Blonde Ops (16 page)

After a long moment, she regarded me with a searching look. “Deal,” she said.

“Get out of the car,” I ordered, stepping out myself. When she didn't, I shook my head. “I swear on my
life
that I won't drive away or do something stupid. I said I would show you—and it'll be a lot easier for you to see if you're standing next to me when I do it.” I waited for her to make the decision about whether to trust me in the driver's seat.

Slowly, and grumbling under her breath, she got out of the car, but I could see that she was tense, ready to drag me out of the way and take over the wheel if she thought she had to. One little “borrowed car” episode and everyone freaks. Did they forget I brought Dad's Lambo back, undamaged? I inhaled deeply, praying for divine patience.

I took my laptop, a USB cable, and a flashlight out of my backpack. I plugged one end of the cable into my computer and held up the other end. “This goes here.” I shone the light underneath the steering wheel. There was a plastic tab protecting an electronic port, which I pried open. I plugged in the cable, connecting laptop and car.

“That doesn't look like a normal computer cable,” Ortiz observed.

“It isn't. I got it at the auto parts store, but electronics places carry them too. Dad's into racing, kind of a hobby. He makes tweaks to the Lambo himself.”

“And you carry a car cable around in your backpack so you can…?” She stared hard at me.

“I'm like the Boy Scouts—always prepared. I don't need much—a few pieces of equipment have a lot of uses, especially since electronic access ports have become standardized. One cable connects so many things.”

“So I see,” she said, sounding like she was sorry she'd trusted me.

As soon as the laptop booted up, the car computer synched and the diagnostic chart popped up on the screen.

“Now, watch.” A tap and the car started without the key in the ignition. Then the headlights turned on and off. Another, and the windows rolled down.

“Once you're in, you have access to pretty much everything. I've done it with a cell phone too, but this is better. With an actual cable connection you get more details, have more control over the car. You can see how efficiently it's working, alter or shut off specific systems, bypass safeties.” I looked up at her. “My guess is that if someone got access to the car's internal systems, then they could've messed with anything connected to it, then fried the electronics so no one would be able to figure out which system was tampered with. And there'd be no trace of the access.”

“Son of a b—” Ortiz shook her head, astounded. “And you're
how
old?”

“Sixteen,” I said. Still a minor. Still too young to be sent to Sing Sing.

I turned off the car, pulled out the wire, coiled it up, and stowed it and my laptop away. Ortiz's brow creased, her mouth turned down, then she pursed her lips. What was going through her mind? In mine, my ninety-eight-percent certainty jumped up to a hundred: Parker and Ortiz were doing security checks for one of Theresa Jennings's photo shoots. Parker looked like Theresa Jennings—and someone must have thought she
was
Theresa Jennings. But like Candace said, the timing was off; the First Lady's arrival was still two days off when the crash happened, and the person who did this, not being in the loop, sabotaged the car too early and got Parker, not the intended target. The next question was,
why
?

I thought there'd be an
aha
moment, when Ortiz belatedly should have realized that the accident wasn't her fault since someone hacked the car. Instead, her eyes became guarded.

“You keep your mouth shut about all of this and I'll keep mine shut about your unauthorized visit,” she said.

Clearly, my need-to-know session with her was over. But I wasn't even close to being done with finding out the whole story. Without hesitation, I lied. Again.

“Deal.”

 

TRICKS AND TIPS FOR
THE EDGE-Y GIRL

To splurge or not to splurge—do you really need to ask the question? Make fashion investments you can afford and will love forever. But always snatch up a deal if it's something you know you're going to use.

16

“I'm out of the office for the rest of the day,” Candace said the next morning. “Call me
only
if it's an emergency. Otherwise,
don't.
” She paused in the frame of the front door for added drama—because the snakeskin stiletto boots, tight navy pencil skirt, and fitted jacket with silver braid detail weren't dramatic enough.

