10:00 a.m.

Westin Convention Center

Beside the indoor pool I stretched out on a lounge chair, with my MacBook on my lap, scrolling through the main feed for Anonymous, searching for any strange hashtags or some mention of the murders. Not much snuck by this group. Why weren’t they exposing the killer? From everything I’ve read, their attacks appeared non-violent in the physical sense. Virtually, they destroyed their opponents. Maybe the hacker and Anonymous had no real association.

Fingers racing over the keys, I stumbled across the hacktivists’ slogan, and the words chilled me to the bone.

We are legion.

We do not forgive.

We do not forget.

Expect us.

All their cyberattacks ended this way, sometimes calling out specific people to warn them to “expect us.” Nothing about this new venture eased the impending doom filtering through my virtual, and now physical, world. One wrong move and the group could turn against me. Normally I steered clear of Anons, but with the possibility of a serial killer in their midst I had no choice but to mingle. With any luck, they’d see I didn’t pose a threat and instead, would realize I was trying to preserve their reputation in a roundabout way. That’s how I looked at it, anyway.

My earlier interaction with Tex left me wavering on how he felt about Anonymous as a whole. Over the years they’d taken on various police departments when, in their view, an officer-involved shooting went array. Nevertheless, no matter how deep I dug, I couldn’t find any cyberattacks against the US Navy or SEALs in particular.

Up popped a head from the deep end of the pool, and nearly stopped my heart. “Hi there,” said a guy about forty, his scrawny arms folded on the ledge in front of my chaise. “The water’s perfect. Put your computer down and hop in.”

Seriously? The dude actually believed I’d dive in the pool with one suggestion from a creep with pockmarks all over his face? To my knowledge, Ray Liotta’s the only man to ever pull off that look. His intense eyes also helped. Unlike Studly here, the actor had that “It factor” going for him. Not that I’d visually raped him or anything. Much.

Half my upper lip twitched. “Look, pal. I don’t know what your deal is, but you’ve got a better shot at seeing Lady Ga Ga strip naked and jump off that diving board. Now, if you don’t mind…” I slid on my mirrored sunglasses so he couldn’t tell where I focused my attention.

“Bitch.”

Over the top of my shades I shot him a cutting glare. “Excuse me?”

“I should’ve known better than to approach some Goth chick.”

In one fluid movement, I set my MacBook on the chaise and rose, towering over him. “What’d you call me?”

Unreal. The dude actually had the balls to roll his eyes.

“Listen, punk. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m no Goth. I just happen to like black eyeliner, clothes, tattoos, and piercings.”

Like a perv, his gaze traced me up and down. “If you say so.”

With an upbeat tone and an obvious fake smile, I countered, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you fuck off. Maybe then you’ll stay underwater, and if we’re really lucky, you’ll drown. Sound like a plan, Studley?”

“Like I said … bitch.” With both hands, he splashed water across my favorite jeans.

“That’s it. C’mon, tough guy.” I shoved up my non-existent shirtsleeves. Wiggling my fingers, I egged him on. “You and me. Right here, right now.” Since his pencil-neck matched his arms, I could easily crush him without even breaking a sweat.

He threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t want to fight you. I want to date you.”

“Date me?” My adrenaline slowed. “But you don’t even know me.”

“Maybe date isn’t the right word.”

If ever there was a face-palm moment, this was it. Why did the little head always control the big head?

A voice from the entrance startled me. “Surprise.” Nadine Couture, my BFF, waved a jazz hand in the air. “Woot!”

Someone shoot me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Nadine, but with tap-dancing around a group that could potentially annihilate my virtual existence, never mind reveal my secrets, I didn’t have the time nor patience to deal with her perpetual glee.

“The woman at the front desk told me where to find you.” Her gaze danced across the pool room, and her enormous grin widened even more. “This is nice.” Kneeling to one knee, she swished the water with her fingertips. “Ooh, perfect temp. Why aren’t you swimmin’?”

“‘Cause I’m workin’. Listen, Nay. I love that you’re here, I really do, but I don’t know how much free time I’ll have to spend with you. I wish you called first.”

“No matter.” She swatted her hand. “I’ll go shopping or whatever.”

“Wait a sec. If you’re here, who’s takin’ care of Berkley and Katie McGuire?”

Guilty as hell, her gaze sidled.

“Nadine?”

Her shoulders sprang to her ears. “I left plenty of food and water. I even changed the litter box before I left.”

“Seriously? It’s bad enough I’m sleepin’ like shit without Berkley’s purr vibrating my pillow but now, I have to picture them home alone?” I threw my hands in the air. “Un-frickin’-believable.”

“Relax.” A shit-eating grin arched her lips. “I’m only kiddin’. They’re stayin’ with Levaughn.” She wagged her finger—in my face. “You should know me better than that.”

I resisted the eye-roll … barely. “Since when do you even know what a prank is, never mind how to pull one off?”

“You’re so wound up today. Oh, that reminds me. I read in the brochure they have in-house masseuses.” Lightly clapping her hands, she bounced on her toes. “Wouldn’t it be fun to get dual massages?”

