by Tracy Deebs
“I didn’t know you were here,” the Lone Ranger says from next to me, and suddenly he’s a lot less easygoing and a lot more wary. I can feel it in the way he stiffens beside me, see it in the smile that goes from wide open to politely inquiring.
I don’t know what’s brought on the change, can’t help wondering if the two of them have had words privately or something, since they are the ones who approached us together with the whole Phantom Wheel information.
Body language only gets me so far, though, especially since we just met. Until he takes those stupid glasses off, I don’t have a chance of figuring out what he’s really thinking.
Then again, maybe that’s the point.
Intrigued, I step back a little and just kind of watch, waiting to see how Snow White’s going to react.
But she seems cool, and just as happy to see him as she is me. “Owen! It’s nice to actually meet you!” she calls. “Even if you did take the room with the best view.”
“It’s where Ezra put me,” he answers, and at least he sounds normal as we head up the stairs. Or at least as normal as he can sound with that deep bass voice of his.
“It’s the one that’s farthest from mine.” Silver Spoon lifts a brow at me, as if to say, Can you blame me? “But Harper can have her pick of the three remaining rooms.”
So we each get our own room, then. Wow. Silver Spoon wasn’t kidding when he said this place would be perfect for us—if you don’t count the intimidation factor, of course. Which, he wouldn’t.
Neither of the other two looks intimidated, though, and I’m reminded again of just how wide the gulf between us is. Of how these three people don’t need a CIA scholarship—or the hacking—to survive. They do it for fun, or just because they can.
If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d be standing in one of the most expensive penthouses in San Francisco with the son of a hotel magnate, the daughter of the secretary of state, and the son of a famous football player, I would have told them they were delirious. Not to mention a lot of other things. And yet here I am.
Here we are.
“Pick a room for me,” I say as I get to the top of the stairs. “I’m sure they’re all great.”
Silver Spoon studies me for a second, those dark eyes of his surprisingly shrewd. “You can have my sister’s room. It’s next to Alika’s.” He heads to the left, and for the first time I realize that the upstairs is divided into two wings. Big surprise.
“Thanks,” I answer with a nod as I follow him into the east wing. I’m picturing some powder-pink monstrosity, complete with crystal chandeliers and zebra print, but the room is surprisingly understated. Done in light shades of aqua and gray, there’s a huge bed in the middle—covered by about two dozen pillows—and a crazy comfortable-looking chair in the corner. The strongest colors in the room are the black frames on the grayscale artwork hanging on the walls.
“This is really nice,” I tell him after a second.
“It seemed like it would suit you.”
I shoot him a quick look at that—I don’t like the idea of anybody being close enough to form an opinion about me, let alone one that is actually right—and find him watching me again. As our eyes meet, I wonder for the first time if there’s more to Ezra Miguel Hernandez than meets the eye.
I’ve barely put my backpack down on the chair when the elevator dings down below. I hear Silver Spoon’s footsteps as he heads downstairs to answer the door. A few moments later I tromp down to see who it is now—Mad Max or Buffy—and find both of them standing in the middle of the living room looking a little lost.
Mad Max looks impressed but not intimidated, and I’m reminded again of who his parents are—it’s a little crazy how much money is represented by the people in this penthouse—but Buffy looks completely shell-shocked. I can relate.
Silver Spoon heads back to the landing—I think it’s his favorite greeting spot, probably because he gets to play lord of the manor and ruler of all he surveys—and beckons them up the stairs.
Mad Max is carrying a backpack, but Buffy is toting a suitcase of considerable heft. She looks at the stairs a little defiantly, then moves to pick it up. Mad Max cuts off the movement and lifts the suitcase himself before heading up the spiral staircase.
To his credit, he might look like a stiff wind will knock him over, but he’s actually surprisingly strong. He doesn’t hesitate once on his way up the stairs.
“There’s two rooms left,” Silver Spoon says, pointing to the first door on either side of the stairs. “Claim one and then meet us downstairs to talk strategy.”
