Lost in Geeklandia Page 2

  “Stop. He’ll notice you.”

  “So what? He doesn’t know me from Zeigfried and Roy. Please?” Gideon gave her his patented pleading-puppy look. “I’ll be discreet. Observe.” He sidled along the wall with exaggerated care.

  “Why even ask?” she grumbled. “You’ll do exactly what you want anyway.”

  “Yes, but it’s so much better when you participate in your own downfall.” He peeked around the corner. “Okay. I see Lin…” He sucked in an audible breath. “Holy Mary, mother of pearl.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Charles, do you mean to tell me your Dickhead Daniel is Daniel Shawn, the Angel of Digital Death?”

  “He’s not my Daniel. Not anymore.”

  Not since her first day of middle school when she’d been so stupidly glad to see him after a year at different schools that she’d shrieked “Danny!” and bounded down the corridor, her giant geekoid backpack overbalancing her and clanging against the lockers. She must have looked like some grotesque alien life-form, her hair growing out in uneven orange tufts and braces distorting her too-large mouth.

  Daniel, already on his way to handsome even at thirteen, turned away from her and sauntered off with his snickering cool-guy cronies, leaving her gawping in the hallway, buffeted by the crowd of smirking students on their way to class.

  He’d been her best friend. Her staunch champion against grade school bullies and her indifferent father. She’d believed that could never change.

  She’d been wrong.

  She scuffed her shoes against the sidewalk. “I doubt he ever was.”

  “God, Charles.” Still peering around the corner, Gideon bounced on his toes. “The man was the rock star of tech watchdog journalism until he got flattened in that epic Argonne rip-off. There must be dozens of websites devoted to following his rise and fall.”

  “Four.”

  “What?”

  “There are only four sites that track him.”

  He stopped bouncing and turned to face her. “And you would know this…how?”

  “My GPPS,” she mumbled.

  “Say what?”

  “Global Prick Positioning System.” She enunciated each syllable through bared teeth.

  “Interesting.” Gideon tilted his chin and studied her through the platinum tips of his dark bangs. “Exactly how many pricks do you position? I won’t ask how or where you position them, because that’s TMI, even for me.”

  She pretended to be interested in the sandwich board advertising the brewpub’s specials, avoiding his shrewd gaze. “It’s a very focused application.”

  “Charles.”

  She sighed. Someday she’d be able to fool Gideon, probably the same day cold fusion reactors were available over the counter at Walmart. “Just one. Happy now?”

  “Not yet. What’s he doing in Portland anyway? Doesn’t he have muck to rake in Silicon Valley or Redmond or Tierra del Fuego?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Well, you are the one with the GPPS.”

  “Don’t start. He couldn’t have shown up at a worse time.” The last thing she needed right now was to become a blip on Daniel Shawn’s career-destroying radar, a real possibility if he found out about the genesis of her algorithm.

  “You’re overreacting, as usual. There are gazillions of dickheads in the Portland metro area. I know. I’ve dated at least half of them. Surely you can avoid one lone gunman.”

  She fell back against the wall, her bag dangling by her feet. “With my luck, he’ll probably show up on our doorstep, accompanied by the Channel Eight news van.”

  “So what? Just because he was a dickhead in high school doesn’t mean he still is. Look at me. Even I, as fabulously as I turned out, had my douchebag teenage moments.”

  “But now it’s his job to be a dickhead.” She took a breath, but it lodged in her chest. “Can you just accept that I don’t want his attention focused on me? I’ve got bigger problems. Look.” She thrust her cell phone at him.

  “The AGS gig? But you’ve been waiting for that for eons. What’s the…oh shit. No Audrey. You’ll have to deal with dear Shanna, the Wicked Witch of IT Staffing West.”

  She nodded miserably. “Not exactly my biggest fan.”

  “Cheer up, Charles.” He patted her shoulder. “Maybe all your drama is for nothing. Audrey no doubt has your back despite wedding hysteria, and Daniel’s probably passing through on his way to greener dickhead pastures.”

