JP lays his head down on the table. “I still feel this is perhaps a very bad idea…”
I download the final program I’ll need and test it out by clicking a button.
Al Pacino’s voice suddenly comes out of the laptop.
“HOO-AH!”
JP and Dominique both jump in surprise, then look at me in bewilderment.
“It’s… just trust me,” I say to them.
“Trust you, huh?” Grant’s voice asks from the doorway.
I look back over at him, and suddenly I’m dreading this even more.
“Yes. Trust me,” I repeat.
Grant walks over and sits in the chair next to me. “You and Al Pacino, huh?”
“And Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
“…what?”
I sigh. I know this is going to sound stupider than I want it to.
“It’s how we used to entertain ourselves when we weren’t hacking. There are these computer programs where you can record sound clips from movies, right? Then you make prank calls to people and hold entire conversations with clips from Kindergarten Cop or The Godfather or whatever. Mailin and I used to do it to each other all the time. Like… dueling celebrity prank phone calls, but just the two of us.”
Grant stares at me with something like dawning horror and disgust.
I continue. “There are clues in the message he sent me. First off, he’s telling me to go back to one of our old online haunts. He also said he wants to talk, so I’m going to open with Al Pacino. If he answers with Arnold Schwarzenegger, I know it’s him.”
Grant stares at me a little longer, then finally says, “I feel so much safer now that I know I’m entrusting my life to those two computer hacking geniuses, Beavis and Butthead.”
I click a button on the soundboard.
Al Pacino yells out, “FUCK YOU!”
Grant smiles wryly. “Can you record my voice on there?”
“Yes. I can record anything.”
“Good. I’m going to have a few choice phrases if this doesn’t work out.”
I glare at him, then turn back to the laptop.
We’re talking again, so I guess that’s progress.
Even if I’m using Al Pacino as an intermediary.
46
I enter an ancient forum, one of the tens of millions of derelict ghost ships drifting through the internet that nobody has ever bothered to remove. Then I find the thread dedicated to fans talking about the movie Old School, the one with Will Ferrell. Since that came out in 2003, you can guess how long it’s been since anyone has entered a comment. Mailin and I found it years after it saw its last visitor. In fact, I haven’t been on in… oh… six years, at least.
As soon as Grant sees a picture of Will Ferrell doing a beer bong hit, he says, “Seriously? This is your secret hacking lair?”
I click the mouse and Al Pacino yells, “Shut UP!”
Grant sighs. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of…”
I click again.
“I don’t wanna hear any fuckin’ shit, and I don’t GIVE a shit!”
JP snorts in amusement.
Grant glares at him. “This is not funny. This is idiotic.”
Al Pacino retorts with, “He’s a tight ass! And you got your head ALL the way UP it!”
JP laughs again. Even Dominique smiles.
“Would you stop that?” Grant barks.
“Sit down! Shut up! You understand?”
Grant puts his face in his hands.
“Can I do my thing now?” I ask nicely.
Grant waves me along with one hand without looking at me. Sure. Go ahead.
I navigate to the correct page, the one where Mailin and I used to do our dueling celebrity quote battles, and hack into a private channel enabled with sound.
I click a button.
“Hello?” Al Pacino says.
Nothing.
Grant watches me expectantly.
“Who’s there?” Al Pacino asks.
No answer.
Grant shakes his head. “This is the biggest waste of time – ”
Arnold Schwarzenegger’s German accent suddenly erupts into the room.
“Hi honey, how are you?”
Grant, JP, and Dominique all exchange looks.
With just a few mouse clicks, Al and Arnold start having a conversation.
Al Pacino: “Do you know me?
Arnold: “Yeah.”
“So you got somethin’ to tell me, or what?”
“Hey, I’m a police officer.”
“What’s the game plan?”
“Well here’s my plan. My mission is to protect you.”
“Is that all you got?”
“Trust me! You used to be somebody I could trust.”
“How much longer is this going to go on?” Grant asks, seriously annoyed.
Suddenly a text box appears onscreen with the words, Are we good?
I look at Grant and say, “Well, either Al Pacino and Arnold can keep talking, or Mailin and I can. What’s it gonna be?”
Grant stares at the little black box… then finally gives in. “Fine. Go ahead. Do whatever you’re going to do. Just as long as I don’t have to hear any more lame movie quotes.”
“No guarantees on that. Mailin loooves him some Arnold Schwarzenegger,” I say as I type, We’re good. Hi Mailin.
Arnold Schwarzenegger replies, “Hello, sweetheart, how are you? It’s so nice to hear your voice.”
“See?” I say to Grant.
“Please, God,” Grant fake-prays aloud, “forget about Epicurus – just save me from the nerds.”
I grin and type, Nice to hear your voice, too – after a fashion, anyway.
A text box appears. RE: your recent adventures in New York and France…
There’s a pause.
Then Arnold asks, “What the hell were you thinking?”
Grant looks like he’s about to have a conniption fit.
Hey Mailin, I type, could you chill on the Arnold soundboard? My traveling companions aren’t feeling the love.
