He stared at her, tried glancing at the laptop, but didn't have a chance when she damn near knocked it off her lap as she tried leaping over the equipment on the floor between them and into his arms.
"You're the best, the absolute best!" She laughed, managing to wrap her arms around him.
"So you've told me," he answered with a lazy drawl, and held her to him. "What wonderful thing have I done this time?"
She slapped at him playfully when she pulled away, then rebalanced the laptop on her lap. "These pictures. One of them was a page of links. I was going through them and look!" She pointed at the screen.
"Crap," he hissed, staring at a sign-in page. "Is that what I think it is?"
"It's the game," she said in awe.
"And we don't have the password."
"Once we break into this we'll have all the answers. I'm sure of it."
"But we don't know the password."
The image of Earth, spinning on its axis, kept the screen from going idle. Next to it in a thin black cursive font were the words "Who shall rule the world?" As the Earth rotated, different countries were highlighted. Underneath the spinning world was a place to enter a screen name and password.
"The program might be set up to lock-up if you enter the wrong password more than a few times," Angela pointed out. "You know, the way financial websites are usually set up."
Jake typed in Ruler for a screen name and number one as a password. A cartoon image appeared next to the boxes where he typed the information and pulled a gun on him, firing and causing the screen to melt.
"Oh my God," Angela gasped. "No!"
In the next second, the screen reappeared, informing him he got the screen name and password wrong. "I'm going to bank on the fact that the FBI is trying to break into this Web site, too. Assuming they've gotten it wrong the first few times, hopefully our little cartoon gunman will be patient with us."
"I hope you're right," Angela whispered. "Try Mandela as his screen name."
"Any suggestions for a password?"
"Umm ... try 'family.'"
"'Family'?"
Angela shrugged. "Mario made a big deal of how important family was to him."
"Which is why he killed his uncle in cold blood," Jake grunted, but typed in family.
This time the screen didn't melt. Instead the cartoon gunman appeared, blew on his smoking gun as the words appeared below telling them they got the password wrong.
"His screen name is Mandela!" Angela shrieked, so excited she jumped. The laptop slipped in her hands, and she grabbed ahold of it, bracing it. "Okay, now for the password."
"Try 'Italy,'" he suggested.
Mandela wasn't the family man or loyal patriot. The password wasn't "Italy." He'd filled Angela with a bunch of crap, and although Jake knew she despised the monster, it was hard not taking some things at face value when the person saying them sounded so sincere.
"I have an idea," Jake said, and leaned over the listening equipment again, reached in front of her, and typed on her keyboard. Sucking in a breath, he tapped the mouse, and the screen changed. Her laptop hummed and the two of them stared at the screen, silence building in the small closet.
"Oh my God," Angela whispered, her shock apparent as she stared at the screen slowly downloading on her computer. "What was the password?"
"I'll tell you later." He'd just proved Mandela was the grotesque monster Jake already knew him to be. "This is one hell of a program," Jake said, changing the subject.
Angela looked over her shoulder at him. "What was the password?" she asked again.
If Jake thought he'd found a woman he could protect from all evil, Angela was letting him know with one hard, cold stare that wasn't the case. "Tell me," she demanded, her eyes darkening with her tone.
"The password is 'AngelaMustDie.' One word. Each new word starts with a capital letter."
Angela blew out a long breath, shaking her head slowly as she stared into Jake's face. "Sure sorry to disappoint him," she grunted, then returned her attention to the screen. "Not only am I going to live. I'm going to watch that bastard rot in hell."
Jake's insides swelled. "Pride" didn't quite describe the emotion that swelled throughout him. Angela was tough as nails and softer than silk. At that moment, she reminded Jake of his mom. Worse yet, he never would have thought a woman with such attributes would turn him on so much. His mom would have a field day with that one. Jake groaned inwardly and shoved the image of his mother's gloating smile out of his head.
"Here's the map. It is a board game!" Angela didn't shout this time, but her excitement was apparent. "The players. Jake, look, there are the names of the players."
