This is fun I typed. Then I hit enter and waited for the reply. It popped up on my computer screen a moment later.
No pressure, but are we ever going to meet IRL?
I took the last sip from my bottled water and tried to ignore the jitter under my rib cage. In real life. He assumes I have one.
I tossed the empty over my shoulder without looking. The sound it made confirmed I’d hit the garbage can.
How do I know you’re not some lunatic stalker? Or even worse, weigh eighty pounds more than your jpg?
I’d been chatting with Victor9904 almost daily for the past two weeks. I liked him, and he was the first guy I had ever hooked up with online that I wanted to meet in person. That alone made me a little nervous. Dating, for me, was complicated. Except for stretches of time when I was abroad, I kept to a tight routine. Cruising bars looking for men wasn’t part of that routine.
Do you have a webcam? he typed.
Another jitter, this time tougher to ignore. Chatting online was one thing. Letting him see me was riskier.
Yes. But I haven’t showered yet this morning.
<grin> Neither have I. You chicken?
I smiled. I don’t scare easily.
OK. I’ll set up a private webcam chat room and send you the URL. Give me a minute…
Sounds good.
I didn’t rush to the bathroom to check myself in the mirror, but I may have moved a little quicker than normal. My dark hair was shorter than I would have preferred, but it never got in my face and was easy to manage and conceal. I finger combed it, deemed it fine, and wiped a toast crumb from the corner of my mouth. I was wearing what I’d slept in, an old tee and some baggy sweat pants. Since I’d already told him I hadn’t showered, changing into nice clothes and putting on make-up would be disingenuous.
Besides, if a guy couldn’t accept the way a woman looked when she woke up, he wasn’t worth waking up next to.
Not that I was planning any sleepovers.
Sex, on the other hand… it had been too long.
I wandered back to my computer, sat down, and noted my pulse was a tiny bit faster than normal. My webcam was built into the monitor. I switched on the application, and a few seconds later Victor IMed me the address. I typed in the URL, and then there he was, filling my computer screen, smiling boyishly.
He was actually cuter than his jpg. Blond hair. Strong chin, covered in stubble. Broad shoulders. Around my age, early thirties, and his blue eyes were several shades lighter than mine.
He said something, which I lip-read to be, Good morning, Carmen. Nice to finally see you. Are you wearing a Cubs t-shirt?
I unmuted the picture and adjusted the volume.
“Yes, I am.” I smiled. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Victor stood up, revealing the White Sox logo on his jersey. Behind him I could make out a sofa, but the room details were blurry beyond that. With the sound level up, I heard his cat, a calico named Mozart, meow in the background.
“I’m a season ticket holder.” His voice was deep, rich, pure Chicago south-side. He sat down, grinning. “But I’m willing to work through this if you are.”
I shook my head, feigning disapproval. “I dunno. Season tickets? I’m not sure I could get over something like that.”
“Are you asking me to give up the Sox when we haven’t even had a first date yet?”
“If I did ask, what would you say?”
He rubbed his chin. “On one hand, I don’t want you to think I’m a pushover. On the other hand, if this is what you look like before a shower, giving up the Sox doesn’t seem like that big a sacrifice.”
I granted him a smile for that one. “You should see me juggle.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds.
“This is the first time I’ve ever used a webcam for something other than business.” He leaned forward, like we were talking over a coffee table. “It’s weird. Intimate, but distant at the same time.”
“I agree.” I took a breath and a plunge. “Dinner would be better, I think.”
“Are you free tonight?”
I pretended to consider it. “Yes.”
“I could pick you up. Have we reached a level of trust where you’re willing to tell me where you live?”
“Let’s meet someplace.” Only one person in the world actually knew where I lived, and I wanted to keep it that way.
“You like German food, right?”
I nodded, remembering I’d mentioned that during our very first text chat.
“How about Mirabel’s on Addison?” he said. “Six o’clock?”
“Looking forward to it.”
“Me, too. But now it’s almost nine, and I’m on call. Gotta get ready for work.”
“Off to save some lives?”
“I’m hoping for a slow day. Maybe I’ll get lucky and no one in Chi-town will dial 911 during my shift. But if I do have to heroically spring into action,” he winked at me, “I’ll be ready.”
“See you later, Victor.”
“See you, Carmen.”
He switched off the camera. I initiated my tracking software, locating his IP address. It was the same one he always used. Previously, I’d hacked his ISP and gotten his billing information, and from there it had been easy to run a background check. Victor Cormack, as far as I could research using both public and private records, had been telling me the truth about his job, his education, his past. On the surface, he was a normal, average person.
But anyone checking out my identity would assume the same about me.
I erased my Internet footsteps, deleting cookies, clearing the cache, and reformatting the C drive. A pain in the ass to do every time I went online, but a necessary one. Then I wiped the keyboard clean with a spritz of Windex and began my morning work-out.
Halfway into it, my encrypted cell phone rang. I finished my two-hundred thirty-ninth push-up, slid the sweaty bangs off my eyebrows with my forearm, and padded over to the breakfast bar to answer it. Only one person—the same person who knew my address—had this number. A call meant work. And work couldn’t be refused. The phone was even waterproof so I could take it into the shower.
I hit the connect button on the touch screen and waited, habit making me tune in to my surroundings. I could smell traces of the green pepper omelet and wheat toast I’d had for breakfast, along with a slightly sour odor coming from the sink telling me dishes needed to be done. The ambient sounds were unremarkable; the thermostat kicking on, the hum of the fridge, the ticking of a wall clock hanging over my computer, pigeons warbling outside.
To continue reading FLEE by J. A. Konrath and Ann Voss Peterson, visit your library or favorite ebook retailer and pick up a copy today.
Part of the appeal of my series about the half-American, half-Japanese assassin John Rain seems to be Rain’s realistic tactics. It’s true that Rain, like his author, has a black belt in judo and is a veteran of certain government firearms and other defensive tactics courses, but these have relatively little to do with Rain’s continued longevity. Rather, Rain’s ultimate expertise, and the key to his survival, lies in his ability to think like the opposition.
Okay, get out your notepad, because:
All effective personal protection, all effective security, all true self-defense, is based on the ability and willingness to think like the opposition.