Her Dark Web Defender

Chapter 2

Kelly slid her chair closer to the edge of her cubicle, so she could see the office door. She could shoot out and be back on Interstate 96 on her way to the Spencer Road exit and the Brighton Post in ten minutes flat.

At least she was wanted there.

A report lay open on her desk, but the words and the grisly crime scene photographs swam on the pages in front of her. This was a mistake. She shouldn’t be there, and it went beyond the special agent who clearly agreed with her on at least that.

She’d believed she could do this. That eighteen years was enough time. Enough distance from those bicycles. That creepy smile. She’d been wrong. Shame filled her, heavy and familiar. The uniform that she wasn’t supposed to be wearing seemed to be the only thing preventing her from splintering into thousands of pieces.

But she had to keep it together, for Emily’s sake. She took several deep breaths and focused on a pushpin on her bare bulletin board instead of the file. Finally, her rapid heartbeat slowed.

She’d hoped for an opportunity to make up for the mistakes she’d made following her friend’s abduction, and now she was balking. Yes, it would require her to work with someone who clearly didn’t want her there, but atonement wasn’t supposed to be easy.

What was Special Agent Lazzaro’s problem with her, anyway? He must have thought that those Italian good looks of his—the kind that a sculptor’s knife would have loved and a sonnet or two had already mentioned—gave him an excuse to be a jerk. Not that she’d noticed the olive skin, that strong jaw, the dimple in his chin or those blue-gray eyes, anyway, but none of those things made the way he’d spoken to her okay. What had she ever done to him?

Eric had said the agent was always hard on new team members, but she couldn’t help thinking it might be something more. That she was a woman? Well, tough crap. She’d proven herself to her fellow troopers by working harder than any of them. If he thought rudeness from one curmudgeonly FBI agent would be enough to scare her off, then he was about to find out how wrong he was.

“You about ready?”

She nearly jumped out of her seat as Tony leaned in to speak to her. The cubicle’s walls had prevented her from seeing his approach, but he’d caught her thinking about him. She didn’t have time to worry about him or anyone else when they had a double murder to investigate.

“Uh. Ready?” Could she have sounded any less like she was about to prove something to him? And why did his eyes have to smile like that, before his lips even moved?

“I just wanted to know if you’re finally up to speed on the case so we can get started. You know, on the voice recordings.”

“For the record, I was already well informed about this case. I was first on the scene, remember?” She took a breath so she wouldn’t tell him where he could shove all his assumptions. “Now what did you say about recordings?”

“You didn’t think you were going to do all of this live, did you?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a way that was beginning to annoy her. As a matter of fact, she had believed she would always be speaking live, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of having her confirm it.

“I figured at least some of it.”

“Then you were right. Here, let’s go back to my computer to make the recordings.”

He strode to his desk without looking back at her. She grabbed the binder of case overviews that Dawson had given her and fell into step behind him. Inside his cubicle, Lazzaro had already turned his straight-back visitor chair so that it was right next to his. Too close for Kelly’s comfort, but the microphone cord wasn’t long enough to reach across the room.

Nothing about the special agent’s cubicle surprised her, from the obsessively straight collection of pencils in his top desk drawer to the line of photographs—some children, some adults—in the bottom corner of his bulletin board. All about a half inch apart. Just like the crisp creases in his slacks and dress shirt and his perfectly knotted tie that weren’t supposed to be parts of a uniform, Tony Lazzaro was all about preciseness and control. Her arrival must have thrown off his perfect balance.

She rested the binder on the corner of his desk, pulled the seat back and sat. A masculine amber scent filled her nostrils. She’d never been a fan of cologne, but this one was almost pleasant. Distracting.

But she didn’t get distracted. By anyone. If she’d never allowed male-female nonsense to disrupt work with her fellow troopers, even the hotties, she should have no trouble ignoring a surly law enforcement officer. Especially one who had a sprinkling of gray in his black-brown hair that made him look at least a decade older than her twenty-seven.

Tony obviously had no trouble tuning her out as he focused on his laptop and clicked through several screens. Then he moved the standing microphone closer to her. She didn’t miss his frown when he noticed the binder, out of place on his orderly desk.

“Now we just need to record the early stuff. The greetings,” he said. “That way you can practice the flirtation.”

Her breath rushed out in a choked sound. “Are you saying that some victims flirt with their eventual offenders?”

The thought of it made her stomach roll. Emily’s attacker had required no enticement. No encouragement at all.

