by Sidney Bell
Then his phone buzzed. And the real world came crashing back.
Brogan froze, fork pausing in mid-air. Their eyes met.
Embry’s lassitude vanished, and with it his appetite. Brogan didn’t say a word as Embry went to his duffel, pulling his phone out and taking a breath before answering.
“Ford,” he said.
“You’re not at home,” Joel said, and Embry’s brain stuttered. The words were jagged, like Joel had been chewing on them for a while. Embry couldn’t pass this off with a trip to the grocery store—no one sounded like that after waiting for twenty minutes. He scrambled for an excuse.
“No, I’m not,” he said, hoping he sounded calm. “I’m at the conference, remember?”
Joel paused, apparently taken aback. “What the fuck do you mean you’re at a conference?”
“The training conference? You approved this like eight months ago.” Not that long after he’d been hired, back when Joel would’ve approved almost anything in his pursuit of Embry, he’d purchased a year’s worth of seminars from a national employee development company in case he ever needed a cover for unexpectedly missing a day or two of work.
You never knew when you’d need an alibi.
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Joel hissed.
Embry put on his most reassuring tone, because he’d never heard Joel this on edge. It wouldn’t take much to have this spiraling out of control. “I’m not lying, Joel. Touring’s paying a lot of money for this. Do you think I would leave you for any other reason? I have the documentation in hand. I’ll show it to you when I get back.”
“Which is when?”
Embry hesitated. He’d need to get to a copy shop to print the documents—templates created around the time he bought the seminar package—and that’d take time, in part because he’d have to find one out of town so he wouldn’t be seen.
“Searching for an answer?” Joel asked.
“I’m checking my itinerary. I don’t want to be wrong.”
“You have it memorized.”
“I’m being thorough.” Which Joel bought, as Embry said this to him a lot. “My flight gets in at 10:20.”
“I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“Don’t.”
Joel sucked in a breath, preparing to explode, and Embry closed his eyes. He thought of Brogan murmuring I love you, and then he added, “And what are you going to tell your wife? That there’s a meeting at midnight on a Sunday? If I take a cab, we can leave work early tomorrow so you can fuck me into the mattress. We’ll be able to take our time that way.”
Joel was silent for a long moment before he laughed under his breath. The laugh was dark-tinged, mean, but Embry might’ve only earned a minor punishment, maybe a slap or two, maybe even just some painful sex, a small price to pay if Joel’s trust in him wasn’t impacted.
“All right,” Joel said.
As the tension over the phone dissipated, Embry became more aware of the tension filling the room he was standing in. “I’ll see you in the morning, all right? We should meet around eight to prep for the meeting with Mr. Touring. Now I have to go, I’m missing a session.”
“Embry,” Joel said, stopping him from hanging up.
“Yeah?”
“You’d better not be playing games.” There was a pause. “I don’t like wondering where you are.”
Embry forced himself to sound soothing. “Wherever you go, Joel. I’ll be there.” He hung up, taking his time putting the phone away, dreading what was coming.
“Any chance you’ll be able to get what you need before then?” Brogan asked, voice carefully empty.
Embry’s hacker skills weren’t sufficient to get past the kind of security that would be protecting the information he needed to take down Touring, which meant he’d need his hacker’s help again. And Ward would need time.
“No,” he said. He made himself turn around. “I’ll need help getting into the system, and my guy takes about a week once I tell him what I need. I’ll also need time to get the payment together. I’ll have to contact Helen for a check, and—”
“So you’re going to let him fuck you tomorrow?” Brogan asked, staring at the table.
Even the memory of Joel’s hands on him made Embry nauseated. He swallowed hard then said, “Yes.”
Brogan stood so abruptly that his chair fell over. He stalked into the kitchen, giving Embry his back, and stopped at the sink, resting his coiled fists on the counter but dropping his head forward as if he were praying.
Embry fought the urge to cringe. He wasn’t afraid that Brogan would hit him. It would almost be easier if he did. Joel had punched him more than few times, fucked him dry so that he tore, shoved him against walls and called him filthy things meant to humiliate, and Embry had taken all of it without ever second-guessing his choices, but the censure written in every line of Brogan’s body had him in knots. He felt, for the first time since he found his family in that basement, ashamed of what he was doing. Not because he thought he was wrong, but because Brogan was hurting, and Embry didn’t know what to do.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I need Joel in order to take down Touring. Unless you’re advocating that I should kill them both today and let Touring keep selling guns to drug runners and terrorists.”
Brogan shook his head—frustration as much as denial, probably—but didn’t say anything. Maybe they’d finally reached the point where Brogan couldn’t take anymore. Just in case, Embry gave him the only thing he could: information that might keep Brogan safe.
“Dillon’s got a ketamine habit,” he said. “He’s high-functioning and he isn’t using at work yet, but he spent nearly six hundred dollars last month alone on the drug, his savings are almost gone, and it’s only a matter of time before he falls apart. Parks, on the other hand, prefers underage prostitutes on the weekends. Sometimes he knocks them around. Joel’s had them both working for us for a while now—all it took was money and a few pictures for blackmail. Don’t trust either of them. I might not know everything they’ve been told to do.”
