“You know, just because she has a computer doesn’t make her a killer,” Cal pointed out. “Lots of people have computers.”

“Yeah, but why would she lie about it?”

“To impress a fan? To seem deeper than she is?”

I shrugged him off, watching the welcome screen flicker on. I went through the motions of booting up her system, then quickly started scanning her list of programs for Audio Cloak. But, of course, I still wasn’t that lucky.

“Maybe she deleted it,” Cal offered, reading over my shoulder.

I checked her trash folder. Empty.

“Got any other ideas?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “Sorry, not a computer genius.”

Unfortunately, neither was I. What I was dying to do was take this back to the office, to the one person I knew who was a computer genius. Felix. Only, if I did that, I’d also have to tell him whose it was and how I got it. Not exactly a conversation I was dying to have.

“What about her browser history?” Cal suggested. “If she had to go through the website, it should show up there, right?”

“Brilliant.” I pulled up an Internet Explorer window, then checked her history. A list of websites came up. An online shoe store, two spas, a bank, Variety online.

And Match.com.

I snorted. “Looks like we just found Katie’s dirty little secret.” I clicked the link. And immediately a profile popped up on the screen for “Kate B.,” a single, “friendly, outgoing” woman in the L.A. area looking for a “confidant man who doesn’t mind sharing the spotlight.”

“Is this for real?” Cal asked over my shoulder.

I scanned through her profile. “Sadly, it looks like it.” I thought back to the lonely look in her eyes as she’d told me about her night home alone. Could it be that Katie was really that hard up to find a good man?

Cal shook his head. “Finding love online. What a myth.”

I cringed, my thoughts instantly bounding to my own dirty little secret and Black. “Not necessarily. I’m sure some people hook up that way,” I countered. “There’s no shame in looking for love online.”

Cal raised an eyebrow at me. “Ninety percent of the guys on there are losers or perverts.”

“Well, that still leaves a girl with a 10 percent chance,” I mumbled.

I looked at Kate’s picture. It wasn’t a headshot or studio airbrushed job, but a candid photo of her sitting at a park, an ice cream cone in one hand as she laughed at something off camera. I had to admit, it was nice. Okay, she was a movie star, there was no way any pic of her was going to look hideous. But it was more natural, fresher, than I’d ever seen her.