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Picking at my plate, I eat breakfast silently, though I find my voice once. “Thank you for breakfast and…”
It doesn’t bother Bastien that I can’t finish. He nods and answers, “You’re welcome.”
An hour later, I lay my head on my desk and groan. “I never want to look at another car again.”
Bastien chuckles and pats me on the back. His hand lingers, rubbing circles over my spine. I’m beginning to crave his little touches, so I keep still, not wanting to be the one to break contact. “At least we’re one step closer,” he says.
“Maybe,” I grumble to the blotter.
With a final pat, Bastien removes his hand and pulls me upright. “Let’s find out.”
Calling up the search from yesterday, I update the search criteria and re-run the query. The system checks all known associates of my list of targets from the last three years for any registrations for the four cars we identified in the pictures.
With the narrowed search, we have a result in ten minutes. “Shit. No data returned,” Bastien reads off my screen. “That means—”
“Someone either borrowed a car, or I’m completely crazy and imagined the whole thing.”
Bastien doesn’t look away from the screen; he gets closer. “Or… whoever this is just isn’t on your radar yet.”
“That’s not reassuring,” I grumble.
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Since my expertise is finding a named target, I’m a little out of my league when the target is unknown. I don’t know what investigative qualities Bastien possesses, but I ask anyway. “So, security expert, what do I do now?”
“Now, you get back to your routine. Do what you’d normally do on a Saturday, and let me handle the rest.”
Shaking my head, I stare back and open my mouth to speak. ”Don’t argue with me,” Bastien warns.
Shock freezes my tongue. I cannot believe this guy. And yes, I had been about to argue. “So, what do you normally do on a Saturday?” he asks.
This is one time in my life I wish I could lie easily. I don’t want to tell Bastien that I have no social life at all and that each weekend is spent hunting. Looking away, I swipe at an imaginary piece of dust and say, “This. I do this on the weekends. Every weekend.”
“Then let’s do this,” he says with a shrug.
My eyes draw up sharply. “What about your social life?”
“Don’t have one. Haven’t since leaving the Navy. Now, since we’ve gotten that out of the way, how about you show me how you work the games some more.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn back toward my computer, mumbling to myself, “You need to get a life, said the pot to the kettle.”
Bastien pulls his chair next to mine, close enough that the heat from his thigh radiates to my leg. It’s quite distracting. “Okay. First of all, predators utilize the chat features of many games common to kids and teens. I have a list of profiles for each program, rotating them out with each new target to avoid detection.”
“Won’t your picture be a dead giveaway?”
“No. These guys only see my picture if and when an investigation advances far enough.”
To show him what I mean, I log into the favorite game of my current target. Here, my profile picture is of my avatar. “I join the server where I first encountered the target and interact with the simulated world. If he’s active and still interested in grooming me, he’ll make contact.”
Bastien watches quietly as I manipulate this pixelated world of cubes and strange animals. I’ve been working at it in my private map for about twenty minutes, explaining some of the facets of the game as Bash asks questions.
Then, to be seen, I join in the community chat using urban shorthand. Bastien studies the odd code and words with a scowl. “It makes me feel old to ask this, but is this how kids talk these days?”
I have to laugh because Bash is only a few years older than me. “Yes, and I hate to admit it, but because I use it so much, I’ve been known to let it slip into business conversations.”
He leans closer, putting his face right next to mine as if it might make him understand better. “God, I’m getting old. I can’t read most of this.”
Studying his profile and day-old beard scruff, I joke, “Next thing you know, you’ll be yelling at kids to get off your lawn.”