Brogan thought about that for a minute. “And here I thought homophobia would be what had my colleagues shooting me in the back.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“How do you know about the pictures?”
“I took them.”
“Of course you did. You watched a grown man have sex with a teenage girl and all you did was take pictures of them,” Brogan said.
Brogan’s judgment stung, but Embry ignored it. It was true, after all. He didn’t bother telling Brogan that he already had a packet of those photos ready to send to the district attorney’s office when this was over. He doubted Brogan would believe him anyway.
Brogan glanced at him, expression twisted. “Is that why you were so easy to talk to that day in your apartment when he hit you? Were you looking for dirt?”
Embry had no right to be hurt at Brogan’s accusation—and put in the form of a question or not, that was what it was—so he shoved that ache down deep as well. “No. I didn’t report that.”
“Why not?”
Embry offered half of the truth. “We already had two of Security Division’s men on our payroll by then. We didn’t need you.” He wished he could say the rest: Even then, I wanted you safe.
Brogan laughed a little, hard and bitter. “How economical of you.”
“Are you really hypocritical enough to act like digging into someone’s background without their consent is an unforgivable crime?”
Brogan laughed again, this time with that air of self-deprecation that Embry usually liked. Now it just sounded harsh. “Even if I was, it wouldn’t bother me nearly as much as the sex thing.”
“I never lied to you about that. You knew I’d be staying with him.”
“I know. But that only makes
it worse,” Brogan said, leaning against the counter wearily. “That means I did this to myself.”
Embry scrubbed his hands over his face. Christ, he was dumb. He’d known all along that Brogan was trouble, and even though he’d never had any intention of being swayed from his course, he’d let himself get waylaid anyway. And now everything hurt, and he couldn’t even be surprised.
“I’ll go.” He slid his shoes on, his gut hollow and his mind numb.
“Is it hard to lie all the time?”
“No. It’s like playing a role.”
“Nothing real about you, is there?”
Embry flinched, tried to hide it. “Not even my name,” he agreed.
Brogan’s expression was hard, like Embry disgusted him. “Your name,” Brogan mused. “You mean the one you claimed you didn’t want anymore because your father was abusive? That’s what you wrote on the court documents, isn’t it?”
Embry couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, not during this part. He studied the toes of his shoes. “Yes.”
Brogan studied him—it was not a friendly look. “You’re terrifying, you know that? You’ll do anything, say anything, as long as you get what you want.”
“What I wanted would have been my parents and my sister and my future, except for the fact that they fucked with me first,” Embry yelled, kicking his duffel halfway across the floor. “They took away everything that mattered. And I don’t know who the hell you think you are judging me, because I’m not the only one who’s broken the law or fucked someone over for family!”
“All right!” Brogan snapped. Then, more quietly, “All right.”
Embry exhaled hard, trying to get the rage back under control before he broke something. When he was sure he wouldn’t yell, he said, “I should go.”
“Then go.”
Embry nodded once. He grabbed his duffel, slung it over his shoulder then headed for the door. He didn’t hear Brogan move—the blood was roaring in his ears loudly enough that he might’ve missed a gunshot. Brogan was just suddenly there, using one hand to shove the door closed again, stopping Embry cold.
“It’s driving me insane,” Brogan said, almost apologetic, laughing with the kind of exhausted humor that only resignation could bring. “The thought of you being with him the way you were with me? It’s fucking tearing me up.”
“It’s not the same,” Embry said. Brogan’s body was warm behind him, and he leaned back without meaning to. “I don’t want him. I’ve never wanted him. It’s not about that.”
“Do you come?” Brogan asked, then laughed again, and it was so bitter and helpless that Embry’s guilt had knives. “Christ, don’t answer that. You don’t have to answer that.”
Embry closed his eyes. “He’d be suspicious if I didn’t—it’s an ego thing for him. Except when it hurts too much, and then he doesn’t want me to anyway.”
Brogan let out a sigh of misery. Embry wasn’t sure which part of his answer provoked it. Then Brogan’s forehead lowered to rest on his shoulder and he whispered, “I wish I could ask you not to go to him. But that’s like asking you to choose between me and Amy, isn’t it? Nothing would drive you away faster.”
Brogan tipped his head to rest against Embry’s. It was an intimate gesture, almost affectionate, like they were having an entirely different conversation. “You want to know the most fucked up thing about this? The idea that you’re going to kill them doesn’t bother me half as much as the idea of him fucking you. How messed up is that? I don’t even know what that makes me. I’m starting to think I might be a shitty person. I’m not sure I used to be, not like this.”
Not before you, he meant.
“Let go of the door,” Embry whispered.
“And even that doesn’t bother me. Being a shitty person, I mean,” Brogan said, as if Embry hadn’t spoken. “Not like you walking out does. Stay. I’m so pissed at you right now, but stay anyway. Please.”