“I guess some potential victims think they’re supposed to talk more like grown-ups would when they’re in online chat rooms,” he explained. “Seventy-six percent of underage victims first encounter their offenders in chats.”

Kelly blinked away images from her past to focus on details of the current case. On offenders they might have a chance to stop.

“But don’t victims in chat rooms believe they’re talking to someone their own age and not some guy in his sixties with a double chin and a second mortgage?”

“Maybe potential offenders aren’t that specific, but most tell their victims they’re older when they initiate contact.”

As he spoke, he scrolled through a website with a series of conversations rolling down the screen.

She leaned forward to get a better look. “That’s where you’ll have me hanging out? In chat rooms like that one?”

He closed the browser, whether to keep her from seeing what he was looking at or to move on, she wasn’t sure.

“Not you, really. Just an online identity to which you’ll be lending your voice. You won’t always be the one at the keyboard, either. It can be any of us. The screen name will be INVISIBLE ME.”

“Because victims are often looking for someone to pay attention to them and actually listen to them?”

“That’s right. Some of them get more than they bargain for.”

“Especially kids like Sienna and Madison.”

She expected him to say something about her referring to the recent murder victims by their first names instead of calling them “Miss Cottingham” and “Miss Blackwell,” but he nodded at his screen.

“What does all this have to do with the Dark Web?” She hated asking so many questions, but he seemed knowledgeable, and she needed to catch up quickly. “I don’t know as much about that as I should. I spend most of my work time investigating traffic accidents and issuing citations.”

He slid a glance her way and then launched another browser, one she didn’t recognize.

“Most people don’t know a lot about it. The Dark Web is just a small part of the Deep Web, that part of the Internet that includes email accounts and bank records. Only the Dark Web is different. You access it using a software that makes you anonymous by disguising your computer’s IP address. Then visitors can participate in illegal activities without being tracked. Drugs, weapons, assassins…”

“Porn?”

This time, he turned to face her. “That and human trafficking. Those two things are almost always linked.”

“Do you think our victims visited sites on the Dark Web?”

“Probably not. It requires too much computer know-how since the sites aren’t indexed. It’s more difficult to do a search there.” He closed the screen and held his hands wide. “But the suspect might hang out on the Dark Web as well as chat rooms in the Surface Web.”

“Then it makes sense to look both places.”

“Particularly now that he’s had a taste of murder. His cooling-off period between the two girls and his next victim might be decreased. If this is even his first time.”

Was he watching her because he was discussing the possibility that they were dealing with a serial killer when he’d criticized her earlier for jumping to that same conclusion? Or did he expect her to race out the door after the details he’d shared with her? He put his headset around his neck, handed her a second one and pointed to the microphone.

“Ready?”

She straightened in the chair. “We’re going to record stuff right here?”

“Why? Can’t turn on your charm with an audience present? Hate to tell you this, Trooper, but we can’t provide you with a private sound booth.”

The patronizing way he said trooper made pinpricks form on the back of her neck. He might as well have said sweetheart, and she was not okay with that.

“Hello,” she said into the microphone.

“Don’t say it like you’re about to try to sell him a houseful of vinyl windows.”

“Give me a minute. I haven’t done this before.”

“No kidding. And you thought you were going to do all of this live.”

Her glare wasn’t as effective as it would have been if he’d looked at her.

“By the time you have a voice conversation with a suspect, you won’t be strangers, at least in that world. You’ll even tell him your real name is Mackenzie. But if you don’t think you can do it, I’ll be happy to approach Special Agent Dawson and tell him his idea is a bust.”

“Not necessary,” she ground out.

It didn’t matter that Kelly was so far out of her comfort zone. This jerk had underestimated her, and he should know it. She wouldn’t allow him to make her forget why she was there, either. She’d come to track a killer, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. She gripped the microphone and pushed the button to speak.

“Hi there.” That voice didn’t even sound like her. So smooth. A sexy laugh formed with words. “I’m so glad we finally get to speak to each other. I’ve wondered what your voice would sound like.”

She released the button and, as she pulled her hand away, she peeked over to catch him watching her. He quickly turned back to his computer screen.

“How was that?”

He cleared his throat but didn’t look her way. “Fine.”

“Good. What else do you need me to say?”

“How about I just ask you some questions, and you answer them the way you would’ve at about thirteen?”

“You mean with a giggle and maybe a snort?”

“You snort?”

“Not anymore. Well, not much.”

