“Some fucking friend,” said June. “You were like my little brother.”
“Do you think that was what I wanted? To be your little brother?” Leo Boyle looked at her then with a terrible longing, his face red, eyes streaming. “Don’t you get it? I’m in love with you, June. Ever since I saw your picture.”
“Jesus Christ,” she said, turning away. “All you fucking men. What do you think, I’m your fucking property?”
Peter hoped he wasn’t included in that group.
He put his head up and looked around to see how much attention they’d attracted. A pair of cops with their backs to the BMW talked idly to each other as they watched the smoldering ruins, but a few of the people standing on their lawns outside the perimeter were staring openly at Peter now. When he stared back, they hurriedly averted their eyes and stepped away like they’d forgotten an appointment. Maybe they saw something in his face.
He was running out of time. One of the neighbors might make a call, and there were two police cars on the block. Not to mention whoever Chip Dawes had sent, still out there.
He gave Boyle’s nose another yank. “Tell me about the Stanford ID.”
“Ow, okay, shit. Her dad set me up with a job at this grad lab down there.” He talked even faster now. “At least he said it was him, it was the same email account, but he sounded different, you know? Maybe someone else using your dad’s email?”
Leo looked at June, snot seeping now from his swollen nose.
“Your dad or whoever it was sent me a flash drive to plug into their system. I didn’t want to do it, I told him I wouldn’t. But he said he’d sell the house, empty my bank account, infect all my computers. Anyway I got caught and they fired me. I only worked there a couple weeks.”
“How long ago?” asked Peter.
“I don’t know. A few months? I’m not real good with time, you know?”
Peter thought he was telling the truth. After all those pot lollipops, he was surprised Leo could still walk and talk.
“What about my old laptop?” said June. “Somebody hacked it. Was that you?”
Leo closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Yes. He asked me to. Whoever he was.”
“My new laptop?”
“No. I was supposed to do it last night, but I got home late and the house was on fire.”
Peter looked at June. “We need to go. Anything else?”
She made a sour face and shook her head.
Peter took his knee off the kid’s chest and stood. “Leo, there are some bad people using you for their dirty work. If I were you, I’d get back in that car and get as far away from here as you can.”
Leo opened and closed his mouth like a fish on a pier. Peter touched June’s arm and they walked away.
He didn’t see the watchers until near the end of the block, a man on each corner. They were looking toward the fire, but if they were really interested, they’d have been closer. And they wouldn’t have been watching the faces of the people walking toward them.
“Turn around,” murmured Peter, and he pivoted his body to face the smoking ruin even as he kept walking backward away from it.
June turned with him. “What did you see?” she asked.
“Two men at least,” Peter said, angling off the sidewalk and into somebody’s front yard. “They’re going to notice us any minute. When they do, I’ll take care of them. You run like hell for Lewis.”
June’s eyes got wide. “Where’s Lewis? I don’t see him.”
“You’ll see him, he’ll be there. You just run when I say so, as fast as you can.”
In his peripheral vision, Peter saw the nearest man slanting to intercept them. He wore a green oilcloth coat with metal buttons. He was thick in the neck and shoulders and held a phone to his ear. Peter allowed him to get within twelve feet. “Go,” he told June, and pivoted on the medical boot.
June broke into a sprint and Peter limped after her as if trying to get around the guy.
June pulled ahead and the guy angled to cut Peter off as he slid his phone into a pocket with one hand and stuck the other inside his half-buttoned jacket.
The guy was one step away when Peter planted the medical boot in the grass and pivoted again, swinging his elbow up and around, using the added rotation to drive it hard into the side of the guy’s head. If he’d punched the guy that hard he’d have broken his hand, but his elbow barely felt it.