Raincheck (Caldwell Brothers Book 6)

by Colleen Charles

  Troy cocks his head toward the executive elevator. “He’s in his office with his ass on the chrome throne. Fair warning, though. He’s in a wicked bad mood. He’s either lacking pussy or scotch. Probably pissed off his wife with his bipolar bullshit.”

  “Great,” I mutter sarcastically. “That’s just perfect.”

  “What’s wrong?” Troy narrows his eyes and cocks his head to the side. Despite his dark aviator sunglasses and giant muscular body, he looks like a sweet puppy dog when it comes to Caldwell, his brother from another mother.

  My lips tug up at the corners as I turn and jog backward. “I’m about to make his day a little worse. Later, man.”

  I push past the crowds of gamblers and down the private hallway marked ‘employees only.’ It’s quieter back here, but somehow that just makes my stomach flip over again. By the time I get to Caldwell’s office door, I have to pause and take a deep breath before knocking.

  “Caldwell?” I call, rapping on the door with one fist. “You in there?”

  “Come in!” A harsh bark blisters my ears, and I groan silently before pushing the door open and stepping inside. This meeting will not be the highlight of my day. Taking a dump after waking this morning will probably serve as the only bright spot.

  Caldwell sits behind his desk with a full bottle of San Pellegrino next to his computer. He toys with the cap, twisting it on and off and listening to the sound of fizzing carbonation. He looks up and jerks his head to the side in greeting.

  “Hey.” I ease down into a leather armchair in front of his massive chrome desk.

  “What’s up?” He puts the bottle of mineral water down and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks tired – there are dark circles under his eyes, and his normally tanned skin looks paler than usual.

  “About my software–”

  Caldwell holds up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t apologize, Hawk. This wasn’t your fault. Giovanetti has screwed up things that I thought were unscrewable.”

  “I think I know a workaround, though.” I lean forward, gauging his interest in my plan B. “There’s someone new on the scene – new to Vegas, even. Some guy who goes by Ostrich. The word is, he’s developed some kind of software very similar to what I was working on before Dante torched my lair.”

  He nods, signaling me to continue. “When tempted to fight fire with fire, remember that the fire department uses water.”

  “No shit. Which is why killing Dante and burying his body out in the desert isn’t a viable option. And I was thinking – this Ostrich guy and I, we could collaborate.”

  “Well, I do need the software. As soon as possible. And I’m willing to pay big for it.” He narrows his eyes. “What about you?”

  “Huh?”

  “What kind of incentive do you have? What are you gonna offer this Ostrich? I can’t imagine he’ll want to give up any of the credit for something so revolutionary.”

  I sigh and lean back in the chair. Caldwell can’t know the truth of my financial situation – that I’ve spent a ton of money on a secret project. I’ve been searching for someone, which means the best private investigators money can buy, and I’m not ready to talk about that. With anyone.

  I’m a little cash poor but asset rich.

  “All I know is that this guy has to work with me,” I say, avoiding Nixon’s question. “He should be glad to work with me – I’m a big deal in the security world. I’ve built a reputation. And as you know, it’s well-deserved.”

  “You’re damn right. It’s just you techie guys.” He shakes his head, drumming his fingers on his gleaming desk. “It’s like you don’t know how to work together. You’re loners by nature and smart as fuck. You’re the poster children for not playing well with others.”

  “Well, this time, we will,” I say sharply. “Because I don’t really have another choice.”

  My friend nods again. “I’m proud of you for sucking it up. Because this could be huge for the Armónico.”

  “Yeah,” I say drily. “Trust me. I know.”

  Chapter Four

  Waverly

  I fall asleep in front of my computer after a long night of coding. In the morning, I wake up with a stiff neck and sore back.

  “Yikes,” I mumble, sitting up and stretching. “What happened?”

  No one answers my question. Cheetos dust and empty Monster cans litter my couch, and Neon is nowhere in sight. Rolling my eyes, I limp out of my chair and stretch feebly against the bottom steps.