  Lindsay hurried around the corner. “There you both are.” She clasped Charlie’s wrist. “You’ll never believe it. Did you know that Daniel Shawn is in town?”

  “Yes, darling.” Gideon tucked Lindsay’s other hand into the crook of his elbow. “We’d heard something of the sort.”

  “He’s working for Hard Tech Weekly.”

  Oh lord. Dickhead Daniel, back in town and looking for his next juicy IT scandal? It didn’t matter that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. He’d been rabid about Franklin Argonne, and if he found out her field study was based on proving the viability of Argonne’s theories? She had no illusion he’d go easy on her because they’d once been friends. And with AGS’s zero-tolerance policy on staff notoriety, he could kill her lifelong dream with a single blog post.

  She pushed her damp curls off her forehead and hitched her bag on her shoulder, ready to do battle with something she understood—technology. Time to push her online profile even lower than it already was. “I’m shutting down the field study.”

  Gideon tut-tutted. “Beware, Charles. You may get some pushback from your user group. All those women who haven’t yet found Mr. Right or Mr. Will Do Quite Nicely for Now may object to going cold turkey.”

  “The user group will just have to deal.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “As of this moment, Studies in Predictive Mating Behaviors Predicated on Social Media and Online Interaction is officially offline.”

  Chapter Three

  Geekronym: RAM

  Translation: Random-access memory

  Definition: A form of computer data storage that allows cached information to be accessed quickly and in any order. Temporary; when the computer is powered off, the contents of the cache are lost.

  Sunday morning, Daniel paced the cramped living room of his crappy furnished apartment, trying not to jump out of his skin. His gig at HTW paid the bills—barely—but it didn’t do squat for his soul. Where was the thrill of the chase? The adrenaline rush of closing in for the kill? The satisfaction of exposing another scam?

  Who are you kidding? You don’t want a new scam. You want the last one. The one that killed your career. You want Franklin Argonne.

  Just the thought of Argonne made him want to punch the wall. He’d been so close to a breakthrough, but he’d had a mole in his camp. Hell, in his own bedroom. He’d trusted Trisha. Hadn’t thought to hide his discoveries from her when he believed he’d found the linchpin of the whole network.

  Turns out that it was as fake as her affection, something she’d planted at Argonne’s instructions. Yet, if he’d been able to convince a single one of the other victims to back him up, he’d have been able to nail the bastard. But they’d all refused. Too ashamed, too humiliated, too hurt—and in most cases, still too in love with their fake girlfriends—to admit their gullibility in public. Daniel had been left twisting in the wind alone.

  He’d published the story anyway, and Argonne had retaliated as promised by exposing Daniel as another dupe. And let’s face it, any reporter who could be led by his dick lost credibility in the twinkling of a GIF.

  He’d caused Argonne to go to ground, but the guy wasn’t gone. He and others like him were out there in cyberspace, still preying on the naive, the kindhearted, and the desperate. Who’d look out for their quarry if watchdogs like Daniel weren’t on the job?

  He snorted at his own arrogance. Yeah, making the internet safe for the l
ittle guy, that was him. The superhero of the information superhighway.

  Look where that got you, asshole. Not one of Argonne’s targets thanked you for telling them the truth. Maybe you’re better off at HTW after all.

  The buzz of his cell phone stopped him before he wore a path in the cheap carpet. An unknown number. His nerves pinged, sending a spark up his spine. Could one of his old contacts be ready to talk to him again at last?

  “Shawn.”

  “Dan, I can’t find my—” A burst of static masked the words.

  “Phil? Is that you? Christ, this connection sucks.”

  “That’s because I’m halfway between Government Camp and the Trillium Lake cutoff. God couldn’t get decent reception out here.” More static. “…dropped my cell phone in your car. I’ve gotta…” crackle “…date on Tuesday.”

  “Sorry, Phil. Bad connection. Did you say you’ve got a date or you need a date?”