“I can’t,” Embry choked out. He was bleeding inside. He wanted to drop his bag and burrow into Brogan’s arms even though it would cost him everything, just because Brogan asked him to.
Then he thought of Amy, of his mother’s naked, broken body, his father’s missing fingers, and the choice got easier. “I can’t,” he said again. “Until this is done, I belong to him. I belong to this.”
“Embry,” Brogan begged, right in his ear. “Belong to me instead.”
He shoved Brogan’s arm at the elbow, making the limb buckle, and wrenched the door open. He was halfway across the threshold when Brogan grabbed him.
“Then come back,” Brogan demanded, his breath hot on the skin of Embry’s throat. He seemed on the verge of violence—it hummed in the air. But as much as his grip seemed unbreakable, it didn’t hurt. Even now, Brogan wouldn’t hurt him.
Not with his hands, anyway.
“Tomorrow,” he growled. “After he leaves. You come here.”
“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“I know. I don’t care.” Brogan bent, resting his forehead against the nape of Embry’s neck. “I just... I have no fucking pride left, okay? Is this...can you do this for me? Give me the chance to erase him.”
Closing his eyes, Embry nodded. He couldn’t withstand that broken plea. “All right.”
“All right.”
“You’re going to hate me before this is over,” Embry whispered. “Won’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Brogan replied. He stood up straight, dropping his hands. “Probably no more than you’ll hate me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Embry drove for an hour before looking for a print shop. Then, using a flash drive from the duffel, he spent the next three hours creating a paper trail for his supposed conference attendance. He’d created counterfeit registration documents and fake session handouts back when he signed up, but he added dates now before paying for high-quality paper so the docs would look like they were prepared at a professional printer’s. Using a saved digital copy of the conference company’s logo, he created a nametag, then bought a box of plastic nametag holders on elasticized strings. He threw the unused ones out. It took an hour to create a fake boarding pass for a flight home from Denver—he used a random bar code from the internet, but Joel wouldn’t know that.
While his things were printing, he went on to the next step in his plan.
Over the last few weeks, Embry had been attempting to gain access to restricted sections of the company server. He had Joel’s login information—obtained from a previous foray in the IT director’s office—but he didn’t have the skills or time to find and copy what he needed without alerting anyone to his presence. All it would take to get caught was for Joel to see a recent date on a file he hadn’t opened in weeks, because Embry would be the most obvious suspect.
That was where Ward came in.
Embry prepared an email for the hacker, spelling out what he was looking for in concrete detail. Signs of money laundering, inconsistent manifests, proof of transactions that didn’t have obvious sources, customer data.
Even criminals kept books.
Embry paused, then added an addendum.
The faster you are, the higher the tip will be.
Speed seemed important in a way it never had before, because he knew it was only a matter of time before Brogan cut his losses. If he could tell Brogan that he’d only need to fuck Joel four times, maybe that would help.
And that made perfect sense, except for the fact that it was stupid. He sighed, listening to the chatter of customers talking and fingers tapping on keyboards. All he could do was what he’d been doing—move with slow, methodical precision to minimize errors. He wouldn’t be fucking anyone if he was dead because he stumbled at the finish line.
He bought a postcard, then scrawled out the amount he needed and a quick not
e: Same P.O. box as before. I’m okay, but he’s the last friend who will come looking. Please be careful.
He left it unsigned—Helen wasn’t stupid—and dropped it in a mailbox.
He collected his printed documents and bought a midrange simulated leather binder to put them in. He spent the next two hours making up notes for each of the sessions he’d supposedly taken, scrawling things in margins and even doodling a little robot on one page. Back in the parking lot, he rubbed the edges of the binder against one of the tires just enough to look like it’d been handled for the past two days. He folded and unfolded the boarding pass a dozen times.
It was almost four. He found a nearby hotel and went inside. He surveyed the staff members at the front desk, didn’t see what he needed, and left. At the check-in desk of a different chain of hotels, however, he found a young guy who seemed a little stupid and shady. Embry waited until the other staff were busy, then went up to the slacker and said, “Hi. I have a problem that maybe you can help me with.”
Thirty minutes later and two hundred dollars lighter, Embry walked out with a copy of a receipt for a man who’d stayed there on the nights when Embry was supposed to be out of town. He returned to the print shop, where he whited out the incorrect information, then scanned the receipt into the computer. When he’d found the right font, he changed the name of the guest to his own, and altered the logo to read Denver rather than Salem. He printed it on nice paper with colored toner so it looked real and shredded the original.
Perfect.
He killed the last couple hours until his pretend flight would arrive by getting dinner and seeing a movie that he forgot as soon as he walked out. He pulled up to his apartment just before midnight, duffel bag in hand, probably looking as tired as he would if he actually had spent hours on a plane after attending half a day of business meetings. Which was fortunate, because when the elevator arrived on his floor, Dillon was waiting by his front door.
Not that it was a surprise. His paranoia had saved his ass on more than one occasion, and assuming that Joel would send someone to verify Embry’s timetable wasn’t even a stretch.