  While most people would be horrified with my life, it satisfies me in a way I never thought possible.

  Growing up, I’d wanted nothing more than to impress my dad, a billionaire consultant in Silicon Valley. Dad seemed like the coolest – and also most intimidating – guy in the world. But unlike a lot of other rich jerks, Dad scrapped his way to the top on his own terms. He worked his ass off to become the leading man in his field, and that still impresses me to this day.

  From a young age, Dad instilled important values in me. He never wanted me to grow up entitled or spoiled. It was hard sometimes. Back when I was an undergrad, I ate ramen noodles for a solid two months after spending my savings and food money on a gaming PC. I could’ve asked my father for help, but that was something I’d sworn I’d never do, no matter what. Knowing that my dad had gone from rags to riches on his own was more than enough incentive for me to do the same.

  Now, at twenty-six, I feel that I’m finally on the brink of creating something that will propel me into the same league as Dad. He doesn’t know what I’m working on yet – I’ve deliberately kept it quiet – but I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I tell him that his baby girl invented software that’s going to sell for millions, if not billions, of dollars.

  Making my father proud motivates me in a way I find difficult to articulate.

  A thumping sound from upstairs interrupts my thoughts, and I groan before ascending the stairs and walking into the kitchen. Of course, Neon stands behind my range with a half-apron wrapped around his skinny waist.

  “It’s almost morning,” he says. “You hungry?”

  I snort. “I’d love to see what you’re making. Considering I never have any food on hand.”

  Neon grimaces. “Yeah. What’s up with that? The only thing I found in the fridge was a jar of mayo...and it expired last January.”

  I giggle, then bite off the sound. I don’t giggle and am annoyed by women who do. “That’s not even mine. It was here when I moved in – I guess it belonged to the previous owner.”

  “Oh my god, gross.” He makes a face, then reaches into the fridge and tosses the offending mayo into the trash. “Anyway, I went out and got some stuff.”

  I glance over the island counter-top. There’s an empty cardboard spiral of cinnamon rolls, as well as a container of eggs with yolk dripping all over the Styrofoam. There’s even a plastic tub of syrup, leaking sticky brown goop all over the marble of the counter.

  “Great,” I say sarcastically. “And just where is this feast?”

  Neon points behind me. Whirling around, I see the kitchen table covered with plates of food. It doesn’t look restaurant-appealing, but I do have to admit that it smells good. I walk over and grab a piece of toast before sitting down and biting into it.

  I groan in appreciation. “This is good.”

  Neon gives me a deadpan look. “It’s toast. Don’t you want anything else?” He pours a mug of coffee, then comes over and joins me at the table. Neon cuts into the cinnamon rolls and spoons a heaping mess of warm, sticky dough onto my plate. He hands me the icing packet before helping himself to three rolls and a huge forkful of scrambled eggs.

  “You know, you really didn’t have to make all the eggs. Whatever gave you the impression that I wanted breakfast, anyway?”

  Neon shrugs as he spears a huge forkful.

  “Well, thanks,” I mutter before drizzling icing over my cinnamon roll. I have to admit that it is good, and I actually close my eyes while eating a
s the sugar seeps into my bloodstream.

  “I got a lot of good work done last night,” I say after I’m finished chewing. “I think I’m almost ready to start selling my baby.”

  Neon lifts a shaggy eyebrow. “Oh, yeah, superstar?”

  I narrow my eyes and reach for a forkful of eggs. “Yeah. What? You didn’t think I’d be ready so soon?”

  Neon shakes his head. “It’s not that.” He stares at his eggs, moving them around on his plate with his fork.

  I watch him closely. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” I point my fork in his direction. “And whatever it is, you’d better own up to it.”

  “It’s nothing.” He gives me a guilty look and continues to stir his eggs. “I mean, you’re not going to be happy, so...” He shrugs.

  “Just tell me already.” I push back from the table and cross my arms over my chest. Whenever someone prefaces their next statement with a warning, I know I’m not going to like it. “And don’t try to butter me up with any more food.”

