For Nick to take this seriously, I have to start at the beginning. “You remember the list I gave you.”
“The deals.”
“The deals,” I confirm. I dart my gaze from the road to the rearview. No black SUV, though the silver sedan looks familiar. Or maybe I’m being paranoid. “I said it then. It’s enough to warrant a closer look. Revenge can be sparked by petty things, Nick. It doesn’t take a lot to fuel the beast.
“When we returned from Thailand, we were so busy looking for Isaiah that Constantine wasn’t even on my radar. And for the most part, he didn’t do or say anything that stuck out at me. I might not have noticed it anyway.” My fault. My fault for slapping on the blinders and lulling myself into that false sense of security. Isaiah was smart. Very smart, and we underestimated him. While he could have pulled off the firebombing of Nick’s house and Scott’s shooting without inside knowledge, having help would have made it far more efficient. Help that Constantine could have provided. Since those will be much harder to prove, I set them aside for now.
“My birthday. Who knew what your plans were?”
“No one.”
A siren wails behind us, and I whip the car through a left turn, narrowly missing an approaching truck. “No one? It doesn’t have to be literally. Did you tell anyone it was my birthday and you’d be celebrating with me? Anything like that?”
He hisses out a breath. “I did tell Con. We were at a critical stage in the app testing, and he needed to know I’d be harder to reach for the evening.”
So his cousin may not have known where we were, but he did know Nick would be otherwise occupied. “Would Constantine have any reason to sabotage the app?”
Nick’s response is to pick up the remainder of the toast and eat it slowly. I have to admit it’s a stumbling block in my reasoning. A really big stumbling block. More like a barricade. Why would Constantine willfully and willingly demolish his own hard work?
“The add-on I told you about was his idea.” It takes me a minute to remember what he’s talking about—the add-on that would tell a person searching for a parking space when one just opened up. “When we were halfway through development, he came to me with an offer. Another company wanted to buy the existing code. We fought about it. We’d agreed during the initial development stage that we would launch the app ourselves in order to grow that side of the company. But he eventually backed down and agreed our original plan was the best course of action. Otherwise, no, I can’t think of a reason for Con to work against us.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. It’s the one piece that doesn’t want to fit, no matter how hard I try. In the short time I’ve known him, Constantine’s been fairly laid back when it comes to business. Except…
In the files I searched, Nick’s cousin did protest—regularly—that there was no need for Nick to step in. “It’s kind of out there, but what if… What if Constantine did it so he could, I dunno, swoop in and save the day? Demonstrate you’re not the only one capable of bringing in the money?”
“Constantine has nothing to prove. He’s closed deals before.”
There’s no mistaking the stubbornness in his voice, so I move on. “The day Mom and Turner were taken.”
“He helped us find them, Cassidy.”
“And after? He let Isaiah walk right out the front door. He could have gone after him, and he didn’t.”
“We needed help getting your mother out of the house.” But I hear the first note of doubt, and I pounce on it.
“He found the house in Pasadena so we could keep an eye on Isaiah, and then Isaiah shows up in the backyard. Not only that, he sneaks in minutes after he gets off the phone with you? When he supposedly should have been at the office? And don’t tell me he could have been in the car on his way there,” I say, anticipating Nick’s point. “It would have been ten times harder for him to have the sort of conversation the two of you were having if he was away from his computer.”
Nick sighs. “Cass—”
“No. Let me finish. He’s been weirdly insistent on knowing where you are. You can’t tell me you don’t suspect something. Otherwise we’d still be staying in his guest room. What if he found out about Rafe somehow? His father would know who he is, right?”
“You’re bringing Uncle Anton into this?” he growls.
“I’m saying that just because your father didn’t tell you about Rafe doesn’t mean Anton felt the same. He may have told Constantine for his own reasons. And the shooting the other day? Constantine wasn’t in his office. For all we know, he may not have been in the building. He had his phone off when he’s been on your and everyone else’s asses about the app launch for the last week. Something’s not adding up, Nick.”
