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A moment later, Connor’s phone beeped with a location pin. He grabbed it, homing in on it, and Cami saw with a thrill of intent that this location was close by. Boyd Langdon might not be home, but he wasn’t far from where he lived. And that meant that they could hopefully get to him tonight.
“It’s those shops up on the main road,” Connor said, and Cami’s eyebrows rose. They’d driven straight past him on their way. Straight past. If only they’d known.
“And it seems like he’s at the bar on the corner,” Connor said, enlarging the map still further. “Which is good,” he added calmly. “If he’s at a bar, he’s not going to be leaving in a hurry. Let’s go and meet him there.”
Cami took a deep breath as Connor drove back to the main road, turned left, and stopped in the first available parking space near the bar. Like the other places on the main road, it seemed like an upscale place. Called The Cosmopolitan, it had a neon sign with a picture of a cocktail glass, and inside, the décor was dark wood and plush red leather.
Walking in, she realized it was much bigger than she expected. It was multi-level, spanning three floors in total and including a basement area.
Where was he in this big, busy and bustling place? Cami recalled, from his social media, what he looked like. Boyd was twenty-nine years old, he was tall, he had spiky brown hair, and a face that was long and lean. Cami thought that his mouth looked spiteful, but she admitted she might be putting her own emotional interpretation on the photo.
They didn’t know whether he was here alone or with friends, she realized, as Connor said, “Let’s take an unobtrusive walk through here, and see if we can spot him.”
Although Connor was not in uniform, his jacket had the FBI logo on it and he looked distinctly like law enforcement, with his short haircut and his disciplined bearing. Cami knew that with her tattoos and her partially shaven hairstyle, she didn’t look in the least like police. The only thing that made her look like she was with the FBI was the baseball cap and the jacket she wore. It made her smile when she remembered Connor’s disgusted insistence that she cover up her edgy hair. Now, she honestly thought he’d stopped noticing it.
Since they’d gotten in without being stopped, there was no reason for her to take off her FBI clothing to blend in. She’d done that from time to time before when they'd needed to get into a place. But just because they had gained access to this bar didn't mean that it would be plain sailing from here. They still had to find Boyd, and then they had to get him to talk.
Connor moved easily through the bar, and Cami tried to copy his actions, becoming a chameleon like he was doing, not drawing attention to himself as he wove his way between the tables, glancing at all the patrons without obviously seeming to be looking. The thumping music and the babble of background voices were deafening. It meant they had to communicate by glances. But even though Cami worked her whole way around her section of the bar, glancing frequently at Connor, she didn’t see him and nor did he.
That meant going down a level to the basement. Connor was heading there first, and Cami followed. The basement level seemed to be busier. There was a dance floor in the center of the room. The tables surrounding it were crowded. Down here, people were partying hard. It was much more difficult to see their faces in the flashing lights, interspersed with near darkness. Cami stood by the wall, watching people on the dance floor twist and turn, waiting for the moment when the moving disco lights illuminated their faces.
She looked away to give her eyes a respite from the constant lights. Their movement was dazzling and disorienting, and it could make you miss things. She didn't want to miss a glimpse of him if he was on the dance floor. Although, she was starting to think that he might not be on this level at all, and might actually be upstairs on the top floor.
And then, with a pounding of her heart, she saw him.
He was on the far side of the basement area, sitting at one of the tables near the wall, and he was alone. His spiky hair stood up like a signal, making it easy to spot him. And as she homed in on him more closely, Cami saw that he was on his phone. He was doing something, very busily, on his phone.
Alone, in a place like this, working so intensively on his phone, she wanted to know what, exactly, he was up to. He looked utterly absorbed. A glass of beer stood half empty by his elbow, but he wasn't paying it any attention. He wasn't looking around at all. A pretty blond woman dressed in a skimpy outfit – a mini skirt and sleeveless top – passed by his table and, as she did so, inadvertently jostled it.
“Sorry,” Cami saw her mouth in his direction, but he never even looked up.
He was up to something – she was sure of it.
She grabbed Connor’s sleeve, pointed discreetly, and hissed into his ear – louder than usual thanks to the thumping of the music, “He’s there.”
Connor looked, he saw, and his body language tautened. But she didn’t want Connor to go over to him yet. Seeing he was there all alone, in his own world, and so furiously busy with his phone, she wanted to find out exactly what he was up to.
And in this place, there might just be a simple, time-honored hacking technique that allowed her to do it.
She put her finger to her lips and whispered to Connor, “Wait.”
Then, Cami moved forward, staying out of Boyd’s sight, and heading for a spot behind him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Shoulder surfing was not always as easy as it sounded, Cami acknowledged, as she maneuvered into place behind her target, looking ultra casual, angling her body so that she appeared to be watching the dance floor while she was, in fact, giving herself a view of Boyd’s phone.
Shoulder surfing was literally what it sounded like – peeking at someone’s phone or device when you were behind them. But it was not simple to get right. Now, for instance, although she was at the correct angle to see Boyd’s phone, she was much too far away to make out what he was doing on the screen.
Technology could help her there. Cami took out her phone, set it to record, enlarged the picture, and pointed it in Boyd’s direction.
And now, with a steady hand and a keen eye, she could see exactly what he was up to, squirreled away at that small table.
Her eyes narrowed. He was working on something. A map, she saw. He had the map enlarged, and he had one particular house highlighted, and he was busy plotting a route there. Several routes. The maps app was working hard.
Why was he doing that? Was he busy targeting another victim, figuring out the way in and the way out, and alternate escape routes that he could use if things went bad? That was how it seemed to her, she thought darkly. She didn't like the look of this at all. It was incriminating, to her. Especially given his comments about suffering.
She watched a few more minutes. More of the same. He was only focusing on one house. She couldn’t see where it was, and she didn’t recognize any of the road names.
