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  “Leave it alone. It doesn’t matter anymore, you’re off the case.”

  I looked away.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Chase, I know you. And I’m warning you. The paperwork, by 5:00 p.m.” He backed out of the room, pointing at me.

  I leaned back and thought about doing something stupid.

  CHAPTER 7

  Ihad to go back and speak with Stanley and smooth things over. A dumb move, I know, but I figured my career was basically over anyway. Besides, I couldn’t sit around all afternoon doing paperwork, not after everything that went down today. Unless I figured out what was going on, I’d likely never see my son again. I’d lived a year without Simon and I didn’t think I could do it any longer.

  I went to the Lexus and grabbed Stanley’s laptop since I’d forgotten to leave it with him. After that, I headed back to Stanley’s room, stopping just short of his door. I took a quick peek around the corner to make sure the governor or his entourage weren’t standing outside. They weren’t, so I approached the room. Labonte and Pepper still flanked the door.

  “Is the governor inside?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Labonte said. “He just left.”

  “Is Stanley awake yet?” I stepped toward the door.

  Pepper pried himself out of the plastic chair. “Whoa, Mag, you can’t go in there.”

  “Is he awake?”

  Pepper started to inflate himself.

  “Give it a rest, George.” I held up the paperwork. “Frank’s orders. I’m sure you heard, you’re off the case and I’m off protection. LA wants detailed accounts of the past few days, in particular what happened this morning. I need a couple of statements from the kid.”

  “Frank’s orders?” Pepper asked.

  I nodded. “He just told me on his way out.”

  Pepper glanced at Labonte. Labonte shrugged.

  “He’s awake,” Pepper said.

  I gave a quick knock and walked in. The hospital bed was at a forty-five-degree angle. Stanley was lounging on it. A couple of pillows puffed out from behind his head. The pumping and hissing machines were at a minimum, but the antiseptic smell seemed stronger. Stanley lit up when I walked in.

  “Agent Chase, am I glad to see you, and my laptop.” He motioned for it.

  “Glad you’re doing okay, Stanley, but give it a rest, please.” I nodded at the computer while handing it over.

  He ignored my comment and drew attention to his shoulder, which was wrapped in a huge sandwich of white gauze. “Pretty cool,” he said. “How many times have you been shot?”

  “This is serious. Six inches to the right and two inches down, you’re dead, Stanley.”

  “I’m fine, Agent Chase. You sound like my dad.”

  “You know, Stanley, I dove away from you because I thought the shot was aimed at me.”

  He nodded. “Agent Lemming let me know. So, you didn’t catch the shooter, right?”

  “I tried.”

  “He was far away?”

  I nodded. “What do you remember about the coffee shop, anyway?”

  “Not much before the shot. After the shot, I remember you smacking me, then the ambulance ride.”

  “Lightly smacking,” I corrected.

  “I’m upset with my dad, by the way, for pulling you off duty. It wasn’t your fault. And now I have these guys protecting me?” He motioned to the door. “They’ve talked football for twenty minutes straight. I can hear everything from my bed.”

  “Sorry, kid, I really am.”

  “I want you back on protection. I’m going to convince my dad.”

  “Why’d you pick me anyway? Your father said you requested me. Is that true?”

  “It is.”

  “And why was that?”

  “I knew your history, Agent Chase.”

  “And you still requested me?”

  He smiled. “I can’t tell you how many times I watched that video of you smacking the Marine around. You know, I always wanted a job like yours. Did I tell you that earlier?”

  I shook my head.

  “Are they letting you help on the investigation at least?”

  “I’m doing an unofficial investigation, on my own time. Off the books, understand?”

  “I think.”

  “Just don’t tell your dad, okay? He can’t know.”

  “Got it, I promise.” He nodded fast. “I like secrets.”

  “Thanks.” I scraped a plastic chair over to Stanley’s bedside and took a seat. I needed to smooth things over with Stanley and get on his good side, so I decided to show interest in his situation. “Now tell me about these death threats and what you’ve been doing online. Tell me everything.”

  I only knew a little about Stanley’s situation. I knew he’d developed some theories about a popular TV mystery show a few months ago, and that he wrote a condensed version of his theories on his Facebook page. Surprisingly, his theories about the show turned out to be correct, which gained him a large following of fans, or friends, or whatever they’re called on Facebook. Somehow he’d turned his success with the television show into a lot of money. Anyway, a few weeks ago, one fan started posting death threats on Stanley’s wall, telling him to stop with the theories or be stopped, that sort of thing. The fan had a bogus Facebook account and was ultimately untraceable. Most of us in the FBI thought the governor had overreacted by demanding around the clock protection.

  “I’d love to tell you everything, Agent Chase.” Stanley hit a button on the side of the bed and the bed hummed to a near ninety-degree angle. “Have you been watching Stranded on TV? That’s where this all started.”

  I shook my head.

  “Everyone’s been watching it. You haven’t seen it, really?”

  “I watch Food Network and TV Land occasionally, that’s about it.”

  “Well, if you watch TV Land, then you know Gilligan’s Island.”

  “Sure. How does someone your age know Gilligan’s Island?”