I double park in front of Nick’s office. “Whoever’s behind this isn’t waiting around. Two incidents in two days? I don’t want it to be Constantine. But the longer it takes to figure it out, the bigger the risk to you,” I whisper. “I can’t lose you too.”
His scowl softens. “You won’t,” he says. “Let me think about this. It might be Con. It might be someone else.” He opens the door and gathers his crutches. “Don’t be late for class.”
My heart sinks, but I work up a smile for him. Stupid to believe I could convince him in one thirty-minute drive. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” In addition to my morning class, I have back-to-back afternoon classes. The plan is to come to his office and hang out for a few hours while he works.
“Don’t worry about picking me up this afternoon. I’ll call Dad’s driver, have him chauffer me around.” His grin is humorless. “It’s what Dad would have done.”
The extra time will allow me to do more unpacking, even though I won’t be staying at my apartment until Nick has the security system installed. “Are you sure?”
He leans over and kisses me hard. “Go to class. Call me when you get home. Don’t text.”
Home. Not the apartment he rented for me, but my parents’. I wait until Nick’s safely through the front doors, then drive to the apartment, taking a long, circuitous route. It leaves me with less time to get to class, and I walk as fast as I can through the streets to campus. After almost dribbling coffee down my chin despite the mug’s covering, I opt to wait until I’m seated to take another sip.
Campus is already crowded with returning students, and the first hint of discomfort rises. I hear my name a few times, and I wave in the general direction of the sound. Unease creeps higher. So many people. A prime place to pick someone off. Hard to find the shooter in a crowd. Sweat breaks out along my hairline. I grip my travel mug so hard my knuckles ache.
My legs are weak. Breathing is difficult. Each step forward is like wading through rapidly setting concrete, and the unease morphs into panic. This doesn’t make sense. I’m not the target. So why do I feel like there’s a bull’s-eye on my back?
“Cass?” Scott appears by my side, and I blink to clear my vision of the double Scotts. “You all right? You’re kind of pale.”
“I’m fine.” I sway slightly, catching myself before I can stumble. “Actually, I’m not fine.”
He takes my elbow and guides me off the walkway. We stop under a tree. “Maybe you should stay home today.”
I drop my gaze to the ground. The grass is green and springy under my feet. Clean. Alive. I suck in a breath, then blow it out. “No. I can’t miss the first day of classes. I just didn’t expect it to be this hard.” My phone rings in my bag, and I fumble it out, avoiding Scott’s concerned eyes. The cracked screen displays Mom’s number, and I almost drop the phone.
I stab at the accept button until it connects. “Mom?”
“Hi, dear.” The words are hesitant, not nearly as strong as they’ve been the last few times we talked. “It’s the first day of classes, isn’t it?”
I sag against the tree. “Yeah. On my way to class now, actually.”
“Well, that’s good. It’s good you’re back in school. Your father would have wante
d that.” He would have? “Don’t forget to learn.” My lips wobble into a grin as I bite back a sob. There’s a tremor in her voice when she continues. “I’ll be home in a few weeks.”
I swallow hard. “You should come over and see my new place. Stay for dinner.”
“I’d like that. How’s Nick?” she asks. She draws in a breath. “Does it matter that I’m still not sure I approve of him?”
I can practically hear the frown in her voice, and I snort out a laugh. “Not really.” Scott shifts on his feet and glances over his shoulder. The walkway’s less crowded, and I mouth time? at him. He pulls out his phone and holds it up so I can see the clock. “Mom, I have to go. I’m already late for my first class. I love you.”
“I love you too, dear. I’ll call you this afternoon, and you can tell me about your first day.”
I hang up and stuff the phone into my bag. Scott jerks his head to the walkway, and when I take a shaky step forward, he slings his arm around my shoulders. Some of the panic recedes, and we join the flow of students heading toward the north side of campus.
