Page 13 of Deep Fake

“I do, but if you’re not even going to be the one who does it, wouldn’t it be more practical to meet with the other party?”

He might be frightened, but he was still thinking. And he had a good point. “I need more information before I can be sure of who the right contractor would be. They are all very specialized.” True, but under no circumstances would I send him to someone who I didn’t trust—as much as any of us mistrustful SOBs trusted anyone.

“I see. And I can’t just tell it all to you on the phone?”

Yes, he could.

Why didn’t I just walk away like I should? I knew a couple of people who could probably take care of his problem and who would do it for a price he actually might be able to afford. They more or less worked on a sliding scale if they thought they could help someone. Way more philanthropic than I’d ever been.

“I can tell more by seeing your expressions and body language. Often, people know a lot more than they realize they do, and teasing out those facts is my specialty.” Something I usually did in FaceTime. “So, if you bring the devices and any other evidence for me to take a look at, I can get you started with your own personal hacker.”

“I’m nervous about meeting you.”

He was honest, which made things easier than if he’d been trying to hide from me. “I understand. But I wasn’t going to suggest we meet in a deserted parking lot on Skid Row or some other dangerous place.”

“You do understand.”

“Of course. I had in mind a very nice café right in the middle of downtown. Lots of foot traffic and not so many other customers on most days that we can’t speak privately.”

“Where?”

I named it.

“I know where that is,” he said. “All right. When?”

We set up a time and disconnected, but I wasn’t sure he’d show up. The guy was spooked.

And who could blame him?

Chapter Eleven

Malone

My whole life was anxiety. I woke up in a panic. I fell asleep overthinking worst-case scenarios. Living them in my dreams. Searching for a solution. Rinse and repeat.

Pointless and maddening.

My only slice of hope was that a man with a shady name I met on the internet was going to somehow help me.

But I wasn’t showing my cards all at once even though he had probably already seen them.

Sketch asked me to meet him at a small café tucked into a street used more for walking from one busy street to another than traveling by car. I’d never seen the eatery with more than a handful of patrons.

Did the choice of venue protect him or me?

Probably him.

The only safe place I had left was inside myself, and even that dwindled by the second.

Sketch asked me to deliver all my electronics to him. Phone. Laptops. Even the old tablet I hadn’t used in months. I offered up my passwords, but that got me a laughing emoji.

Of course. He didn’t need my passwords. He already knew them.

Or could find them in the snap of a finger.

What had changed Sketch’s mind about helping me?

Even after agreeing to meet him there, I remained on the fence until the last minute, finally deciding to go but not bring my devices. Not yet. Hell, for all I knew, this person was the person stalking me, and I was falling right into his trap of manipulation.