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But even in that case, there had been no physical evidence, and the victim didn’t remember anything. Prenter’s house and car were searched, but the investigators found no GHB.
Two weeks ago, the research arm of WCF identified Prenter’s new online persona, and based on his profile he was living in northern Virginia. He had registered as a sex offender and received permission to attend college at American University. He trolled a particular dating website to hook up in the flesh, so Lucy created a fictional character that met Prenter’s personal criteria: a petite, blond college girl who liked running, rock music, and live bands. It didn’t matter that Lucy was tall with black hair, her job was to draw him to a public location where he’d have the opportunity to violate his parole in full view of law enforcement. It had worked many times during her three years volunteering for WCF, and Prenter was already hooked. Lucy just had to reel him in.
And when she did? One of WCF’s volunteer off-duty cops would be there to cuff him and haul him back to prison.
Justice would be fully served. All three to five years.
For too long she’d felt helpless. Even with all the self-defense training, her education, and her dreams, Lucy had felt she needed to be doing more. Interning with Senator Jonathon Paxton on the Judiciary Committee had been interesting, but when he introduced her to Fran at WCF, it had changed Lucy’s life. She was a far stronger, better person today because of the work she did for WCF. She could almost believe she was a normal, average woman.
Even her brother Patrick had admitted the last time they’d talked that Lucy was back to her old self.
Perhaps not her old self. She was no longer the naïve teenager she’d been six years ago when she trusted too easily and thought she was invincible. But she’d finally let go of most of the pain and anger. Some righteous anger, the outrage for injustices in the world, kept her focused on what was important. Saving the innocent. Stopping criminals. Her inner drive was so strong that if she didn’t get into the FBI, she’d find something else in criminal justice. She could go to law school and become a prosecutor. Or join a local police force. Or even go to medical school and become a psychiatrist specializing in crime victims.
But instead she wanted to be on the cutting edge of federal law enforcement in cybercrime.
Talking to predators like Prenter, even in the anonymity of a secure chat room, made her physically ill, but it was for a greater good and taught her more about cybercrime than years in the classroom.
Lucy had done her part to entice Prenter—playing coy and sexy, never suggesting they meet but always giving him the opportunity. He’d asked once, early on in their online chatting, about “hooking up” somewhere, but she’d declined. If she made it too easy for him, he’d smell a cop. And if the case ever came to trial—highly unlikely because he was a registered sex offender on parole—WCF would need to testify that Prenter had plenty of opportunities to walk away, that he actively pursued his intended victim.
The second time he asked, she again declined, but hinted that she was interested, just busy. She’d never suggest a meeting, because WCF played by the same rules as law enforcement—don’t give them a chance to cry entrapment. Be as passive as possible while still giving the pervert the hints he needed to convince himself that he could have sex with the person behind the computer.
At 6:10, Lucy’s computer softly beeped. _aka_tanya_ received a private message from bradman703.
bradman703: u there?
aka_tanya: yep. studying. sorta. lol.
bradman703: u free tonight?
Lucy’s pulse quickened.
aka_tanya: i have a big test
bradman703: 2mrrw?
aka_tanya: where?
bradman703: ur choice
Even though Prenter was on parole and Lucy wasn’t a cop—so this wasn’t technically entrapment—the conversation was moving into the gray area. Lucy would much prefer to have Prenter pick the place.
aka_tanya: i dunno. someplace fun. close to fx.
bradman703: Firehouse?
Lucy rolled her eyes. She didn’t hang out at bars, but everyone under the age of thirty knew of the Fairfax-area meat market that catered to a rowdy college crowd. Lots of drinking, music played too loud, and crowded. Not a place for quiet conversation; definitely a place to hook up. It was perfect for men like Prenter, and perfect for the WCF operation.
aka_tanya: fab. time?
bradman703: 8?
aka_tanya: ?
Lucy smiled herself as she typed the online happy face.
Fran called from the doorway: “Ten, nine, eight—”
“I got him!” she called out as she quickly typed a message to Prenter that she was logging off to study.