He squeezes my shoulder. “Mom doesn’t approve of the older boyfriend?”
“Some days. Others she doesn’t seem to mind. You still seeing Tori?” We dodge a group of chattering girls standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Yeah. I’m meeting her for lunch if you want to join me.”
“Sure. You guys should have dinner with me and Nick.” We will get through this. We’ll learn to trust each other again. I push the depressing thoughts aside. “That is, if you can handle Tori’s fangirling over Nick.” I shoot him a teasing grin, and he scowls, working his hand under my shoulder to my armpit. He digs his fingers in, and I dance away. “Hey! It’s not my fault!”
He scowls harder. “I’m going to get you for that fangirl comment.”
And as we hurry down the sidewalk, trading playful insults, the last of my panic drains away.
Chapter 22
“Which port does it go in?” I tug on the cable to get more play in the line.
“Any of the top three will be fine.” There’s amusement in his voice, and I glance over my shoulder. Nick’s staring at my ass with a delighted grin on his face. When he notices my glare, his grin widens. “You didn’t really expect me to not appreciate the view, did you?”
“I knew there was a reason you wanted me down here,” I grumble. The giant U-shaped desk arrived shortly after Nick was dropped off this evening along with several boxes of computer equipment. When I took the apartment, I knew the second bedroom would be an office. I just figured it would remain empty for a while. My desk doesn’t take up nearly as much space and fits nicely in the corner of the bedroom, so I didn’t actually need the extra room.
“You do realize I may only be here for a couple months, right?” You do realize you may never move in here, right? I keep the question to myself because he does know. I have no plans to apply to graduate school at UCLA, and provided I actually complete my degree by the end of summer term, I don’t know where I’ll end up. I wiggle the end of the cable into place and back out, keeping my head down so I don’t hit it on the desk.
“Doesn’t matter if it’s a couple of months or a couple of years. If I have this set up, I can work here or at the office. Probably end up working here while you’re in class some of the time.” He hands me the mouse. I stifle a sigh and crawl back under the desk to plug it in.
He leans forward and grabs the mouse as I shove it over the back edge of the desk. I’m conscious of his gaze locked on my ass, and the cable slips through my fingers. I fumble it into place. Heat sweeps through me. It’s like his gaze is setting my skin on fire. “Seriously. You can stop staring any time now.”
“When I do that, you’ll know something’s horribly wrong,” he murmurs.
We finish plugging in the various computer parts without incident. The fans come on with a near-silent whirrr, and soon Nick’s lost in the flow of data and programs and networks.
That’s my cue to fix dinner.
Even though we’re not living together, Nick said to order whatever groceries I wanted, whenever I wanted. I might hate the idea of him paying the majority of the rent on a space he won’t get to use, but I have no qualms about taking food from him. It actually gave me an idea of how to work our way back to each other—standing dinner dates. One or two nights a week, he comes over for dinner.
In the meantime, I may have gone a little overboard with the groceries. Everything was delivered this afternoon, along with a new phone for me. If the zombie apocalypse were to happen, we’d have people breaking down our door to steal our provisions.
I opt for easy and tasty, and forty-five minutes later I set a bowl of sesame turkey and green beans next to Nick’s elbow. He grunts in acknowledgement, and after a minute, I return to the living room and my own dinner.
Balancing a bowl full of ground turkey and rice while simultaneously reading a large, heavy textbook takes practice. Lots and lots of practice. Since I hate my desk and only use it when I need to write a paper, my balancing skills are pro-level. I read about obscure British authors while shoveling food into my mouth, then surprise myself by going back for seconds.
Not eating all day will do that to you, I guess.
I come up for air two long and boring chapters later. The apartment’s silent. No clicking of keys from the office, no muttered curses. I check my phone; it’s going on nine. He can’t have been working all this time.
Is this what life with nick will be like? Quiet evenings with me on the couch, alone, and Nick chained to his computer?