Mad Max looks at Buffy, brows raised, but when she doesn’t say anything he heads to the left. Seconds later, I hear him drop her suitcase on the floor. “You take this room,” he suggests, “and I’ll take the other one.”
She nods but still doesn’t say anything, even after she gets to the door of her room and pauses, like she’s in shock.
“I’m ordering Indian for lunch. If anyone’s vegan or doesn’t like curry, let me know now.” Silver Spoon waits, eyebrows raised, waiting for objections. When none come, he grins and heads back downstairs—but not before winking at me. Or maybe it was at Snow White. Or Buffy. Or, hell, it could have been one of the guys. Or it could have been all of us. With him, you never know.
Once he moves, it seems to give the rest of us permission to do the same. Even Buffy seems released from whatever spell she was under, shooting me a quick grin before heading into her room.
I do the same, moving straight to the en suite bathroom and splashing cold water on my face. The trip from Vegas was short, but I still feel grimy. I think it has more to do with being in this fancy apartment, though, than it does with traveling.
Now that everyone’s gone, I take a moment to really look around the room, at the plush bedding and the expensive art and the other exclusive touches—like real crystal perfume atomizers and hundred-dollar candles—that only the uber rich can afford to have lying around one of their “spare places.”
I sink down on the bed, bury my head in my hands. Wonder what I’ve gotten myself into here—and how the hell I’m going to get myself out of it.
9
Issa
(Pr1m4 D0nn4)
It’s too much.
He’s too much.
They all are. I’ve never felt so overwhelmed, so out of place, in my life.
I mean, seriously. This is the kind of apartment you see on TV, homes of the rich and freaking famous.
My whole apartment would probably fit in the bedroom I’m currently standing in, and yet I’ve never felt more trapped. It makes no sense, but then, none of this does. All I know is that this apartment, these people, the job we have in front of us—it all scares the hell out of me.
Because it does, I open my suitcase and pull out my makeup bag. I rummage through it until I find my favorite lipstick—so purple it’s almost black—and paint it across my lips.
As far as armor goes, it’s not the best, but it makes me feel better.
So does shrugging into my “I’m no damsel in distress, I’m a dragon in a dress” hoodie. It’s the first thing I bought with my hacking money, and it never fails to make me feel legit.
A quick fluff of my hair and a wash of my hands, and I’m as ready as I’m ever going to get. I may not feel like a badass right now, but I look like one, and that’s at least half the battle.
Or so I tell myself.
A quick check of my phone shows that Lettie’s answered my texts from the train.
Chloe’s fine and so are the twins and Ricky.
Dad got up an hour ago and is watching TV before he goes grocery shopping.
They’re having leftover spaghetti for lunch.
Chloe had a really messy diaper, and Lettie does not appreciate it.
The little bit of normalcy in the middle of this whole screwed-up mess grounds me, reminds me what’s important—and it’s not this place. It’s not the fact that Ezra paid for Harper’s and my plan
e tickets and is now paying for lunch. It’s not even that I’m back to square one when it comes to paying for college.
No, what’s important is that my family is safe and what I’m doing here—what we’re all doing here—is going to help keep that a reality. For all of us.
It’s that thought that finally settles me—and gets me moving, out of my fancy room and down the circular staircase that takes me to the main level. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little like J.Lo walking down it, all diva sleek and chic, but that just helps me dig deep for the badass inside me. As does the Pixies’ “I Bleed,” which is playing on the sound system. I’m pleasantly surprised by Ezra’s taste in music.
I’m the last one down, and they all turn to look at me as I hit the bottom step. I look at them right back, eyebrows raised. Seth immediately glances down at his hands when our eyes meet, and I feel a little like I kicked a puppy. Owen grins, Alika raises her brows, Harper’s face doesn’t change—it rarely does, I’m coming to realize—and Ezra, Ezra looks me over from head to toe just slowly enough to make sure I know he’s doing it.