  “Some of us young kids like classic TV, too, Agent Chase. Anyway, Stranded is sort of like a modern-day Gilligan’s Island. In fact, the premise is identical; a yacht encounters a massive tropical storm and is washed ashore on an island in the middle of the South Pacific. Where the shows differ are the passengers. In Stranded, there are twenty-five people on the yacht, all part of the wedding party for a famous celebrity couple. They’re on the boat to celebrate the rehearsal party. The interesting thing is that the actors are all B and C list celebrities, and they actually play themselves on the TV show, same name and all. The only actors who don’t play themselves are the super couple.”

  “Super couple?”

  “Yeah, you know how big-time celebrities hook up and the media conflates their name. A super couple.”

  I nodded like I understood.

  “So these twenty-five celebrities are stranded and trying to get off the island, but every week something goes awry with their plans to leave, always some sabotage. Another nod to Gilligan’s Island. The following week viewers learn who was involved in the sabotage and why. There is only one master saboteur, and everyone on the island has something from their past which makes them look like the saboteur.”

  Stanley’s eyes lit up while he paused. He was clearly more excited about the show than I was. I think he wanted me to acknowledge the coolness of the show. When I didn’t respond or show any emotion, he simply carried on. “The cool twist is this: Because the actors play themselves on the show, a lot of viewers wonder if the characters’ back stories are true in the celebrities’ real lives. The producers of the show deliberately used some real-life facts in each character’s back story to fuel that speculation. It created a huge amount of buzz for the show. The show really took off when the celebrities started being killed off, one each week, always in an apparent accident, ultimately ruling them out as the saboteur.”

  He paused. “Cool, right?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Sounds real cool. So how are you profiting from this?”

  Stan
ley pushed up his glasses and smiled. “Since the show drew thirty million viewers a week, other big companies, American Express for instance, wanted in on the action for advertising reasons. American Express and the network teamed up to create this elaborate interactive website about the show. They held weekly contests in which they gave money away to the viewer who predicted the celebrity responsible for the previous week’s sabotage. That’s where I came in. I entered the contests and started winning.”

  I scratched my head. “And how’d you do that?”

  “From the start I had a pretty good idea what the show was about. I had a theory of what I thought the writers were trying to accomplish. So when the contests started, I entered my theories and won. I also posted elaborate versions of what I thought had happened in the weekly episodes on my Facebook site. In my postings on the network website, I linked people to my Facebook site to read more. After I won a few weeks in a row, I started attracting thousands of friends every day to my Facebook page. Two months later, I was approaching almost a million friends.”

  I squinted at him. “A million friends? I don’t get it.”

  “I know, they aren’t true friends, just people who wanted to read what I thought was happening on this show. But that’s what Facebook calls them.”

  “Tell me about the money, Stanley.”

  He leaned forward and looked around. I wasn’t sure why.

  “The place isn’t bugged,” I said.

  “You never know.” He smiled. “Anyway, midway through the frenzy my Facebook page started jamming the server, so I was forced to start my own website. Which turned out to be a gold mine. I used my Facebook page to direct my ‘friends’ to the new website. Within about a week, the site had had around a million hits. Suddenly big companies wanted to advertise on my webpage. I started selling ad space and raking in the money. And you know the rest.”

  “Someone wanted you to stop, so they sent death threats and posted them on your Facebook page.”

  “Yeah, which freaked my dad out and he requested an investigation and protection. I stepped in and requested you, my favorite internet sensation, and now here we are.”

  “Stranded is still running, right? And you’re still doing the webpage?”

  “Yeah, the show is in the final month of production. My theories have turned out to be correct so far and I’m still posting on my webpage. I have obligations to maintain the millions of hits, to keep the advertisers happy.”

  I sat back and ran my hand over my head. “The network must be pissed at you, since you’re predicting what’s happening on the show and taking away the mystery for the viewers.”

  “Actually, the network supports me under the adage of ‘any publicity is good publicity’. They deny any sort of wrongdoing. They’re thrilled with the added buzz I’ve generated. Plus, they’ve already been investigated.”

  I got up from the chair and paced across the room, thinking about Stanley’s death threats.

  “You’re antsy, Agent Chase.”

  I walked back and stopped at the side of his bed. “How much money are we talking about, Stanley?”

  He pushed up his glasses. “Enough to buy a Lexus and a house outright.”

  “Enough to warrant death threats?”

  “I suppose.” He motioned at his wound. “I didn’t take the threats seriously until this.”

  I paced again until a knock on the door stopped me. Pepper swung the door open before we could respond. He stepped in and glared at me.

  “You lied, Mag.” He held up his cellphone. “Frank called. When I mentioned you were in here talking to Stanley, he lost it. He’s beyond pissed.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Ishould’ve gone straight back to the office and smoothed things over with Frank, but I didn’t.

  I went home instead. Frank needed time to calm down. When I saw him next, it would be best to have the paperwork completed. Unfortunately, I couldn’t go inside my house because yellow police tape was stretched across the front porch. Plus, there was a police sticker on my front door I couldn’t tamper with. It looked like a major crime scene. I sighed and wondered if Gina had taken a picture of my front door. No doubt she’d log that picture as evidence against me at the custody hearing.