Silly. It wouldn’t be like that all the time. During certain phases of a project, sure. Or when the family business takes precedence. But it won’t be silent and lonely. It can’t be.
I pick up my bowl and carry it into the kitchen, rinse it out, and stick it in the dishwasher. I push up my sleeves and wash the cutting board and the knife. The rice pot still has bits of rice stuck to the bottom, so I fill it with water and set it back on the stove to soak.
Out of things to clean and unwilling to read ahead, I wander into the office. The bowl’s empty. Nick’s slouched in the chair, legs stretched out under the desk, and he’s toggling back and forth between two of the three screens.
Needing to touch him, I loop my arms around his neck and rest my chin on top of his head. “What’re you doing?”
The third screen flashes to life. “There’s something off….” He clicks to the middle screen. “I went into the project server to do some cleanup work. Someone’s been moving things around.”
“And that’s a problem?” I ask. He tips his head back, dislodging my chin, and his expression is properly chastising. “Okay. It’s a problem. Is anything missing?” I follow the movement of the mouse and giggle when I see he has an actual mouse instead of an arrow. “Please tell me you can install that on my laptop.”
“What? The mouse?” He lets it idle, and the mouse sits up and nibbles a piece of cheese.
“Yes, the mouse. Also, why do you have something so stupidly cute and adorable in your programming?”
He sends the mouse scampering up the screen, and I squeak loud enough Nick cringes away from me. What? It’s cute. Stupidly cute, to be exact. Stupidly cute equals high-pitched annoying noises.
“Created it for Lia, originally. And next time you make that sound, please do it in another room where it won’t hurt my eardrums as much.”
“Oh, hush.”
He right clicks, and the mouse becomes a boring arrow.
“Anyway. Are you missing anything?” I ask.
Text blurs as he scrolls down at hyper speed. “Not that I can see. So far,” he amends. I’m surprised he can see anything given how fast the screen’s moving. “Peter mentioned he would be doing a reorg and purge. Fuck knows it needs it. But he wouldn’t be doing it now. He’s got enough to handle.” He takes his hand off the mouse, and the screen stops moving.
The
screens blip. Nick leans forward. “It shouldn’t be doing that, either,” he mutters. He gropes behind one of the monitors, and the cord wiggles slightly. “In tight. Can you check the connections to the tower?”
He scoots the chair back, and I crawl under the desk. “Wiggle the cord again. I don’t know which one it is.” A cord off to the left shakes. I close my hand around it and follow it to the tower. “Plug’s secure.” We repeat the process for the other two monitors. Both are firmly plugged into their respective ports.
“Shit.” He rolls the chair farther away from the center of the desk. “Connection’s secure.” I crawl out from under the desk and brush my hair away from my face. He’s staring at the monitors like he’s afraid if he looks away, he’ll lose data.
And as we’re both watching the monitors, they blip again.
He swears, and I scramble to my feet and out of the way, allowing Nick to attack his keyboard with vicious speed. “If this is a server issue, we’re fucked.”
A thought pops into my head, and my stomach cramps in response. “Nick?” He continues to mutter to himself, running searches and inputting commands. The screens blip, and blip again, and I put a hand on his shoulder. He snarls at me, and I jerk away. “Jesus. I have an idea, all right?”
The chair creaks as he sits back. “Sorry.” He blows out a breath and scrubs his hands over his face. “What’s your idea?”
He won’t like it. He hasn’t said anything about our discussion in the car. If Constantine really isn’t behind all this chaos, I need more information. Someone else to pursue, a direction to go in. I wave a hand at the keyboard. “Can I…?”
At his nod, I hunch over the keys and type in a search request, hoping I spelled it correctly. If someone’s actively deleting data while it’s streaming, that might explain the blips we’re seeing. While the search runs, I step aside and cross my arms over my chest, avoiding Nick’s eyes.
The computer emits a soft duhn-duhn to indicate it’s finished searching. Nick squints at the monitor. “Sager?”
Game of Lies Page 17