“Nay, I—”

“Oh em gee, I should book the appointments. They probably get swamped with requests.”

“Nay, like I said, I don’t know how much—”

“I wonder what they cost.” She rifled through her Louis Vuitton bag—a pocketbook I’d procured a year ago from a hot-shot attorney who embezzled big dough from her firm. I kept the bag as my fee, and returned the funds to their rightful owner. ‘Course, I never told Nadine her birthday gift was so hot even Smokey the Bear couldn’t extinguish the flames. After the screams of delight normalized enough for her to form words, I told her the bag was a knock-off. Which, oddly enough, seemed to satisfy her.

“It’s here somewhere. I just read about it.”

“Nay, I—”

“Oh-my-God, do you think they have mud baths? I’ve always wanted to try that, with cucumber slices over my eyes. We’re gonna have so … much … fun!”

“I can’t, though. I—”

“Don’t worry about the cost. It’ll be my treat.”

“I’m not. It’s just that—”

Her jazz hand flew up in the air. “Woot! Hello, Pennsylvania.”

I stomped my foot. “Nadine!”

The hand dropped, and so did her smile. “Geez, you don’t have to yell at me.”

Way to make me feel like crap. “I’m sorry, but you never lemme finish a friggin’ sentence before you backslide to your glory days as head cheerleader.”

A closed fist flung to her slim hip. “And what’s wrong with being a cheerleader?”

“Nothin’, I guess … if you’re a big Molly Ringwald fan, and your favorite movie’s Sixteen Candles.”

Her praying hands sided one cheek. “Aww, I loved that movie. Remember when it came out? We couldn’t wait to see it.”

Correction: she couldn’t wait. With all her oohs and awws it’s amazing we didn’t get thrown out of the theater. “Yeah. Good times. Anyway…” I rooted around in my jeans’ pocket and withdrew the room key. “You must be beat from the flight. Third floor. The elevators are down and to the left. I’ll meet you there in a little while. Okay?”

“If that’s how you wanna be, fine. I can take a hint.” Shoulders slumped forward, she snatched the key from my hand and scuffed toward the exit, the toes of her tan flats dragging with each step. I called it her “Aw, shucks” stride, a move she had mastered.

Dear God, give me strength.

Once Nadine left and Studly boy hit the showers, I researched how to hack a vehicle. A while back I’d read an article written by two well-respected members of the hacker community, spotlighted in Wired, the top tech. magazine. Apparently, Ford wasn’t the only manufacturer that needed to worry about their customers. Several other makes and models were also at risk.

Modern automobiles consisted of a number of different computer components, called Engine Control Units, or ECU. Today, vehicles possessed anywhere from twenty to one-hundred different vulnerabilities, with ECUs controlling multiple features. Anything from Bluetooth, seatbelt tightening, automated back-up, parallel parking, built-in WiFi, steering wheel angle, a passenger sensor, automatic seat warmers and coolers, the ABS system, automated tire pressure reading, On-Star-like features, satellite radio, and even something as innocent as a cell phone syncing for hands-free use.

Wherever a device communicated with an outside server or another device, a vulnerability hid. The newer the vehicle, the more at risk, because those models the manufacturers loaded with upgrades. Some lenders even installed GPS starter interrupters in vehicles owned by people with less-than-perfect credit. The customer skipped a payment, and the lender disabled their car till they brought their payments up-to-date.

Scrolling through the list of victims, all the automobiles had satellite radios and telematics, used to connect the vehicle with a cellular network, similar to General Motors’ OnStar. Ford’s Sync could also send and retrieve data for traffic reports, weather, Amazon Echo integration, 4G LTE and its own WiFi hotspot, to name a few. These systems allowed for emergency calling, stolen vehicle tracking, and roadside assistance by way of audio and data communication between the car and the call center. It’s precisely these special features which allowed a portal for the hacker to gain entry.

An icy tongue of suspicion licked up my spine. Did my jeep “Ol’ Bessie” have something similar? The diagram alone was enough to dredge up the worst of nightmares. Oh, great. Another reason to lay awake at night. I swear, the more I learned about evils lurking in the shadows, the more paranoid I became.

Ignorance really is bliss.

No wonder the FBI wanted this case kept on the down-low. If the public knew a killer was controlling people’s cars, literally taking them for the ride of their lives, mass hysteria might break out. Dealerships would get smacked with one class-action lawsuit after another. Which might not bankrupt them or the manufacturers, but it certainly would tank the sales of their more expensive models. Because honestly, who in their right mind would ever buy a new car, knowing once they left their driveway they could die? The simple act of driving could result in a brutal, agonizing death, and through no fault of their own.

What the victims experienced in those final grueling moments was almost too horrific to imagine. A cold, hard shudder ran through me. What if I never found the person responsible? What if I wasn’t the right hacker for the job? What if somehow I hindered the investigation instead of helped? These questions and more haunted me, but there’s one thing I knew for sure. The next death would be on me—my hands permanently stained with the blood of the driver.