Jake looked. Mandela was player number three. Player number two was Brutoli. There was only one other player, player number one. Jake stared at the name, Cooper.
"Evelyn Van Cooper," Angela said out loud, voicing his thoughts. "And player number two?"
"Brutus Brutoli," Jake said, already shifting his attention to the rest of the board game.
"Now we have all the names. If Marianna is with one of these monsters we're going to find her!" Angela shot a hard look at Jake but returned her attention to the laptop, opening a new search bar page.
"What are you doing? We need to see if the board game shows where they're going to attack next." Jake reached for the laptop.
Angela moved her shoulder, turning at a slight angle to block him, although she didn't appear to focus on her actions. "How is 'Brutoli' spelled again? What is his first name again?" she asked, flipping to the game, then back to her new search bar. "I'm going to find out everything there is to know about these sons of bitches. Hopefully we can figure out where they have their armies set up. Once we know, we go into both camps and take them out. Maybe Marianna will be with one of them." Angela stopped for a breath and looked up at Jake. "It sounds sane to be able to pull that off within the next twenty-four hours, right?"
Angela jumped and he pulled her against him protectively when a loud knock on the door downstairs shook the entire house.
"Open up! FBI!" someone yelled outside.
Chapter Sixteen
Mario opened his own door when Tomas parked the limo in front of his house at five o'clock the next morning. He'd spent the entire evening at police headquarters, being drilled by one detective after another. During the early hours of the morning two FBI agents had begun questioning him, both looking as if they'd just woken up and showered. He still had the stench of their aftershave clinging to his nostrils.
They'd let him come home, which meant one thing: there wasn't enough information to nail him to the wall. And the idiots had everything they needed to send him to prison for the rest of his life. Yet another reason why he loved the American judicial system. They couldn't hold him. They couldn't beat him into a confession because he might sue them. This country protected criminals so well he could kiss the ground.
He'd been careful. So damned careful. Mario had spent years building up his life to become part of the game. Hell, before the game even existed he'd watched the best of the best, learned from their mistakes, and pulled himself out of poverty to become one of the wealthiest men in the world. He didn't get here by making mistakes.
But he'd made one. It only took one. His padre used to tell him that. Just one mistake can destroy an empire. Mario's padre would quote memorable historical events to Mario to prove his point. He should have been the one here, sitting on top of his empire. The old man got sick, though. He never got the opportunity that Mario now had. But his padre would be proud. Mario's padre would see all Mario had done and would tell everyone in heaven of his perfect son.
Enough!
Mario wouldn't dwell on the past. He walked slowly and deliberately to the door of his house. Tomas, who was an amazing silent giant, moved around Mario nimbly, reaching the door and opening it for him.
"Go to bed, Tomas," Mario ordered, not bothering to look over his shoulder at his chauffeur but closing the door.
Marco stood from the couch where he'd been sitting when Mario entered. His expression looked torn and weary as he studied Mario. Bobby was also there. The blond man stood slowly, not looking as anxious as Marco. Bobby studied Mario with a wary expression.
"How are you doing?" Bobby asked.
"I feel like hell," Mario grunted, shifting his attention from Bobby to Russell Pierce. Mario had instructed Pierce to wait here for him, having heard he'd been the one with the flashlight and had missed King lying in the grass, waiting to attack. Bobby had been the one to tip Mario's men off, informing them they were being followed from the moment they'd left his house. King wasn't that great of a bounty hunter. Apparently, though, Mario's men were idiots incapable of pulling off a simple assignment. How hard was it to haul zombies? King was probably gloating like a damn fool. All he'd proven was that he could capture morons. From what Mario had heard at the police station, King had almost gotten himself arrested as well. Bounty hunting was against the law in Illinois. Mario was okay with the bastard not being arrested. He looked forward to killing King. Mario had yet to decide how he'd kill him. All he knew so far was that the death would be slow and painful.