  “Hawk is looking for you. He made some post on the Vegas BBS, and I saw him mention that he wants to meet you. And talk to you.” The last part is tossed at me with a lascivious wink I don’t appreciate any more than the words.

  “What? Fuck that.” I shake my head in defiance. “I don’t want anything to do with that asshole.”

  “Waverly, come on. He’s not that bad. I mean, he’s an arrogant jerk like most self-made rich bastards. But he’s not that bad.”

  I squint at him as if he’s speaking in tongues. To me, he is. “I’m sorry, did you put crazy pills in these eggs? What on earth makes you think I’d agree to meet with him?”

  Neon frowns. “Why do you hate him so much, anyway? Your reaction just isn’t normal. You should respect him and his talent if nothing else.”

  “I don’t hate the dude,” I lie. “I just...don’t feel like collaborating with anyone else. This is a solitary business, you know. It’s not like I depend on anyone else to help me get my shit done. And I don’t want an asshole telling me what to do, or worse yet, thinking he could do better.”

  “Yeah,” Neon says lamely. The atmosphere between us turns awkward on a dime. He gets up from his chair and stretches. “Look, maybe I should go.”

  “Maybe you should.” I dip my finger in the last of the icing on my plate and lick the tip. It doesn’t taste good anymore. Knowing that Mr. Jerkface wants to meet with me actually makes me regret eating anything at all. My stomach churns and grinds in protest.

  Neon’s almost to the front door before he turns around. “Look, Wav, just give him a chance, okay? He’s not going to eat you and spit you out or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I grumble. “See you later.”

  Neon leaves, slamming the door in his wake. I look around my disaster of a kitchen and wonder if I should clean up. The prospect is thoroughly unappealing though, and I get to my feet and head back down to the basement, a piece of toast clutched in my hand. It’s not like they have picnic ants in Vegas, anyway, I reason as I enter my lair and sit down in front of my PC. What’s the worst that could happen?

  Rats.

  I shove that thought away and carry on in my usual, diligent focus. Hawk brings out the worst in me, even in my thoughts. As much as I want to get Hawk out of my head, I can’t stop thinking about what Neon said. Against my better judgment, I log onto the Vegas Tech Forum and scroll through the most recent posts. Sure enough, the top post is titled Ostrich?

  I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. What does this asshole want with me? And why does he want it badly enough to enlist the entire hacking community of Las Vegas? As much as I don’t want to admit it, the whole thing intrigues me in a way.

  Biting my lip, I start typing a reply but end after only one word. If he has more than one brain cell floating around in his head, he’ll get it.

  Marco...

  After my cryptic but public post, I private message Hawk my address and a time – two hours from now. I tell him to just walk right in, the front door will be open, and I’ll be in my lair downstairs. Then I push back from my PC and run upstairs. Assuming Hawk shows on time, I’ve got a lot of work to do.

  Two hours later, I sit behind a giant black panel, wearing my gaming headset. Every hair on my body stands at attention for this little reunion. When I hear the door slam followed by heavy footsteps, my stomach does a flip-flop.

  “Down here,” I call in a loud voice. To my relief, the voice-altering modification I coded works perfectly – I sound just like Darth Vader. “In the lair!”

  Hawk’s footsteps come closer and closer until I can sense that he stands a mere foot away. For a split second, I wish I’d already installed security cameras so I could see the look on his arrogant face.

  “Sit down,” I order. “On the couch.”

  “Ostrich?” Hawk sounds confused. “Where are you?”

  I laugh, but it sounds more like a Vincent Price cackle. “Oh, I’m here. We’ll be talking just like this.”

  Hawk mutters something unintelligible under his breath, and I hear the couch creak underneath his weight.

  “So,” I growl. “Why are you here?”

  “I hear you’ve been working on some kickass technology, some software for gaming,” Hawk begins.

  “You heard wrong, but that doesn’t surprise me. It’s InfoSec software.”

  “Yeah, but you’re gonna make a ton of money when you sell it to casinos.” The silence between us tingles with electricity. Like something’s about to happen, and it could go either way.