  “Just look for the phone, Dan, before the fucking call drops.”

  “Right.” He grabbed his keys and trotted downstairs to his covered parking spot. “You need me to contact someone for you?”

  “Appreciate the offer, but I don’t have her number.”

  “Maybe you’ve heard. There’s this thing called 411.”

  “Thanks, smart-ass. It won’t help. I don’t have her name yet.”

  Warning bells jangled in Daniel’s brain. He unlocked the Mustang, but didn’t open the door. “Someone set you up? That ever work for you?” He’d thought his first meeting with Trisha had been random. Turns out it had been engineered with deadly precision. “Tell me this isn’t one of those crap online dating sites.”

  “Fuck you. I’d never sign up for one of those lame-ass things. I’m not that big a loser.”

  “Didn’t say you were.” He opened the car door, peering into the shadows under the seat where a blinking blue light announced success.

  “It’s no big deal. Group of guys. Group of girls.” Philip’s uncertainty was evident despite the scratchy call quality. “Nothing too formal, just chill. See what clicks, you know?”

  Unfortunately, he knew all too well. That’s exactly how Argonne lured men into his net. Before they knew it, they’d given up everything for a love that wasn’t real.

  “Listen, Phil. I’ve got your phone, but maybe I should retain custody until we have a chance to talk. There are some things you need to—”

  “You’ve never had to work for it, so you don’t know what it’s like for the rest of us. Don’t judge and don’t preach. Just give me back my phone.”

  “Sure.” He’d let it go for now, but if someone else was setting up the same kind of scam Argonne had run so successfully—or, Christ, if Argonne himself were back online—Daniel would do his damnedest to make sure Philip wasn’t one of the victims. “Tell me what you need.”

  “Get it to Lindsay and she’ll send it out here with a PA tomorrow. She lives in Northwest. I’ll text you a map link to her place.”

  Great. Lindsay, the woman who’d looked at him as if he were a snake about to strike. Still, a trip into town and back would at least get him out of his craphell apartment for an hour. “No problem.” He settled behind the wheel.

  “Thanks, pal. I owe you.” Philip disconnected on another ear-numbing burst of static.

  On the drive over the West Hills, the warm breeze through the Mustang’s open windows blew Daniel’s foul mood out of him. By the time he squeezed into a parking spot in front of a three-story gingerbread Victorian on Pettygrove, he felt marginally human and less like an MMA fighter in the last round of a losing bout.

  He took a look at the house and whistled, long and low. Damn. Administrative assistants must get paid a hell of a lot better than disgraced tech reporters.

  He locked his car and mounted the stairs to the wraparound porch. The aroma of grilling meat from a nearby barbecue, coupled with the scent of freshly cut grass, pinged all his summer buttons. He strolled from one end of the porch to the other, three-quarters of the way around the house, settling into the nearest thing to contentment he’d felt in over a year.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and reversed direction, following the progress of a pair of Bernese Mountain Dogs towing a lanky teenaged boy down the sidewalk.

  He was so intent on the show, he’d rounded the corner of the house and almost passed the porch stairs before he noticed a woman standing on the middle step, head down, rooting through a shoulder bag the size of the Mustang’s trunk.

  She wore workout gear and athletic shoes, her hair gathered on top of her head in a tangle of dark red curls. Her oversize gray T-shirt hit her mid-thigh, and the cut-off neckband slid off one shoulder, exposing a pale curve of skin with a smattering of freckles. For some reason, the sight set Daniel’s pulse tripping.

  The porch creaked under his feet and her head snapped up. He held up his hands, palms out.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I…” That same odd feeling he’d had yesterday at the restaurant crept up his back when she compressed her lips, focusing his attention on the shape of her mouth. Holy shit. “Charlie? Charlie Forrester?”

  Her shoulders lifted in a deep breath, causing her T-shirt to slip a little further, and Daniel swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. She propped her hands on her hips, and he saw that the front of her shirt read I <3 Data. Oh yeah. Definitely Charlie Forrester.