Mario glared at Russell, needing someone to take his anger out on right now. "Did you intentionally ignore King lying in the grass watching you?" Mario asked, moving in slowly as he watched the idiot start to tremble.
"What? No, sir." Russell shifted from one foot to the other nervously. "I helped drive the truck to the airport. Bobby said to be prepared in case we were followed, so we split up--"
"Mario only wants a 'yes' or 'no,'" Bobby barked, glaring hatefully at Russell Pierce. "He didn't ask for you to shovel out excuses for the sloppy work you've done."
Bobby yelling was as annoying as Russell spitting out nonsense and bullshit. Mario stormed out of the living room, ignoring their questioning looks and knowing none of them would move an inch until he returned. Not if they knew what was good for them. He stalked down the hallway to his office.
His eyes burned as he headed around his desk, then reached underneath the middle drawer to push the button hidden there. A panel slid out and Mario entered the code on the number pad. There was a soft clicking sound. Mario eased the number pad back into its slot and opened the drawer below it that he'd just unlocked. There were important documents in the drawer but nothing as important as what he had in his bedroom. A smart man never kept all the secrets to his fortune in one spot. Reaching underneath the documents, Mario pulled out his gun.
His people were chosen carefully, paid well, and treated better than most hired help was treated. Mario knew how to develop loyalty among his men. That didn't mean there wasn't an idiot among the group. Just one wrong move and Mario's entire world had blown up around him. Someone had to pay.
Mario stopped as he entered his living room, his hand at his side holding his gun tight enough it pinched his fingers. But the cold metal reassured him the strongest and most skilled prevailed. Those who were weak always perished. He glanced around the room, then focused on Bobby, who took his time meeting Mario's gaze. The man's expression was guarded, but Mario swore he saw something. If he didn't know better, he would say it was annoyance.
"Where is Russell?" Mario asked, facing Bobby. Bobby hadn't spent the last few hours being interrogated in a police station. The motherfucker had nothing to be annoyed or upset about.
"He just left." Bobby was giving Mario a strange look.
"Why did he just leave?" Mario yelled. Putting a bullet in Russell's head might have helped Mario sleep better tonight.
"I suggested Marco call it a night, too," Bobby continued, his stance relaxed as he spoke conversationally. "Everyone wanted to make sure you made it home safely, but we have an early day tomorrow. I sent them all off to bed."
"Is that so?"
It was quite possible pulling Bobby so close under Mario's wing had made the man a bit too cocky. It wouldn't be the first time a right-hand man had turned into a monster, the result of being pampered and treated as an equal by his boss. Mario took his time pulling his attention from Bobby before turning his attention to the hallway.
"Marco!" he bellowed, yelling loud enough his voice echoed off the walls.
His cousin might be a moron, but he knew when Mario said to jump, he better damn well do as he's told. There was the sound of footsteps hurrying down the hallway, and in the next moment Marco appeared in the doorway, his tie removed and the top button of his shirt undone.
"Where were you all evening?" If Russell ran like a fucking coward, there would be another scapegoat to blame. Mario would see to it.
The last thing he could do right now was sleep. There were too many things to do. The first one being eliminating the weak link in his household. Mario had been too soft, too generous. His men were about to learn that only the strong survived.
"I've been here ever since the police released me." Marco began wringing his hands. "Why did they send us home, Mario? They took your entire army and just let us walk. That scares the crap out of me." His accent grew thicker as he started whining. "I didn't say anything to them, though. I promise you that."
"I believe you." Mario was sickened by his younger cousin's whiny attitude. He had half a mind to shoot Marco just for being a baby.
"They sent you home because they don't have all the information they need yet to arrest you. They're going to watch and wait for one of us to fuck up," Bobby offered.
Mario let both of them see his gun as he stuffed it inside the back of his pants, then headed out of the living room once again. Bobby was right behind him. It didn't surprise him a bit that Marco snuck off to lick his wounds and feel sorry for himself. He was pathetic.
