Cutting Loose by Tara Janzen Page B

all this information will be streaming to you.”
    His gaze went to the eight-track slot on the dash. Well, that was an unexpected upgrade, a Bazo.
    â€œI’ll set the PC to automatically open a file and save everything I send,” the voice continued, “so you can access it at any time. In one minute, your tracking map will be in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.”
    A small, hardly bigger than palm-size computer slid silently out of the eight-track opening. It tilted itself upright, then came on, lighting up with a stream of data scrolling across its screen.
    â€œThirty seconds,” the voice said. “Your speaker will be on, with two-way secure communication with me here at Steele Street, and I will terminate this call. The PC has a camera, which will also be turned on. Anything you want turned off, just let me know. Scorpion Fire has requested that we be of service to you. If you need something, ask.”
    As a matter of fact, he did have a question.
    â€œWhat can I call you?”
    â€œSB303.” She no sooner spoke than a stream of pixels washed down the small PC screen—and there she was, in living color, in real time.
    An odd, unexpected emotion gripped his heart.
SB303
. He didn’t know her, but he did. It was in the chopped blond bangs and the platinum-blond ponytail. It was in the tattoo he saw snaking over the top of one of her shoulders. It was in the hot pink bustier, in her soft mouth and her button nose—and it was in her eyes, pale, silvery blue eyes looking straight through him.
    SB303
. Street girl. She’d been there. A long scar coursed diagonally across her forehead and cut through one of her eyebrows.
    She’d been hurt.
    â€œHi, Zach,” she said, a warm, surprised smile curving her mouth, her voice coming through the speaker in the onboard computer system.
    The odd emotion intensified for another second, then another, before he was able to put it aside, compartmentalize it, and move on.
    â€œSB303.” He nodded once. It was a street name, a tag, her initials and the Denver area code.
    â€œHere comes your tracking map on the Aston Martin,” she said, and the map appeared in the upper-right-hand corner of the small screen.
    He heard the phone call get disconnected, and he pocketed his cell.
    â€œYou should know that as long as your Bazo PC is up and running, I’m tracking you,” she said. “If you want the signal terminated, I can give you the code, but we would prefer to stay with you and provide support.”
    â€œWe?”
    â€œThe team.”
    The team. She meant SDF, and SDF meant Dylan, and he didn’t doubt for a moment that if Dylan wanted to track him, he’d be tracked—unless a direct order to the contrary was forthcoming from Alex. The same went for voice communications. If he determined it was in the best interest of the mission to disappear off the grid, his call to Alex would be the last one Steele Street monitored.
    He checked the map and made his next turn. The Sunset Motel wasn’t far now, only a couple of miles.
    â€œCan I use the Bazo as a secure line anywhere?”
    â€œYes.”
    Good.
    Any line of communication could be intercepted. The advantage of using the Bazo lay in its distance from him. No one would be listening for Alejandro Campos on a line routing from a 1968 Shelby Cobra, through Denver, to wherever he called—except, for now, SDF and SB303.
    And Lily Robbins. She was listening to every word.
    â€œKeep the signal on.” If something happened to him, it wasn’t a bad idea for someone to know how to find her. “I have a passenger.”
    â€œLily Lamont Robbins?”
    Yeah. Lamont. That was right. He gave the computer screen a quick glance.
Christ
. What didn’t the woman know? The name had been in Lily’s dossier, sure, along with her married name of Lily Bersani, but how had SB303 known she was with him?
    â€œSorry about