Theresa Jennings was already tucked safely into the waiting car, accompanied by Lidia and flanked by the other agents—except Ortiz. She got to stay behind and keep the office secure while the rest escorted the First Lady to Miuccia Prada's private showing of her new collection.

I regarded her gravely. “Yes, ma'am.”

She clenched her teeth. “Don't call me that.”

“Okay.” I smiled. “Candy.”

Did Ortiz snicker? Candace frowned at me. “You're pushing it, Bec.”

“Fine. Candace.”

Shaking her head and exhaling loudly, I heard her mutter something about Parker being insane. The door shuddered when she slammed it behind her. At least with Candace gone I would be able to take stock of the clues I'd collected about Parker, the accident, and the mess that had become my life—and maybe get Ortiz's prints, the last one on my list.

“Bec! Sophie!” Kevin shouted as he and Serena emerged from their shared office. “Serena wants the outfits for tomorrow's shoot inventoried—”

“Working on copy!” Sophie shouted from the couch where she was intent on her laptop. Kevin turned a demanding glare on me.

“Sorry!” I brandished the expense file. I hadn't done the actual report as I'd been too busy scrutinizing Serena's receipts. “Gonna have to find another minion. Candace ordered me to do these.” Let Kevin try to one-up the Queen Bee on my list of people to appease.

Before he could argue, Taj walked in.

“Candace said I could work on my posts on Mrs. Jennings here. I'm using one of Angelo's tables,” he said to me as he laid his laptop case down on one of them. “Keep this one clear for me.”

Giving orders didn't work for Kevin; wasn't going to work for the fashionisto blogger.

“Speaking of Angelo, better call him. He's late. The models are waiting for him, and we're paying for it,” said Kevin. “And I need espresso,
pronto
!”

“I want espresso too!” Francesca tottered out from her post at the front desk. Her heels were higher than usual today. Yesterday I heard Taliah telling her that
she'd
heard that
Angelo
said that if
only
Francesca was a
little
taller she'd be
perfect
for a shoot he was commissioned to do for Versace.

“Two espressos while you're at it,” Kevin barked.

Francesca gave him a sultry smile that he awkwardly returned before he disappeared into his office.

Yup, I'll get right on that
.

“I can't believe he falls for that act,” said Sophie, not looking up from her copyediting. “She's just using him.”

“I don't think he falls for anything,” I replied as I waited for Angelo to pick up the phone, “but he eats up the attention with a gold demitasse spoon.” The call went to voice mail. I hung up just as Ugi rushed in the door, out of breath.

“You're late,” snapped Serena from the balcony, glancing at her watch.

“I just called Angelo,” I volunteered. “He didn't answer so I guess he's on his way.” Ugi shot me a look of thanks for the reprieve as he hustled upstairs. Serena huffed and waddled back to her shared office.

Determined not to be Kevin's personal barista, I jammed ground coffee into the metal filters. I'd make espresso—but not for Kevin or Francesca. I shot a glance back at Ortiz, looking comfortable on one of the couches flicking through a thick magazine. I knew she'd heard everything. I made four espresso shots, placing one before Sophie and another in the place next to her.

“Why so many?” Sophie asked before taking a careful sip.

“One for you, one for me, one for Ugi because he's bummed that Joe and Varon are a couple.” I lowered my voice. “And one for Ortiz because she's still in recovery.” The truth was that I still had to get her prints. As much as I'd warmed to Ortiz, I still wanted to know if she'd been in my room.

“What about Francesca and Kevin? Serena?” I saw the teasing light in her eyes.

I grinned. “Serena only drinks tea. I make espresso really hot and I wouldn't want to risk Francesca spilling anything on herself—she can barely walk in those heels. And Kevin didn't say please.”

I was about to take a cup up to Ugi when Kevin came barreling down the stairs.

“I'll take that—” he started, but I pulled back, sloshing some onto his hand and the pristine white cuff of his shirt. “Look what you've done!” he shouted.

If I gritted my teeth any harder, they'd crack. “That wasn't for you—”

“Hello? I'm the one who ordered the espresso.”

