left, Shay told Cade about searching the hard drive. Cade shook his head. “That sounds like the next thing to hopeless.”
“What else are we gonna do?” Shay asked.
“Here’s the thing,” Cade said. “When I’m looking at a computer screen, I can’t think. We should turn the computers off.”
“Pretty radical for a computer punk,” Shay said.
“I’m not
just
a computer punk,” Cade said. He flicked his hair. “I’m also
very
good-looking.”
In fact, he was, Shay thought. His phony-real vanity made her smile.
—
The four travelers made one stop in Vegas, at a Ross Dress for Less, then sped across the desert in a shifting clutch of cars and semitrucks, all headed for L.A. They were slowed on the mountain down into San Bernardino, where a traffic accident pushed everybody into a bottleneck in the left lanes, and they got caught in the evening rush on the 210. Still, they were in Pasadena before seven o’clock.
“Doesn’t look like L.A.,” Odin said. “At least not the parts I’ve seen.” In the weeks he’d been hiding out in Los Angeles with Rachel and the other members of Storm, they’d never made it to the suburbs.
“More like an actual town,” said Twist. “You know, a downtown area, surrounded by houses.”
They parked behind a McDonald’s, divided up the walkie-talkies, then walked to a Starbucks. Odin signed onto the Wi-Fi and did a Google image search for Rachel Wharton. He hadn’t wanted to do that in Las Vegas, in case her name might be a trip wire that Singular was watching.
He found a dozen pictures of Rachel, stretching back to her high school days. Cruz, Twist, and Fenfang studied the pictures, then Odin shut down the computer and they left. Cruz and Fenfang went ahead, aiming for the library, while Odin and Twist walked down the opposite side of the street. They were all carrying backpacks—they were near Pasadena City College and were going for a student vibe.
Cruz went into the library, swept through it once, didn’t see anyone who resembled the photographs of Rachel. He went back out the front, took a left, said “Nobody” to Fenfang. They walked along Hill Avenue, arm in arm, brushed past Odin and Twist, who’d come across after them, and Cruz muttered, “Not there. Don’t see anybody watching.”
Twist and Odin split up, Twist walking down to Green Street, while Odin leaned inside the library’s door, as if waiting for a date. Fenfang and Cruz walked around the block, looking for people watching them, saw nobody, then went into the library, where they found seats at a long reading table.
And they waited. They’d decided to wait until nine o’clock—Rachel had always signed on before then—and if she didn’t come, they’d head down to Hollywood and the Twist Hotel.
Rachel showed up just before eight.
Twist saw her coming and walked past her on Green Street, to check; when he was fairly certain that the woman was Rachel Wharton, he beeped Odin and said, “Coming your way. Nobody with her.”
Odin went into the library, got behind some bookshelves, out of sight. She’d most likely go to one of the big tables, he thought, where she could use her laptop.
She stepped into the library a minute later, and Odin’s heart skipped a beat: she was pretty, wild-haired, his first girlfriend, the first woman he’d ever slept with, someone who was willing to trash a lab on behalf of tortured animals….
As Odin watched, she headed straight for a study area. He used the walkie-talkie, said, “Got her. Watch for me.”
Cruz and Fenfang got up and left the library; with Twist, they’d watch the place from three different angles, looking for Singular operators. Odin waited, back in the books, looking for anyone who was paying attention to Rachel. Nobody was. She settled behind the laptop and started typing.
She was still working ten minutes later when Odin settled into a chair across from her. Her eyes flicked up, back down to the laptop, then, startled,
“What else are we gonna do?” Shay asked.
“Here’s the thing,” Cade said. “When I’m looking at a computer screen, I can’t think. We should turn the computers off.”
“Pretty radical for a computer punk,” Shay said.
“I’m not
just
a computer punk,” Cade said. He flicked his hair. “I’m also
very
good-looking.”
In fact, he was, Shay thought. His phony-real vanity made her smile.
—
The four travelers made one stop in Vegas, at a Ross Dress for Less, then sped across the desert in a shifting clutch of cars and semitrucks, all headed for L.A. They were slowed on the mountain down into San Bernardino, where a traffic accident pushed everybody into a bottleneck in the left lanes, and they got caught in the evening rush on the 210. Still, they were in Pasadena before seven o’clock.
“Doesn’t look like L.A.,” Odin said. “At least not the parts I’ve seen.” In the weeks he’d been hiding out in Los Angeles with Rachel and the other members of Storm, they’d never made it to the suburbs.
“More like an actual town,” said Twist. “You know, a downtown area, surrounded by houses.”
They parked behind a McDonald’s, divided up the walkie-talkies, then walked to a Starbucks. Odin signed onto the Wi-Fi and did a Google image search for Rachel Wharton. He hadn’t wanted to do that in Las Vegas, in case her name might be a trip wire that Singular was watching.
He found a dozen pictures of Rachel, stretching back to her high school days. Cruz, Twist, and Fenfang studied the pictures, then Odin shut down the computer and they left. Cruz and Fenfang went ahead, aiming for the library, while Odin and Twist walked down the opposite side of the street. They were all carrying backpacks—they were near Pasadena City College and were going for a student vibe.
Cruz went into the library, swept through it once, didn’t see anyone who resembled the photographs of Rachel. He went back out the front, took a left, said “Nobody” to Fenfang. They walked along Hill Avenue, arm in arm, brushed past Odin and Twist, who’d come across after them, and Cruz muttered, “Not there. Don’t see anybody watching.”
Twist and Odin split up, Twist walking down to Green Street, while Odin leaned inside the library’s door, as if waiting for a date. Fenfang and Cruz walked around the block, looking for people watching them, saw nobody, then went into the library, where they found seats at a long reading table.
And they waited. They’d decided to wait until nine o’clock—Rachel had always signed on before then—and if she didn’t come, they’d head down to Hollywood and the Twist Hotel.
Rachel showed up just before eight.
Twist saw her coming and walked past her on Green Street, to check; when he was fairly certain that the woman was Rachel Wharton, he beeped Odin and said, “Coming your way. Nobody with her.”
Odin went into the library, got behind some bookshelves, out of sight. She’d most likely go to one of the big tables, he thought, where she could use her laptop.
She stepped into the library a minute later, and Odin’s heart skipped a beat: she was pretty, wild-haired, his first girlfriend, the first woman he’d ever slept with, someone who was willing to trash a lab on behalf of tortured animals….
As Odin watched, she headed straight for a study area. He used the walkie-talkie, said, “Got her. Watch for me.”
Cruz and Fenfang got up and left the library; with Twist, they’d watch the place from three different angles, looking for Singular operators. Odin waited, back in the books, looking for anyone who was paying attention to Rachel. Nobody was. She settled behind the laptop and started typing.
She was still working ten minutes later when Odin settled into a chair across from her. Her eyes flicked up, back down to the laptop, then, startled,
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