Page 62 of Only the Wicked

“Hey.” Her tone is sharp. “I did. But we’re a new team on our first rendezvous. And you’re straying off plan by using your personal cell. If he digs into your call history, bail. Even if I were to alter your history, there’s a good chance my alteration wouldn’t match what ARGUS has already downloaded.”

“Fully aware.”

My personal cell was a last-minute decision, made at the same time I jumped script and used my real identity. I stand by my decision. It’s one thing to fake an identity for a foreign government pulling from known data sources. It’s quite another to fake it for the owner of an AI surveillance firm with unknown capabilities. And the reality is, if it comes down to him doing background on each number I call, then it’s time to exit.

“If he asks, tell him I’m a friend from the CIA and my number changes regularly.”

A woman in a plush robe pads past in spa slippers, the soft slap of her footsteps on heated stone floors barely audible over the gentle hum of ventilation systems.

“That should throw him enough to get you time to get out of there. Because if he’s asking?—”

“It means I’m blown. I understand.”

“I take it since you’ve been with him constantly, then D.C. is on?”

“Yes.”

“Deets?”

“We’re leaving tomorrow on his private plane. Wheels up at 12:30.”

“As expected. Staying where?”

“InterContinental.”

“I’ll see if I can locate his reservation. I’m gonna guess you’ll be in one of the suites. Maybe Thomas Jefferson? We’ll see what surveillance we can put in place.”

“He has drinks scheduled with an Evie Thompson on Friday. She texted him.”

“Texted? Or does he use a messaging app?”

“Text. On the number I gave you.”

Clicking sounds come across the line. She’s looking her up.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“If I’ve got the right one, she’s an Assistant DA. Will you join them?”

“He hasn’t said. He said he has some things to take care of and some meetups. He said it like he’ll need to do them on his own.”

“I could see how Evie Thompson would find ARGUS’s information beneficial. She works in the Violence Reduction and Trafficking Offenses Section in D.C. Human trafficking. I’m going to look into her further. Anything else?”

Over the last twenty-four hours, I’ve learned we are highly compatible in bed, on the sofa, the shower, and on the kitchen counter, and he has a mild obsession with Dave Grohl—not celebrity worship, but the kind of deep musical connection that reveals something vulnerable about him. It’s the only time I’ve seen him completely unselfconscious, air-drumming to “Everlong” like he’s seventeen again instead of a tech billionaire who usually controls every detail of his image.

“He hasn’t been working. He’s on vacation.”

“How are you holding up?” This time, I don’t pick up a judgmental tone. For a techie, she’s a good handler.

“I’m good.”

“What’s your plan?”

“I’m hopeful this weekend will provide some insight. If it doesn’t, I’ll likely bail at the end of the week. He’s offered to help me find a job?—”

“Another person on the inside.” She sounds impressed. “That would be a huge score.”