The leisurely once-over leaves a little trail of heat in its wake, a little ball of… something… in my stomach, and that just pisses me off. God. Why does he have to be such a jerk? And so freaking good-looking at the same time?
I ignore him, which isn’t hard to do considering he’s on the phone, and walk over to the main sitting area, where they’ve all congregated. They’ve left an open chair for me—some strange, modern-art thing that looks both terrifying and oddly comfortable—but I keep walking, over to the huge expanse of windows instead.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the ocean.
It’s beautiful. And big. Really, really big. I stand there for a little while, watching the waves endlessly roll in. Not thinking, really, just watching.
I’m so absorbed in the view—and the emotions it’s bringing out in me—that I don’t notice Owen is standing next to me until he says, “I’m always surprised at how different it is from the Atlantic.”
I nod, because what am I going to say? That despite living in Texas I’ve never even seen the Gulf, let alone the Atlantic? Admitting the truth means making myself deliberately vulnerable, and that’s not how this is going to go down.
“I’m Owen.” He holds a hand out like he expects me to shake it. In his own way he’s as overwhelming, and gorgeous, as Ezra—even with his very painful-looking black eye. I can’t help wondering who was brave enough to punch him. The dude is huge.
I don’t ask, and I don’t shake his hand. Instead, I eye him, glancing from his hand to his face. “I know who you are.”
I expect the attitude to put him off, but he just grins wider. “I know who you are too.”
“Good.” I stretch a little. “Now that that’s settled, can we get to work?”
“By all means,” Ezra says, flowing to his feet in a move so smooth that it’s kind of hard not to stare. “We were waiting for you.”
“Sorry.” I toss my hair, deliberately insolent. “It’s not easy being beautiful.”
“Oh, I think you manage all right,” Ezra murmurs.
I turn to look at him, startled, but he’s already walking toward another part of the room, the only area in the whole downstairs that’s completely walled off.
He pauses when he gets to the big beveled glass doors at the end. He types a code into the small keypad to the left, then waits for the door to swing open.
“Step into my parlor,” he says with a wave of his hand and a cheesy accent.
And still I can’t help thinking, Said the spider to the fly.…
It’s another ridiculously luxurious room, and I’m not sure why we needed to move in here until I see the small conference table at one end of the curved room—and the Promethean board that takes up the wall closest to it.
“The Wi-Fi password is strawberryLemonade27 star, exclam, all lowercase except the L,” Ezra says as we all grab a seat at the table. “You don’t have to use our Wi-Fi if you don’t want, but my dad had a secure server installed as soon as we moved in.”
“Dude. You’ve got your own server?” Owen sounds impressed.
Ezra shrugs. “My dad’s a little paranoid.”
“More like smart. When you own three thousand luxury hotels around the world, you never know who’s out to get you.” Seth’s fingers fly over his keyboard. “Speaking of, I made a few minor adjustments to Owen’s code. Just to make sure we can keep Jacento out of our equipment—without setting off any alarms. The last thing we want them to know is that we’re coming for them.”
“We’re not actually coming for them,” I answer. “I mean, we don’t know that all of Jacento is behind this mess.”
“And we don’t know that they aren’t either,” Seth counters. “I vote for not taking any chances.”
“I’m with Seth,” Owen says. “Send that code out so we can update, will you?”
“I already have,” he answers smugly.
“Since we’re going after Jacento,” Ezra says after we’ve all installed Seth’s update on every device we have, “I’ve taken the liberty of doing some reconnaissance. I’ve got a map of Jacento’s headquarters, blueprints of all the main buildings, shift changes and guard schedules—”
“You already did all this?” Alika asks. She doesn’t sound impressed so much as surprised. “When?”
Ezra’s eyes narrow as if she’s deliberately insulted him. Maybe she has—I’m learning that rich people have their own language. But all he says is, “You guys had to rearrange your lives to get here. I just had to hop on my dad’s jet for a forty-five minute flight. I took advantage of the time.”