  “And what’s that to you? You’re Mister Big Shot around town. Why do you care what I’m working on?”

  Hawk sighs in exasperation, and the sound fills me with a joy I can’t really explain outside of the fact that it just makes me happy to yank his chain. Payback’s a bitch.

  “Because someone really dangerous is going to fuck with you,” Hawk finally says.

  “So? Let him. I’m tough.”

  Hawk doesn’t reply, and I’d give anything to know his thoughts. Maybe someday I can invent mind control software.

  “I need your help,” Hawk says after a long pause. “See, I was working on something similar. And this man – that asshole, the dangerous one – somehow broke into my house and set fire to my entire lab.”

  Is he being serious? And why do I give a damn?

  I lift my chin even though he can’t see me. “And why should I care? Sounds like you weren’t giving your work the priority it deserves. I give zero fucks for carelessness.”

  Hawk sighs again, irritation escaping on every word. “Because we stick together, the coders and hackers in Vegas. It’s a close-knit community. You know that. And if you don’t...you should.”

  “I don’t know why I should bother helping someone I just met,” I snap. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “Because I was working on the same damn thing as you,” Hawk snaps, his temper flaring. “And if you don’t collaborate with me, bad things are going to happen to you. And not just you – all of Vegas. If Dante gets his way–”

  I sit up straighter. “Whoa, whoa. Dante?”

  “He owns the Mona Lisa casino, and he’s constantly trying to control the whole damn city. Mafia, you dipshit. You think you can fuck with them and live to tell?”

  I laugh, but inside, my insides twist into a knot of fear. I don’t want to have anything to do with organized crime. I value honesty and integrity, just like my dad. “So?”

  “So, we have to work together.” The vulnerable plea in his voice almost makes me waver. But only almost. In the end, my hatred for him overrides my fear of Dante Giovanetti.

  “Fuck off,” I say. “I don’t care if Doctor Evil extorts Vegas for one million dollars – there’s no way you’re getting your dirty hands all over my work.”

  Chapter Five

  Hawk

  I blink, shaking my head. Am I really hearing this guy right?
And what kind of an asshole doesn’t step into the light so I can see him. Is he ugly? Disfigured?

  “Look.” I narrow my eyes even though he can’t see how pissed off I am in this moment. “I don’t know where this hostility is coming from. But I’d like to work together.”

  Ostrich falls silent.

  “And I think we could do really great things.”

  Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

  “What do you think?” I want to reach up and slap myself when I hear the hesitancy in my own damn voice. This isn’t like me to grovel. But I’m backed into a corner.

  Again, nothing but silence. I clench my hands into fists and exhale loudly.

  Ostrich laughs – a dark, deep sound that just makes me see red as my pulse throbs through my ears.

  “Getting frustrated?” Ostrich asks. “What’s the matter...Hawk?”

  “For one thing.” I stand up and loom over the screen. Part of me wants to use my combat boot to kick it down. “You asked me over here to speak with you...and you’re not talking.”

  “Well, you haven’t said much worth responding to.” Ostrich ends his sentence with an annoying little cackle that’s half Halloween and half daycare. “And right now, you’re just wasting my time.”

  “The fuck I am,” I growl in response. “And if you continue to ignore the threat of Dante Giovanetti, you’re headed straight for some serious shit. And I won’t be here to make this offer again or help you pick up the pieces. Of your corpse.”

  “Oh, I’m so scared,” Ostrich says sarcastically. He yawns loudly, I’m sure for effect.

  “Come out from behind that screen, and talk to me face to face, like a man.”

  “Don’t think so.” A snort flies through the speakers that sounds more like cannon fire. “I’ve got better things to do. Aren’t you finished yet, so you can get the hell out of my house?”

  For a moment, I’m too stunned to speak.

  “Besides, I don’t really think I should trust a guy stupid enough to let this villainous Dante break into his house and destroy all of his work. I mean, that’s pretty careless. Where’s your backup? Where’s your safety net? What is wrong with you?”