Free The Hunt by Jennifer Sturman Page B

leaving, and not just because of Hilary’s dress. Iggie’s driving a Lamborghini these days.”
    Luisa whistled, which I assumed meant a Lamborghini was impressive. She felt about cars the way Hilary felt about Luke Perry.
    “The crazy thing is, Iggie wasn’t the only one—somebody else at the party was driving the exact same make and model,” said Peter. “The kid couldn’t remember who. He only remembered Iggie because he was with Hilary, and he couldn’t understand what someone like her would be doing with a guy like him. He also said Iggie tipped him with a hundred-dollar bill and told him to buy Igobe stock when it goes public.”
    “So we’ve confirmed that Hilary left with Iggie and then went to the hotel to get her laptop and notebook, just like we thought. Did you see anything else of interest on the security tape?” I asked Ben.
    “A couple of things, but I don’t know if they’re relevant. Somebody else from the party came and went about fifteen minutes after Hilary—going up to the same floor and then leaving a few minutes after that. I didn’t actually meet him at the party, but I have a good memory for faces, and I’m pretty sure it was the same guy.”
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    “What did he look like?” I asked.
    “About our age. Medium height, brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses. Sort of an average-looking preppie in a blazer and khakis.”
    Ben’s words were almost exactly the same as those I’d used to describe Alex Cutler to myself.
    “That sounds like your friend Alex,” I said to Peter.
    “True,” he said. “But it also sounds like half the guys in the Bay area. And what would Alex be doing going in and out of the Four Seasons at midnight?”
    “What else did you see?” Luisa asked Ben. “You said there were a couple of interesting things.”
    Ben grinned, the first full-on smile I’d seen from him this weekend. “I’m not sure you want me to say.”
    “What do you mean?” asked Luisa.
    “Well, I saw you.”
    “Oh,” she said, with dawning realization. Her blush had begun to subside, but Ben’s words seemed to reignite it.
    “The security guards were pretty psyched,” said Ben. “They wanted to rewind the tape and watch it again.”
    “Oh,” repeated Luisa, her cheeks reddening even more.
    “Oh?” I asked.
    “Who wants to know what was on the memory stick?” she said.
    “Who wants to change the subject?” I asked.
    “What was on the memory stick?” asked Peter, coming to Luisa’s rescue.
    Luisa flashed him a grateful look. “Two files,” she said. “I think the first is encrypted somehow—no matter which program I used to open it, all I ended up with was a bunch of ones and zeros.”
    “I can check that out later,” said Peter. “I might be able to figure out how to decrypt it. What was the other file?”
    “That one’s text—a beginning draft of Hilary’s article,” she said. “And it looks as if she definitely intended to focus on Iggie’s company. There was only the title and an opening paragraph, but what little she’d written is all about him and Igobe, and it’s quite provocative.”
    “Provocative?” asked Peter. “How?”
    “Does she say anything about Iggie’s wardrobe? Or about how he calls himself the Igster?” I asked.
    “I think the working title says it all. Ready for this?” We waited expectantly as she exhaled a stream of smoke. “‘Igobe: Naked Emperor 2.0?’”
    “Question mark included?” I asked. She nodded.
    “‘Naked Emperor 2.0?’ What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Ben.
    “I would guess it’s a reference to ‘the emperor has no clothes,’” said Luisa, omitting the
    “obviously” with which I would have started my own response to that question.
    “And it’s a play on Web 2.0, which is how people are referring to the most recent wave of Internet companies,” I added. “What does the rest of it say?”
    “As I said, it’s only the first paragraph, but it makes clear from the outset that she thinks