“You did all this in a few hours?” Seth asks as the first blueprints flash across the smartboard. He whistles, impressed, before pulling a pack of M&M’s out of his pocket. “That’s a lot of security to get through.”
“Turns out I’m not just a pretty face,” Ezra deadpans. “Who knew?”
“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I tell him, equally straight-faced.
It breaks the ice, as does the food delivery a few minutes later. It’s not long before we’re all hunched over plates loaded with samosas, paneer masala, veg curry, and naan, tossing ideas—and insults—at one another with every other bite.
“How many buildings are there in this place, anyway?” Owen asks in between mouthfuls. And, damn, the boy can eat.
“Seven,” Seth answers before Ezra can. It looks like crazy rich boy isn’t the only one who did his homework.
But when I look at Seth, eyebrows raised, he just shrugs. “Planes are boring. I needed something to do.”
“And hacking into one of the world’s largest and most secure corporations kept you from getting bored?” Alika teases.
“For at least half the flight, anyway,” Seth tells her, tongue in cheek.
“Wow!” Owen cackles. “Look at the balls on this one.”
“Want to put your money where your mouth is, dude?” Ezra asks.
“I don’t know,” Harper interjects in her quiet way. “I kind of love the smell of arrogance in the afternoon.”
“‘The horror,’” Ezra answers her with a roll of his eyes.
“Hey, it’s better than napalm, anyway.” Seth grins like an idiot, not fazed by the teasing at all.
I’m lost, but then I remember the old-movie thing they did in the car on the way to the airport. Sure enough, a quick Google search turns up the references to Apocalypse Now.
I bookmark it as a reminder to check it out more fully later, then say, “I really hope your choice of movie isn’t a bad omen.”
“Right?” Owen agrees, softly elbowing Harper, who, I’ve noticed, squirms a little when he does that. “Next time pick some Disney crap or something.”
Her poker face is flawless when she answers, “You mean like, ‘Memo to me: Maim you after my meeting’?”
“Actually, yes, that’s exactly what I meant. Obviously.” He grabs an
other samosa from the center of the table. “Jeez, tough room.”
“Right?” Seth echoes. “We’ve been here an hour, and she’s already invoking Hades.”
“You know your old movies,” Harper tells him with obvious approval.
“I know my Disney. I’ve been to every Disney park in the world.”
Ezra’s laughing so hard now that he almost chokes on his samosa. “Jesus, dude, does admitting that get you laid a lot?”
“Sadly, no,” Seth says. “But there’s always a first time.”
“No,” Owen tells him with a shake of his head. “Sometimes, there really isn’t. This is definitely one of those times when there isn’t.”
“I disagree,” Alika says, batting her eyes at Seth playfully. “I love Disneyland. So many things for a girl to ride.” And that shuts both Ezra and Owen right up, so fast that I kind of wish I’d thought of it.
“Anyway…” Ezra says in the tone of someone determined to change the subject. “What we’re looking for is in this building right here.”
He punches a few keys on his laptop so that the tallest building lights up. It’s also the one that sits deepest inside the compound—and borders the ocean, just to make it extra challenging. Big surprise. “It’s where they keep the backup servers. Any information that flows through headquarters—emails, financial data, classified product info, nefarious plots, etc., etc.—will all be stored here.”
“Do we really have to get in there?” Alika asks. “Why can’t we just hack it from the outside, like we’ve done everything else?”
“Because it’s unhackable,” he tells her.
“Maybe for you,” I say. “Maybe not for the rest of us.”
“By all means,” he answers, kicking back in his chair, “have at it, oh great hacking guru. The fact that it’s not connected to the outside in any way would be a problem in the hands of a lesser woman, but it shouldn’t impede your genius at all.”
“Great hacking guru. I like it. I think you should call me that from now on.”
“Whatever you say.” Ezra lifts his brows at me. “I do like to give a lady what she wants.”