Would one of your ‘traveling companions’ be the former architect and billionaire, now disgraced outlaw, Grant Carlson?
Grant is not looking happy as he reads that. “That little…”
I’m gonna take the 5th on that one, I type. I can’t talk long – what’s up?
What’s UP?! I should ask YOU that question. What the hell are you doing jumping out of airplanes?!
Trying to avoid an international computer hacker and serial killer who apparently has ties to the NSA.
There is a long pause.
Then Arnold Schwarzenegger says, “Bullshit. YOU LIIEEEE!”
“This guy,” Grant mutters. “This fuckin’ guy – ”
“Shh,” I tell him.
It’s not a lie, Mailin. We’re on the run. The penthouse in New York? The apartment in Paris? On both occasions it was mercenaries hired by a serial killer who’s out to get… one of my traveling companions.
Are you sure about all that?
Of course I’m sure.
It wasn’t just that Carlson stole a Picasso from somebody who didn’t take it lying down?
Carlson? I smile as I type. Who is this Carlson you speak of?
Har-de-fuckin-har-har. Seriously, Eve – a serial killer? REALLY?
Yes, really.
Okay, fine. Let’s pretend this isn’t just a delusional fantasy from watching SILENCE OF THE LAMBS one too many times. What’s his name?
If I knew that I would sic your employers on him.
Fair enough. Got any leads?
Not yet. But he calls himself Epicurus.
…SERIOUSLY?
Hey, he chose it, not us.
Wow. And so this serial killer works for the NSA. Again, I have to ask… REALLY?
I don’t know that for sure. But the NSA were the ones who tipped off Interpol, so we figure he must have some sort of access to them.
Nice hack last night, by the way.
<
br /> I smile. Not that I can claim credit, since I didn’t do anything.
Uh-huh. So you just GUESSED that the NSA tipped off Interpol, right?
Mailin, I never told you this, but… I’m psychic.
Very funny. You know I’m not going to rat on you, Eve.
I got the subtext: ‘I didn’t rat on you years ago, and I’m not about to start now.’
I appreciate that. What makes you think it was me?
Well, nothing concrete – you covered your tracks perfectly. But when Interpol said they’d been hacked and couldn’t verify who did it, and we got intel that placed you in France, I put two and two together.
Wait a second. Who’s ‘we’?
My employers and I.
I see. So is the FBI involved now?
That’s a bit of an understatement. At the moment, finding Grant Carlson is priority number one.
My stomach turned when I read that.
Apparently Grant wasn’t too happy about it, either. He sat back in his chair and looked extremely grim.
I tried to feign lightheartedness in my reply. Again, this Grant Carlson… I have absolutely NO IDEA who you are referring to.
Yeah, yeah. Look, Eve… if you’re in danger, we can get you out of there.
My heart quickened. How?
We can fly you out. You can be gone in two hours. Just say the word.
I can’t fly on a regular airline, Mailin. I’d be too much of a target for Epicurus.
Forget Epicurus, forget commercial airlines. I can get you out immediately on a private jet.
How are you going to do that? ‘Borrow’ one from the French government?
No. It’s one of ours, and it’s already here.
‘One of ours’?
The FBI’s. Well, actually, the Department of Justice’s.
I frown. How the hell is it already here?
Because I’m in Paris. With the FBI.
47
By now, Dominique and JP are freaking out.
Grant points at the laptop. “Shut it down. NOW.”
“Calm down,” I tell him.
“Calm down?! Calm down?! Your little boyfriend is already here with the FBI in tow! They’re in Paris as we speak!”
“This could be a good thing – ”
“No, Eve. When finding you is the FBI’s ‘priority number one,’ it’s never a good thing!”
“I just meant that we might be able to turn it to our advantage somehow.”
“Turn it to our advantage?! They’re going to turn you to their advantage! They’re just like Epicurus – they’re trying to use you to get to me!”
I have to admit, it doesn’t seem like he’s wrong.
A text box appears on my monitor. Eve? You still there?
You just created a bit of consternation on this end, that’s all. Are you here for me, Mailin, or for Grant?
I see you stopped being coy about your ‘traveling companion.’ :)
He even puts a smiley face at the end of his comment.
Cut the bullshit, Mailin. Are you here for me or for Grant?
I’m OBVIOUSLY here to get you. But unfortunately, I don’t have anywhere near the authority to requisition a private jet, so I had to sell it however I could.
And how did you sell it?
That we might be able to apprehend Grant in the process.
Jesus.
“SEE?!” Grant yells.
“Putain d’merde,” JP mutters as he finishes reading the comment.
I type, Giving up Grant is not part of the bargain, Mailin.
Yeah, I figured… but I had to tell them SOMETHING to get them to fly over here.
Is the FBI with you right now?
You mean, are they reading over my shoulder? No. They’re not going to be privy to this conversation. This is between you and me.
“Right,” Grant seethes.
I hesitate.
I’ve trusted Mailin before with my own life… but should I trust him with Grant’s?
How exactly do you see this going down, Mailin?
You come in, you tell us that Grant kidnapped you, and you have no idea where he is. Then I take you back to the U.S.
