Page 72 of Jack
He still held Harper’s hand under the table, and she gripped it tighter. “What do we do?”
“We need to get Ty Bowman’s phone to Ranger’s hacker friend.”
“What hacker friend?” Conrad asked, leaning back as the waitress came by the table with fresh sodas and another basket of wings, this one for Jack. Harper had ordered fries and now pulled the basket to herself and grabbed the salt and ketchup.
Jack watched as she made a small pool in the middle of her fries and filled it with ketchup.
“Going to have some fries with your ketchup?”
“Don’t judge. My friend is in mortal danger. I need this.”
He glanced at Conrad, who smiled. “I remember you downing chocolate chip cookies like an All-Pro defenseman.”
She gave him a smile despite the pain on her face. “Who can say no to your mother’s cookies? Besides, my mother doesn’t bake. Or cook. She just . . . fixes people’s problems.”
“Why do you think my mother bakes so well? Cookies after every hockey game, a double batch when we lost. Problem solver.”
She laughed, and Jack scurried around in his brain for that memory Conrad had stirred up. But Conrad was three years younger than him, so he’d been a senior when Harper had entered her freshman year.
Jack hadn’t been around to see this side of her.
And by the way, she was not too young for Conrad, then or now, and that truth grabbed hold and twisted. Especially when Harper looked at Conrad, warmth in her eyes.
Aw. Stop. Jack had no claim on her. Besides, his brother might be wise to be with someone like Harper.
He returned to Conrad’s previous question. “Ranger set us up with a white-hat hacker named Coco Marshall. He said she lives in the area and could take a crack at getting information off Ty Bowman’s phone.”
“Ty Bowman? I remember him. Skinny kid. Boo’s grade.”
“Mygrade,” Harper said.
“He was the driver who was shot.” Jack had picked up his phone, started to dial Stein.
Conrad leaned back. Looked at Jack, who listened to Stein’s phone ring. “My goalie is married to a girl named Coco.”
“Your goalie?”
“Wyatt Marshall—wait—did you say her last name is Marshall?” Conrad leaned up. “She’s sitting right over there.” He pointed to a booth across the room.
Jack glanced over and spotted a woman with dark hair, purple at the roots, seated with a boy, maybe ten. Across from her sat a bigger man, hockey build, and yes, he looked the size of a man who could stop pucks.
“Is she a cyberhacker?”
“How would I know?”
He pulled out Ty’s phone. “I’ll be right back.” Sliding out of the booth, he wove his way across the restaurant.
When he spotted Jack heading his direction, the big hockey goalie leaned back in the booth, his jaw tight, probably ready to fend off a request for an autograph, or maybe a picture, given that Jack held the damaged phone.
He even slid out of the booth, as if to stop him.
Jack turned then and waved to Conrad, who thankfully had eyes on him. Conrad frowned, lifted a couple fingers in a courtesy wave.
It worked. Marshall relaxed, his hands in his pockets by the time Jack walked up to him. Jack stuck out his hand. “Jack Kingston. Conrad’s brother.”
Marshall met his handshake and offered a smile. “Wyatt Marshall. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m actually here to talk to your wife, Coco.”