  Her lips moved, but he couldn’t catch what she said. Was it “just perfect”? Didn’t matter. Christ, he hadn’t seen her in years, not since they’d been grade school buddies and science fair partners.

  Daniel crossed the porch in three giant strides, his arms outstretched, but she took a step back and teetered on the edge of the stair tread, arms windmilling, her giant bag swinging behind her. Before she could fall backward, he lunged forward and caught her against his chest. The collision of knees, arms, and elbows—not to mention the purse that slammed his hip when he swung her to the porch—rendered the hello hug ridiculous.

  Laughter ambushed him, and the tightness in his chest eased for the first time in weeks.

  “Christ, it’s good to see you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

  She speared him with a don’t-shit-me glare that was as familiar to him as breathing, despite not having been on the receiving end of it for years. “I’m aware.”

  “No. I mean, sure you’ve changed, but…” I’d still know you anywhere. She’d been a quirky-looking kid. Little Orphan Annie’s hair coupled with Carol Burnett’s mouth. Eyes by Harvey’s Bristol Cream, although as a prosaic sixth-grader, he’d have called them brown. Her hair was still wildly curly, but more like cinnamon springs than the carroty bush it used to be.

  He stood like a moron, his cheeks aching from his grin, until he remembered he had a mission to accomplish. “Hey, I’m supposed to meet someone here. Lindsay…” Damn it. What was her last name? “She live here?”

  “She’s one of my roommates.” She gestured to the door. “Do you want to wait upstairs?”

  “Great. That would be…great.” He gave himself a mental facepalm. Smooth, Shawn. And you make your living with words?

  When she turned to unlock the door, he got a look at the back of her T-shirt.

  Data Sucks.

  Heh. Same old Charlie. “Quite the binary shirt you’ve got there.”

  She shot a glance over her shoulder as she opened the door. “I never let my partiality for something blind me to its faults.”

  She led him upstairs and unlocked another door into a second-floor flat. He followed her into the cool interior.

  A bay window with an upholstered window seat overlooked a back lawn edged with fir trees. The place was light. Airy. Comfortable, with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and a modern open kitchen. Daniel whistled.

  “Sweet. Must be doing okay for yourself if you can afford a place
like this in Northwest.”

  “The house belongs to Lindsay’s parents.” Charlie tossed her keys and bag onto the granite-topped bar. “We get special family rates.” She pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and held it up. “Want some?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” Gesturing to her outfit, he forced himself not to stare at the expanse of skin between the strap of her sports bra and the edge of her damn T-shirt, or the line of her throat when she tipped her head back to drink. “What’s your workout?”

  “Kickboxing.” At his laugh, she jerked and splashed water down the front of her shirt. She set the water bottle on the counter, brows pinched together, and brushed at the trail of wet blotches. “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s so you. Wasn’t kicking your offensive weapon of choice?” Christ, he usually kept all his memories firmly locked away, but bits and pieces of their childhood together pushed their way forward, bright moments in a past he recalled mostly as dim and dark. “You were always so feisty. Remember when—”

  “I’d rather not.” A flush crept up her throat, and he was hit with an inappropriate urge to track it with something other than his eyes.

  “Why not? Damn. Don’t tell me you still haven’t forgiven me for our second-place finish in that last science fair project.”

  She clamped her lips together and took a breath through flared nostrils. “My memory is excellent, and as willing as some people are to rewrite the past—”

  The door flew open and banged against the wall. “Charlie? Did you get my text? I—” Lindsay rushed into the room and froze, cheeks pink. “Oh.” She took two heaving breaths and dialed up a perfect smile.

  “Daniel, I see you’ve…um…met Charlie. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived.”

  …

  Bless Lindsay and her ability to attract the attention of any male with a pulse and minimal vision. Daniel’s disconcerting gaze shifted away from Charlie, and she sagged as if she’d been released from an enemy tractor beam.

  “No problem. Charlie and I were just catching up.”