’re so careful all the time to leave no traces.

Copperpot100: You are. I am. I don’t know that the rest of the shielders are always consistent.

Glynda has a bunch of handles, like CatLady50 she uses on Tinder.

Check with me from time to time if you notice someone messing in your network.

I’m getting a bad vibe about this. Best-case is I’m suspicious as shit.

Worst-case is I’m right and we need to lie low for a while.

Keep off the grid until I contact you. Got it?

Jazz folded her hands together for a moment. Perhaps Glynda and Bomber were both just out at the same time. It could happen. There were other active shielders out there still, right? No reason to get all freaked out.

Still, there was that old saying that just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.

Jazzyhands: Okay. Stay sharp, Copperpot. I’m down for the night.

At least that was her plan until she got a text.

A few minutes later, she was dressed and out the door.