  I pushed away the negative thoughts and drove to a motel a few blocks from my place. The Faded Blue motel was one of two motels in town. The other motel was a Motel 7 and I refused to stay there. After the Maglite incident, I refused to stay at any Motel 7, ever.

  I checked in with the front desk clerk. He gave me a key to room twelve.

  When I arrived at room twelve, I opened the door and thought I’d stepped into the seventies. Orange shag carpet greeted my feet and wood paneling filled my vision. A faint smell of mold combined with sea air lingered in the room. The queen bed had a blue comforter with overlapping orange circle shapes on it. The drapes had the same color scheme and pattern. There was a small kitchen with tiny white appliances. The kitchen table was white and had a chrome edge about four inches thick. The chairs matched the table’s style. It was definitely retro, but not the cool kind of retro.

  I pulled a chair tight to the table and began Frank’s paperwork. It took most of the afternoon to fill out the mind-numbing forms. After that, I went to the motel office to use the free internet on their archaic computer.

  Tapping on the dirty computer keys, I logged onto email. I wanted to send Mick a message. For all I knew he could be overseas and not using his cell, and I really needed to hear from him. I had to figure out what was going on and Mick was the perfect person to bounce some theories off.

  The connection took forever. While the modem beeped and whirred, I sat and stared out the window. As I gazed out the window, I noticed a car parked across the street from the motel. It was idling, and a little suspicious looking. I went to the edge of the window for a closer look. The burgundy car was police issued, for sure. It looked like a Crown Vic. The side windows had heavy tint and the back window had a lighter coat. I could just barely make out the silhouette of a man’s upper body above the steering wheel. He was turned to the side, looking directly at the motel office.

  Keeping my eye on the car, I went back to the computer and fired off a message to Mick, telling him to contact me ASAP via email. After that, I turned my full attention to the Crown Vic, which still looked odd and out of place.

  I got up and left the office, crossed the street, and ambled toward Stanley’s Lexus. I made sure not to look at the suspicious vehicle. As soon as I stuck the key in the door, I heard the Vic’s gearshift drop into drive. I looked up and watched the Crown Vic zoom away. The sun shone through the passenger side of the car and lit up the driver from the side. The silhouette of the man was unmistakable, especially the messed up, puffy hair.

  Gates? Are you kidding me? Was he watching me?

  I leaned against the SUV and thought some more. What was his problem? Was he somehow the key to this morning’s mystery? I smoothed my hands over my scalp a few times. I didn’t know the answer, but I knew I had to find out. Maybe Mick could find out some information. He definitely had abilities and the necessary security clearance to look into it.

  After grabbing the paperwork from the motel room, I headed to work. When I arrived at Frank’s office, his blinds were open and his back was to me. He was talking on the speakerphone, which meant he was mildly ticked. When Frank was pissed, he bent over the speaker and shouted into it. He only used the receiver when he was calm.

  I waited until Frank hung up. He saw me through the blinds and sighed, collapsing into his chair. He didn’t motion me in, but I went anyway.

  “What if the governor came back when you were in the room with Stanley?” He held out both hands. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “He didn’t, Frank.”

  “What if he finds out you were there anyway?”

  “It’s taken care of. Stanley will keep it on the down-low. Trust me. And besides, I was just returning the kid’s laptop.”

&n
bsp; Frank pushed back from his desk and stood. “I can’t handle you anymore, or trust you for that matter. I told you not to do anything stupid. You’re exhausting.” He waved his hand at the stack of papers. “That done?”

  I nodded.

  “Thorough?”

  “Every detail.” I put the stack on his desk.

  “Good.” He pushed up his sleeves. “Now you’re done.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re officially not unofficially working anymore.”

  I held up my hands. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “Honestly, I don’t either. The one thing I do know, however, is that you’re making this harder on yourself, and for me.”

  “I just went to give the laptop back.”

  “Really?”

  “Okay, I wanted to find out why he requested me, and see if I could smooth things over a little.”

  “Exactly.” He pointed a stumpy finger at me. “After I clearly told you to drop it. And don’t for a second think I believe you were asking the kid questions for the LA report. Please spare me that lie.”

  I folded my arms and stared at him. He didn’t say anything.

  After a few awkward moments, I said, “Do you happen to know of another federal agent working Stanley’s case?” I really didn’t want to mention Gates to Frank, but I needed any information I could get on the man.

  “Another agent?” Frank pushed his greasy hair off his forehead. “From where?”

  “I’m not sure exactly.”

  “What the hell’s going on, Chase?”

  “An agent by the name of Anfernee Gates has some sort of beef with me. He’s been tailing me, and it appears he’s investigating me for some reason.”

  Frank threw up his hands. “Just great.”

  “It wouldn’t have to do with my suspension, would it?”

  “No way. Not a chance. That’s definitely an internal matter.” Frank turned and thought for a moment, then turned back. “Why would a federal agent be investigating you? What aren’t you telling me? Actually, I don’t want to know. Scratch that question.”