Catching the Storm

4. We Meet Again

His name was Noah Hastings. His eyes were hazel, his hair a dirty blonde, and he was a little over five and a half feet tall. He was a skinny, nerdy looking kid. He was seventeen years old and had only been working with Jackson Storm for a little over a year now. He was a hacker, and one of the better ones I'd heard of. The kid was a genius when it came to computers. How he'd managed to go and get himself mixed up with Jackson Storm though, I didn't even want to know.

In searching for Jackson Storm, Marrek had managed to figure out that Storm had a hacker helping to cover his tracks. And in digging deeper I was the one to identify that hacker as Noah Hastings. So, the logical next step was to gather any all information about him. Unfortunately, the only information we'd been able to access was three years old. Nothing recent or new about Noah could be found anywhere. He was just about as invisible as Jackson Storm.

But I was properly motivated. So I'd found out absolutely everything about him as possible.

I could hear them talking as they stepped onto the yacht. Laughing. I kept my back to the door of the lounge, pretending to admire the painting on the wall as the door is opened. I could still hear him talking and the kid laughing.

Though he didn't seem to notice when Noah abruptly silenced.

I turned and looked over my shoulder, my eyes connecting with Noah's. He stared at me wide-eyed and it was only then that Jackson Storm finally stopped and looked in the direction Noah was staring. Looked right at me.

Looked at me, but didn't recognize me. I fought the urge to smile widely. And barely succeeded.

"Can I help you?" Storm asked me, eyeing me with suspicion. I did notice, however, that he took his time checking me over, his eyes lingering on my chest a few seconds too long.

If I hadn't already had in a plan in mind, I would have closed the distance between the two of us and smashed my fist into his face.

Instead, I gave him a polite smile. "I hope so," I replied innocently. I took a step in his direction. Satisfied when his eyes still showed no sign of recognition.

Really, I hadn't even changed all that much. My hair fell just past my shoulders now, instead of to my hips and was a midnight black instead of the previous golden blonde. I removed the blue contacts so my eyes were back their original grey. Instead of the overpriced blouses, occasional dresses, and heels I'd worn practically every time he'd seen me, I was wearing a pair of black slacks, black flats, a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up past my elbows, and a long black coat over it all. The full make-up I usually wore was toned down to just lipstick and eyeshadow.

I stared him in the eyes without giving anything away. "You are Jackson Storm," I said. "aren't you?"

His eyes immediately grew warier but it didn't show on his face. Instead, he smiled as if everything was perfectly fine. "I'm sorry," He said smoothly. "but you have the wrong person. And the wrong yacht for that matter. I'm kindly going to ask you to leave."

The way he spoke, the way he lied was so smooth and fluently, as if he genuinely believed what he was telling you. Those kinds of people were always the best kind of liars. Unfortunately for him, I now knew him. How he operated, the things he'd say. And if I had never met him before, I would have totally believed him just now.

But I had met him before. And I knew he was lying through his teeth. He was doing it exceptionally well though, but I was like a shark when there was blood in the water. I wasn't going away.

My anger with him also kicked up a notch when I noticed his eyes were a crystal blue, his skin a golden tanned, and his hair a golden blonde . . . the same blue as the contacts I had worn. The same golden blonde my hair had been. He also wore one of my father's watches on his wrist.