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A SEAL.
Not ex-SEAL.
Because as I told Harper, a SEAL is always a SEAL.
“Agreed,” I say, “and while I could assume it’s a trap, I don’t really give two fucks. If he wants to talk, I’m not going to disappoint him.”
“I do like how you think.” He pulls his weapon. “I’ll cover you.”
I push off the wall and start walking toward the front of the house. The minute I clear the wall and the bushes, and I’m in the open, the driver revs the engine of his car, rolls down the window and holds up a lit cigarette. He starts rolling forward and tosses it, along with something else. He floors his accelerator and drives away. I walk toward the cigarette, more interested in the rolled-up piece of paper next to it. Adam joins me, and offers me a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket and hands them to me. He’s prepared, but that doesn’t surprise me. He’s Adam. He’s Walker. He’s a SEAL.
I pull the gloves on and squat down to grab the little gift I’ve been given and find a line of numbers with random letters. My brain plays with them—translating letters to numbers and the reverse—memorizing the fourteen digits before I toss the paper andthe cigarette into the baggy Adam is holding open for me. “What was it?” he asks, eyeing the items in the bag. “A code? Aren’t you a numbers guru?”
“It’s not a cipher, code, or a translatable message. It’s not even a point in history. It’s an identifying number, like a name, but it’s not a VIN number or a parts number.”
He gives me a deadpan look. “You know all of that in the sixty seconds you were looking at that number?”
“Yes,” I say. “And as you said, he wanted to talk and that’s what he did.” I motion to the bag. “If we find out what the identifier’s attached to, we’ll understand that message.”
“Or it’s a distraction to focus you in the wrong direction,” Adam suggests as we walk to the front of the house.
His pocket vibrates and he pulls his phone out and glances at a message while I consider his thoughts. It could be a distraction, but if it is, it’s someone who’s studied me. Someone who knows how damn obsessed I can get about a series of numbers. Isaac isn’t that detailed or focused. My father is another story. He knows things about me, like how I used to get hung up on equations and struggled to spread my focus. But that was then and this is now, and thanks to special training in the Navy, I’m beyond that.
“Isaac’s at home,” Adam says, sliding his phone back into place. “He went straight there from here. He didn’t meet with anyone.”
“Anyone but you watching his house?”
“No one. You think he’s being targeted, too? I thought you believed he was behind your watcher?”
“I’m not ruling out anything just yet. Isaac’s running from more than me and Harper. Was tonight related to his fear? Yes, but I’m not sure how. As for tonight’s visitor, was he a tipster trying to help me? A hired goon trying to fuck with my head? Someone trying to mock me with the message in numbers? The options are many.”
“Agreed. We’re in this all the way with you. I damn sure am. I’m not going back to New York until you go back. You staying here or at the hotel?” he asks.
“Here,” I say, disliking hotels where strangers come and go too easily.
“Then so am I.” He motions toward the side of the house and then heads that direction and I don’t even care that anyone watching knows he’s here. In fact, I hope they do and then stay the fuck away.
I scan the area, but I see no one and sense no danger. I start walking, reaching in my pocket, and removing a mini-Rubik’s cube, and close it in my palm. There were years that I had to work the puzzle to focus my mind, but now if I’m holding it, it streamlines my thoughts, clears my mind. Just that easily I’m chasing those numbers on my little gift, searching for their meaning: an employee badge number, a reference number to a medical claim. The list becomes a dozen long, with no end in sight.
By the time I reach the hotel, Blake is calling me.
“The numbers mean nothing to you, genius?” he asks, as I enter the lobby and head toward the stairs. “What the fuck?”
“They’re an identifier,” I say, moving my weapon to the rear of my pants. “In other words, Mr. Hacker Genius, find out what they identify.”
“Already working on it. It’s not a VIN number or car part.”
“I already told Adam that. Think outside of the box. I’ll send you a list of prospects if you need them, but of course, you’re a genius hacker, right?”
“You just can’t stand the idea of someone else being the genius, now can you?”
“I’ll believe you’re a genius when you find out what that identifier means.”
“Rolling my sleeves up now, asshole. Get ready to feel stupid for once. Our lab will run prints of the stuff you and Adam bagged tonight. How present do you want my men in Denver?”
“Present, but out of sight until we know what the hell really happened tonight.”
“What’s your gut say?”