He gave her a few more phrases to record.

“Hey, gotta go. My mom’s coming upstairs,” Kelly said, recording the last. In her own headset, the words sounded exactly like teenage Kelly would have spoken them.

“Okay, we’re done.” Tony cleared his throat again. “Good job on those.”

“You don’t need anything else?”

He shook his head.

She stood and pushed the chair to the open spot in the corner of the cubicle and grabbed her binder. She opened the book to the page she’d been reading before he’d interrupted her: an open case involving a missing teenage boy.

“Just staring at those photos isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

“You don’t think familiarizing myself with these other cases can help? I have fresh eyes. Maybe I’ll see something that others have missed.” She gestured toward his laptop. “Anyway, how are you so sure that whatever you do on that computer will help more?”

She braced herself for his hot retort. He hadn’t disappointed her all morning. When he didn’t answer, she lifted her gaze to find him staring, not at her but at that straight line of photos on his bulletin board.

“Looks like you have some pictures of your own. Are those some of the people you’ve helped? Do you look at them when you need a pick-me-up?”

“No.”

At the low tone of his voice, she regretted asking. Something told her that Special Agent Lazzaro was the type of guy who recorded his defeats. Not his victories.

“You don’t have to answer,” she rushed to say.

But he appeared lost in the photos and the stories that must have clung to them. When he finally turned back to her, his eyes were suspiciously shiny. He quickly lowered his gaze to his desk.

“Those are the ones we didn’t help. They’re there to remind me just what is at stake.”

Chapter 3

Cory Fox gripped the video game controller with both hands as he navigated the danger-filled path on his computer screen to save Princess Amelia from the evil dragon. Usually, he would have scaled those walls and leaped the obstacles with ease in his new favorite game, Rescuing the Royals. Not so much this morning. He’d already fallen through the earth twice, and he hadn’t even made it close enough to the dragon to try out his superpower lightning flashes.

He was never going to get out of Level 26.

Cory rested the controller on the desktop as he dragged his feet off the desk. He was just too distracted to play. He had to do something to fill the time, though. His four-hour shift at the grocery store wasn’t until after lunch, and he was already too hyped up to sit still.

On his desktop, he clicked open a folder he’d placed there a week before, and a list of links appeared on the screen. He clicked on the first.

Bodies of 2 local teens discovered

His stomach roiled as it did each time he read the articles. If only he could stop looking at them. Or thinking about it. Or remembering.

He set his elbows on the desk and lowered his head into the cradle of his hands. Even with his eyes closed, he could still see it. Blood made him queasy, and there’d been so much of it. He hadn’t even been able to drag them far from the bike path where they’d met, so their bodies were discovered the next morning. He’d only brought that pocketknife in case she needed convincing to get in the van with him.

“Why did you have to lie?”

He automatically looked over his shoulder though, as usual, he was alone in his basement apartment. It had been an accident. It was all FUNNY GAL’s fault. Make that “Sienna.” She was supposed to have been fourteen. Not eighteen. And she sure as heck wasn’t supposed to bring a friend with her. Was their meeting a joke to her? She was supposed to be his betrothed, his princess, and she’d been a dragon instead.

He closed the file and then the folder, his finger poised to the delete the whole thing. But he couldn’t. Instead, he launched a browser and typed the beginning of a website address for one of his favorite chat rooms. The full name showed up in the results box below. Obviously, he’d visited there a lot.

Of course, he needed to avoid chat rooms right now. He should be lying low and staying off the Internet. At least for a while. One of those articles had even mentioned that the girl had been in contact with “men” online. Men? Not just him? His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

No, he wouldn’t visit the chats while the police were sniffing around. Anyway, time always slipped away from him when he played online, and he’d promised Mom he would keep his job this time. That was the deal he’d made so she would agree to keep paying his rent. He’d given someone else his word that he would stay out of trouble, and he’d already broken that promise.

He moved his mouse in a circular pattern on the mouse pad and then let the arrow hover over the link. His decision came with a click.

And he was there again, that wonderful place where multiple conversations moved at a rapid clip. Introductions were made, connections formed, and screen names vanished with the lure of private chats.

Cory wiped his sweaty upper lip with the back of his hand as he scrolled through comments. There were so many lonely girls, just waiting to be his special friends. Still, he needed to be patient to find the perfect one.

He’d be more careful this time. Courting was a delicate process, after all. But with such sweetness ahead, how could he not continue the search for a princess with whom to share his castle home?