"I can't fucking believe this," Mario snarled, reaching the top of the stairs and heading for his bedroom. "Who is it, Bobby? Tell me right now."
"What?" Bobby didn't enter Mario's bedroom but leaned in the doorway. There was a gray shadow around the man's face, proof he had been up all night, too. Otherwise, though, he watched Mario with a steady gaze, all of his emotions well in check.
"Do you know how humiliating it is to be detained by the police while I'm out in public?" Mario needed to yell, although he didn't feel any better after doing it. His eyes still burned, and anger still tore at him. "How did King get wind of all this going down? What put him at my driveway the fucking moment everyone is leaving with my army? I want to know right now who the fuck messed up!" he bellowed.
Bobby either had the good sense to remain quiet or just wasn't sure what to say. Mario glared at him, content to take his wrath out on the man even if he was one of his better employees.
"Why did you let Russell leave?" Mario demanded, stalking over to his desk and staring down at his computer.
"No offense, Boss, but he's not one of your more competent men. I figured the more sleep he got the better he'd work for you tomorrow." Bobby said, remaining calm and not moving from where he stood in the doorway.
"Well, I want him back here right now." Mario slapped his hand down on his desk. "Cancel my flight to Dallas. Has Angela called?"
"Do you think Angela could be the one who tipped off the police?"
Mario scowled at the items surrounding his computer. Something didn't look right. Staying up all night was starting to take its toll. His anger was still burning his insides alive, though. He lifted his gaze slowly, taking his time glaring at Bobby, who still lounged in Mario's doorway as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"Now how the hell would she do that when she was with me all goddamn evening?" he hissed. He needed to throw something. There had to be something he could break. A slow, methodic thumping began in his brain, settling in around his temples. If he didn't get rid of this anger, he'd be suffering a migraine. That was the last thing he fucking needed.
"She was with you all evening?" Bobby questioned.
"What the hell kind of question is that? And why are you challenging what I say?" Mario demanded. He yanked his gun out of the back of his pants.
The hard metal was rubbing him wrong. "Don't you think I would know where the fucking woman was, especially when she was with me?"
Bobby didn't flinch when Mario began waving the gun around. "Boss, maybe if you lie down awhile. I'll stay up, keep an eye on things. You know as well as I do that at least one of us needs to be on his toes if the feds come sniffing around this place."
"They come sniffing around here and I'll blow their fucking brains out for trespassing." Mario didn't care whether he made sense or not. He had just about had enough of Bobby's calm, cool tone. This wasn't a time for relaxed stances in doorways. "Quit standing there like a goddamned idiot," Mario barked, waving his gun at Bobby again just to see if he could get a rise out of the man.
Bobby dutifully straightened and took a step toward Mario. "All right, Boss. Whatever you say. What do you want me to do?"
At least the man knew when to act humble. Not that Mario didn't know it was an act. Bobby probably wanted Mario to crash so he could get him out of his hair for a while. Well if Mario wanted to rant and rave, he was damn well going to do it. This was his house after all. He paid the man's salary, and Mario paid him well.
"What's missing here?" Mario asked, returning his attention to his desk. He stared at his computer, moved the mouse, and watched his desktop appear. The computer appeared undisturbed, which was a damn good thing. The programs on this computer could incriminate him and fry his ass. Which was why he kept the board game on this computer and had the entire thing password protected. In fact, he'd just changed the password earlier this week. And he hadn't told a soul what his plans were for his hot new girlfriend once he arrived in Dallas. But he'd spelled it out clearly enough with his new password. "Wait a minute," he grumbled, putting his gun on his desk and gripping the back of his chair. "Where are my backup flash drives?"
"What?" Bobby asked, taking another step closer.
"My backup flash drives!" Mario yelled, which caused the thumping in his brain to increase. He pointed at his desk. "They are always right here. Who the hell has been in my bedroom?"
Bounty Hunters: 03 Stay Hungry Page 30
