issue featured reprints of her thirty most memorable restaurant reviews, then tributes to Kent’s contributions to the culinary world from famous chefs.
“This one’s a big one,” Shea warned, a bit nauseous now and regretting the wine Carrie had insisted she drink while Carrie had tried to talk her down.
The article had been one thing. Everything else was another—“everything else” being what she’d found when she’d done a Google search on the phrase “Where is Kent?” Everything from heartfelt concern to conspiracy theories abounded. And it wasn’t just speculation from fans. People claiming to be insiders had also weighed in: staff at iconic restaurants, bigwig culinary bloggers—even a few other food critics. It seemed a podcast had even gone into production, its raison d’être to be to prove that Kent’s disappearance was a hoax.
“Are you in danger?” Kendrick asked. The shuffle of bed coverings could be heard.
Was she? Shea didn’t really know. Did she think a deranged fan who wished she’d resume her column would kidnap her, take her to restaurants and force her to review food? All of this—every piece of it—was deranged. When people who didn’t know you were doxing you—gleefully searching for personal details you’d deliberately kept private—that sure felt like being under attack. It made her even more uneasy about being up on Elk Mountain in her big house all alone. It also called into question Tasha’s theories about Keenan’s spying attempts. If zealous fans were looking for her, the hacking attempts on her email might not have been him.
“I’m Kent.” When he didn’t answer, she clarified. “…as in, Kent, the food critic. The one who published his final column a week before I left New York.”
“For real?” Kendrick sounded a lot more awake. “And that happened, like, right under my nose?”
“All my friends were kind of part of it. All those times we met up for dinner, but I wanted to pick the place and I always insisted on ordering, like, a million things…”
“Damn, girl…” Kendrick trailed off, still sounding surprised. “I thought you just liked to eat.”
“I need your help,” Shea repeated, trying to get him focused. “I know you’re, like, this computer genius…and I don’t know the technical terms for anything that you do, but I’m really hoping you’ll work some of your data privacy magic on me.”
Kendrick had made his millions from selling anti-spyware technology that changed the data security game. He’d once confessed after a few drinks that he’d been approached by every major government agency to come and hack for them. As far as cyber-security geeks went, Kendrick was like their king.
“Shea.” She heard a refrigerator open and close, then the suck and pop of an old-style glass bottle being opened. “I can’t work anything if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on.”
She’d bet money Kendrick was drinking a short-neck, cane sugar Coke. In the midst of this madness, she was buoyed by evidence of an old habit of his that had remained unchanged.
“Look,” Shea finally relented. “The plan was to leave Kent behind. I said goodbye and walked away. Like, no contact with my fans or my editor or anybody. I have no idea how anyone’s tracing me. The computer I used for all that stuff is in New York. But some of the theories about where I am…they’re getting warm.”
What she couldn’t tell him was that the cyberstalking could have been any combination of fans and Keenan’s people and that the stakes were high for her to not be found. Telling him that might mean telling him she was not only freeloading, but harboring a ton of not-quite-stolen money in his house.
“What do you need me to do? You want me to find people who are looking into you and throw them off the scent?”
“No.” That was exactly the sort of thing that would lead Kendrick straight to Keenan. And if Kendrick could even do that, it was creepy as hell.
And Shea still couldn’t get the criminal pieces out of her mind. She didn’t want to ask Kendrick to do anything illegal that would aid and abet someone who was possibly in trouble with the law.
“I just want you to lock my computer down, or help get me one that’s secure. Make it so I can do some clean-up related to Kent, undetected. I want to reach out to my editor, log onto my social media, read some of my private messages. There are things out there that are true—things no one could possibly have known