You know he hired me, right?
Yes. We talked to your boss about it.
Didn’t Dan tell you about Epicurus?
No – he said that client confidentiality laws applied, and we’d have to get a court order to force him to comply. We’re working on that. But he DID confirm that Grant hired you. However, he hired you without telling you anything about how he steals paintings, right?
Well, that much was true…
Allegedly steals paintings, I typed.
Grant frowns at me. “What are you doing?”
“First rule of hacking: never admit to anything,” I say. “Even when you’re caught red-handed.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Not bad.”
The paintings were in his fucking safe room, Eve. I can almost see Mailin’s eyes rolling as he typed that.
Allegedly steals paintings, or GTFO.
Just in case you’re not up on your texting, ‘GTFO’ is the acronym for ‘Get The Fuck Out.’
Fine. ‘Allegedly’ steals paintings. But he didn’t tell you about it, right?
I didn’t know anything about any allegedly stolen paintings, no.
So you’re in the clear. As soon as you found out about it, he forced you to go with him, but you were able to escape. You tried to contact me, I got to you first, I get you out of France, bam, we’re good.
But you’re going to want me to testify against him, right? Or do SOMETHING against him, right?
You don’t have to tell them anything. If they won’t let up, you can just say that Grant took you along as a potential hostage. No one has to know the truth. I’M not even asking you for the truth.
Let me get this straight: you’re advising me to commit perjury, then?
Jesus – I’m asking you to let me help you, Eve. Just… come home.
I look at Grant.
This is it: this is the perfect out.
I could walk away from Grant and go back to my old life. Grant even wants me to go. Well, he wants me to get smuggled out of France on a boat, but… same difference. He wants to be rid of me.
The Devil is offering me a contract and a pen. All I have to do is sign on the dotted line.
I need to think about this, Mailin, I type.
What the hell is there to think about?!
I’ll get back to you. Don’t go anywhere.
Before he can answer, I log off and disconnect the computer.
48
“Well?” Grant asks. “What are you going to do?”
I consider my options: leave on a boat, or leave on a plane?
Go to some other country and hide out until Grant might have a change of heart and come back to me… or return to my old life in the U.S. of A?
The answer is easy. I know what I really want.
“I’m staying with you,” I say.
Grant shakes his head. “Not happening.”
I’d like to say that we hash it all out rationally, that we discuss the pros and cons, and that we do it quickly.
Nope.
That’s so not what happens. In fact, pretty much the opposite.
I’ll spare you the endless bickering, the cheap shots, the moaning from JP and the smug looks from Dominique. Suffice it to say, we argue all throughout dinner (again supplied by Marcel) until we go to bed.
There are two rooms at the top of the restaurant, each with two horribly creaky twin beds. The rooms are bare-bones – not fancy at all. Maybe they’re for criminals to lie low when the ‘heat is on’? Who knows? I don’t ask. But that’s where we bunk down for the night, with me and Grant in one room, and JP and Dominique in the other.
Dominique is not happy with the arrangements, but… fuck Dominique.
49
Once we say goodnight to JP, Dominique, and Marcel, Grant and I retire silently to our
room. Things are so tense that there’s not really a question of us sleeping in the same bed. Grant chooses the one nearest the window, and I take the other. It’s like we’re staking out territory in an endless war.
We are undressing for bed – and not in a sexy way, but in a I cannot fucking stand being in the same room with you kind of way – when Grant starts in on me again. “Why are you so upset about me wanting to protect you?”
We’re apart from the others for the first time, so I feel like I can finally say what my real objection is. Plus, I’m sick to death of arguing. If we’re going to end it, let’s just end it now.
“Because I think you just want to get rid of me and you can’t bear to do it to my face.”
“What?! Where did you get that idea?!”
“Oh, I don’t know – maybe because I really want to stay here and help you, and all you want to do is ship me off to parts unknown?”
“If I wanted to break up with you, I would.”
I give him a Yeah, RIGHT look.
“What?” he asks.
I hesitate.
“What?!”
“Dominique said you broke up with her by a letter. She says you left the country without even saying goodbye.”
“Ohhhhh God,” he groans as he sits down on his bed, his head in his hands. The wire bed frame squeaks under his weight.
“Did you?” I demand.
Grant looks angry. “You know she’s just trying to tear us apart, right? You do know that, right?”
“Did you, or didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I did. Do you know why? Because I tried breaking it off in person a dozen times. I hinted gently – that didn’t do it. So I started talking about how I have to go back to my life in the U.S. – but that didn’t do it, either. So I broke up with her. Full-on dumped her. I went out and got sloppy drunk afterwards – ”
“Why?”
“Because, contrary to what you believe,” he says bitterly, “I don’t enjoy hurting women.”
Ouch.
“Anyway, when I got back to my apartment, she’d broken in and was waiting for me. In bed.”
My eyes open wide.
Dominique conveniently left out the I’m a crazy-ass stalker bitch part.
The Billionaire's Redemption (The Billionaire's Kiss, Book Five): (A Billionaire Alpha Romance) Page 13