He clicked on the dialogue box. Then he typed the line that could be the beginning of something wonderful: Hi!

A knock on the outside of his cubicle brought Tony’s head around with a jerk that made his neck ache. His vision was already blurry from hours of fruitless searches through some of the more popular Dark Web sites. He’d buried himself in his work to get that earlier conversation with Kelly out of his thoughts, and he’d almost succeeded. Until now.

The woman he’d been trying not to think about stepped into the doorway, her hands shoved into her uniform pockets.

“May I help you?”

He was proud of himself that he’d sounded almost civil, especially when he’d hoped not to have to face her again for the rest of the day.

“Sorry to interrupt you, but—”

“But you’re finished reading about all the other cases that aren’t the one we’re investigating?” So much for being nice.

She frowned. “I have finished that, but Special Agent Dawson wants me to observe you putting out regular text communication in the chat rooms.”

“Why? Haven’t you ever done a chat before?”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

His next brusque comment died on his lips. Why couldn’t he stop baiting her? She was doing her job, just as he was trying to do.

“Fine.”

He gestured toward his guest chair though the last thing he needed was to be close to her again. He’d been trying to get the scent of her shampoo—light, flowery and carefree—out of his head all afternoon.

“How about instead of observing, we give you a chance to practice? I’ll make my comments verbally, and you can type your responses on my keyboard.”

“Sounds okay.”

He stood and slid by her to grab the seat she’d used earlier. She took his place in front of a blank word-processing document.

“Would your friends say you’re pretty?” he asked.

She blinked several times. He had to hold back a smile. Of course, they would. Not to say so would have made them liars.

Finally, she started typing.

I don’t know. I guess so. They probably would say I have a cute face.

“Are you trying to say you’re a bigger person? Would anyone say that about you?” he asked.

I’m bigger than some of my friends, I guess.

He had to remind himself that she was creating a fictional character since the woman sitting next to him looked perfect to him. Too perfect.

“You’re probably just curvier. They’re jealous,” he managed to say.

How can you say that? You haven’t even seen me.

“We could fix that. You could send me a picture. I’m already sure you’re real pretty.”

But I hate my braces.

At the second reminder that their conversation had been only role playing, he sat taller in his seat. He’d given her easy questions, and he couldn’t explain why. Was it because of that compassion in her eyes after he’d explained the photos on his board? Did he believe she was too tender-hearted for this work and felt compelled to shield her? What business did he have trying to protect anyone from this world when he hadn’t been able to shelter himself?

Instead of continuing the mock conversation, he reached for the keyboard and slowly pulled it to him.

“Why are you doing that?”

“You’ll do fine. You’re a natural. At least for the easy stuff.”

“I really was a thirteen-year-old girl once. An awkward, misunderstood and, yes, larger teenager. I was in the public speaking club. Not the cheerleading squad.”

She’d surprised him. People rarely did that anymore. Kelly Roberts wasn’t who he’d expected her to be, from her biography or from her knockout good looks. He knew better than to prejudge people, anyway. That was how the wolves fit in among the unsuspecting sheep in their investigations.

“Some things happened, and I ate for comfort and gained some weight,” she added when he didn’t respond right away.

“Looks like you figured things out.” Immediately, he wanted to take that back. It sounded as if he’d been watching her, and he had. Now they both knew it.

She cleared her throat and pointed to the screen again. “If the conversations online are like that, they sound so benign.”

Relieved that she’d redirected the conversation back to their work, where it belonged, Tony went with it.

“They start that way, but they can escalate quickly. A chat where a guy tells his victim that he understands why she’s mad at her parents over her curfew quickly turns to demands for intimate photos.”

“That’s awful.”

“That doesn’t begin to cover how bad it gets. How are you going to be able to handle—”

“I meant for you.”

He came to his feet as if something had pushed him out of the chair, and he moved to the doorway of his own cubicle. Just like earlier, her compassion for him unsettled him. Why was she being so kind when he’d been rude to her? Worse than that, he was beginning to like her. He wasn’t there to make friends. He had to finish the case so he could be transferred. He needed to remember that.

“I mean you have to read and listen to this stuff every day,” she continued, as if she realized she’d struck a nerve. “How do you bear it? Do you turn it off when you get home?”

“It’s my job.”

He would’ve said it was as simple as that, but nothing about his decision to leave the task force had been simple. Could he really desert the vulnerable people he helped, and if he could, what kind of agent was he? What kind of human being?