Ordered?

“Get the stain remover pen in my office!” he shouted, then added, “
Move
,” when I didn't bolt for the steps. I handed him the cup.

I gave myself credit for working hard, not complaining, and resisting the urge to tie up Kevin's e-mail account with thousands of spam messages to keep him too busy to bug me, but this time, he'd crossed the line. I waited a long moment before going up. Slowly. Did he really think he could shout at me like that and get away with it? Passing the studio room, I saw Serena talking to Joe while Taliah looked up at the ceiling as Ugi applied a layer of mascara.

Two tables faced each other in Kevin and Serena's shared office. It was easy enough to tell whose was whose. Serena's was a dumping ground of fabric swatches and photos. Kevin's was as neat as a boot camp barracks. The stain remover—one of several—was in the pen holder next to the printer, but something else caught my attention. Kevin had come downstairs after doing a little online shopping and wasn't done as he'd left his credit card out on the desk.

Not smart.

I pulled out my phone. If someone looked in, I could be responding to a text. But I wasn't—I was taking a quick snap of the abandoned Amex. Then I plucked a stain remover pen from the cup and went downstairs.

Kevin snatched it from me without so much as a thank-you and ran to the bathroom, dabbing at his coffee-stained cuff.

“He's just—” Sophie started, but I held up a hand. If this is what Kevin was like, I didn't want to get used to him. Taking a deep breath, I put my espresso and the remaining cup on a tray and took one up to Ugi, and then the other to Ortiz.

“Here,” I said, offering it to her.

She grinned. “You kept your cool. Good job. And thanks.” She took the cup—by the teeny, tiny handle.

Be an American! Put your whole hand around it!
Her manners were suitable for tea with the queen, but not what I wanted for getting her prints. Hopefully she'd put her fingers on it by the time she finished. I'd have to come back later for the cup.

Cleaned up, Kevin left the office for an appointment. I went back to the common area and was happy to see that the laptop farthest away from everyone was free—no way would I use my own machine for what I was about to do and take the chance of anything being traced back to me.

I opened up a blank screen and started encoding a bot—a little computer program embedded with Kevin's credit card information and a few crucial criteria:

Make a purchase every forty-five minutes.

Make each purchase on a different continent.

Purchase multiple quantities of items with the following meta keywords:
muscle building, bulk up, protein, steroid, herbal supplement, enhancing.

Set loose on the World Wide Web, it would raise enough red flags for American Express to shut Kevin down for a little while. Enough to be inconvenient—and embarrassing when he had to review the purchases—but not do any real damage. My guess was that the bot would get to a dozen or so charges before it was shut down and Kevin's hoop-jumping would begin. I only hoped I'd be around to see it.

Well, Kev,
I thought as I put the finishing touches to the code,
let's see how you live
la dolce vita
when your Amex is as frozen as a woolly mammoth. Happiness is expensive … and so is trampling on Bec Jackson.

“How petty,” said a deep voice behind me.

I jumped. Taj stood at my shoulder, steely-eyed and silent. He must have snuck up on me—I would have heard him if he walked like a normal person.

“Couldn't think of anything better than interfering with his spending?”

“I don't want to go to prison just to teach Kevin a lesson in courtesy,” I snapped.

There was that sultry—or was it sly?—smile. “Then you mustn't be very good. If you can program a bot, you should be able to do it without getting caught—or you shouldn't do it at all.”

Did I ask for your opinion?

I couldn't say “I don't get caught.” I'd gotten kicked out of St. Xavier's because I'd been impatient and stupid—I should have waited until the year was over to change my grades instead of trying to do it third quarter. Once the grades were posted, the teachers would have been gone and no one would have known—except me. And here I went and made the same mistake again. I should have waited until I was totally alone to take my revenge. But no, I had to do it
now
. Stupid stupid
stupid
me!

I'd have to think of something else, and I
would
, but it was probably best to just get back to work. Would Taj say something? I narrowed my eyes, trying to assess his trustfulness.