Mozart_182: Distinguished composer looking for music lover.
Jack shifted impatiently against the seat of his car, squinting at the screen in front of him. The screen glowed in the dimness of the garage lighting. What would he do if this didn't work?
Handel_4me wants to chat privately.
She's there, he thought to himself with relief.
Handel_4me: Couldn't believe it when I saw your ad in the London Globe.
Jack smiled slightly. The wording of the personal ad was…unusual. Easy to remember. He hoped she didn't expect him to deliver on that particular promise.
Mozart_182: Glad you're alive.
Handel_4me: You should have known better.
A snort reverberated inside the car.
Mozart_182: Our daughter is safe.
Handel_4me: My God. How is she?
Mozart_182: Recovering, though she doesn't remember the last two years. I need your help getting background on a man named Andrian Lazarey.
Handel_4me: Will upload all intel to our FTP dropsite.
Handel_4me: Miss you.
Sucking in his breath, Jack's hands hovered indecisively over the keyboard for a moment.
Mozart_182: Miss you too.
Mozart_182: When can we meet?
Jack bit his lip. Did that sound too eager?
Handel_4me: A meeting is not possible.
"Not possible?" repeated Jack out loud, studying her response. What the hell did that mean? Not possible now? Or ever? He moved to type again, only to read:
Handel_4me has left the chatroom.
He closed his laptop with a snap and sat in the darkness, brooding.
Irina stared at her hands in disbelief. How could they have betrayed her? "Miss you?" What kind of. . .pathetic. . .response was that? She needed to be pushing him away, not trying to pull him closer. Distance…and time. Her formula from 24 years ago. It worked great then, didn't it, said a sarcastic inner voice.
Involuntarily she gazed at the computer screen. WHEN CAN WE MEET? So he didn't know yet. Or he had found out, and was setting her up. She gave herself a mental shake and closed the lid. It didn't matter.
A meeting was not possible.