How to Hack a Hacker (Unholy Trifecta Book 3)

by AJ Sherwood

  “A fucking train wreck.”

  The man rumbled a laugh, like gravel pouring downhill. “That bad, eh.”

  “I mean, she was shallow and the type to talk without letting the other person get a word in. I wanted to stuff a sock in her mouth several times.”

  “I thought it must be bad, if you’re answering the phone at barely six o’clock.”

  “Yeah. I escaped twenty minutes in.” He plopped down on the edge of his king-sized bed, shoulders slumped. “But that’s not what has me so pissed off. K was there tonight.”

  Mattias sucked in a startled breath. “He was? How do you know?”

  “He gave me the excuse I needed to get out of the date. I didn’t realize he was there, not until he called me. As I was walking out of the restaurant, I could hear him—that double echo of having a person on the phone but having them nearby, too. He was actually there tonight.”

  “And you didn’t see him?”

  “God, I probably did. He was close enough that he knew exactly how to intervene and get me free of her. I didn’t question it at the time because he always seems to know everything. But he had to be close tonight. I just don’t know who it could have been. There were several men sitting alone. And I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, wasn’t looking closely at anyone.” Brannigan kicked himself for that a few dozen times.

  “So you’ve no idea who it was.”

  “No.” Not for the first time, he pleaded, “Papà, you really can’t think of who it could be? He said you saved his life. He’s maybe late twenties or early thirties. I’ve gotten him to confess that much.”

  “I’m sorry, my son, I really have no idea,” Mattias answered sadly. “When I was younger, I did so many bad things. I grew so guilty about it that I did a lot of volunteer work to help balance the tally on my soul. You know the orphans that I provided for and fostered, and the clinics I helped put into place. It could be any one of a hundred or more people.”

  Brannigan ran a hand roughshod through his hair, disheveling it in unruly directions. He was proud of his father for the way he’d turned the family around. Proud of the legacy his father had created before retiring. Hell, the man was still active in half a dozen causes. But in this sense, it didn’t do him any good. “I know, Papà. I know, sorry for pushing.”

  “I know how frustrated you are that you’ve not been able to properly meet this man,” his father said, tone gentle. “I know that you like him. But he was close to you tonight. That means he’s in Boston. He’s nearby. Isn’t that a good sign? That he finally came close?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’d have taken it as that. But I asked him tonight why he wouldn’t meet me if he was willing to come this close. He said he has people to protect. He’s not sure if it’s a good idea if I can put a face to him. He doesn’t trust me, Papà.”

  “My son, my sweet son, is that what’s hurting you? That he won’t trust you?”

  “Isn’t it completely unfair? I trust him. I can’t even put a face to him, or hell, even his name. But I trust him.”

  “You do not know his reasons or his circumstances. Do not assume that because he won’t meet you now, he won’t ever do so. He came close to you tonight and for no other reason than to tease you. It’s the first time in six years he was willing to do so. Take that as a positive sign.”

  Brannigan sighed heavily. “You’ve got a good point. Okay.”

  “And I hope for your sake he’ll reconsider and come meet you properly. It’ll be good for you to date someone you actually like.”

  Brannigan pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it suspiciously for a second before replacing it. “So it’s obvious even to you that I like him?”

  “Brannigan. A blind man in space couldn’t miss that.”

  “Then surely he’s realized?”

  “I would hope so. And that might be part of the reason he’s so cautious. You have a tendency to latch onto things you like and never give them up.”

  “Guilty.” Brannigan shrugged, no defense on his lips. He still had Bun-Bun from his infancy sitting on a shelf in his study. Once he decided he liked something, he didn’t relinquish it easily.

  “I ask only one favor from you. I know that you’re frustrated and that you want to properly meet him. Please, don’t do anything stupid and dangerous to get his attention.”

  “Now Papà, would I do that?”

  “Yes. Yes, you would.”

  His father knew him too well. “Well, it might be silly, but I promise it won’t be dangerous.”

  “Good. Your mother worries.”

  Brannigan snorted. Sure, it was his mother. His mother, who was definitely the more practical parent of the two. “Sure she does.”

  “Good night, my son. Rest well.”

  “Night, Papà.” He hung up and stared at the phone for a while. He thought about texting K again, see if the burner number would still work. It likely wouldn’t. K never used the same phone for more than a day before the number mysteriously disconnected.

  Most of the time, Brannigan wouldn’t try it. Tonight, he felt desperate enough to do so. He typed in: Tell me what I have to do so that you’ll trust me enough to meet.

  No answer.

  Sighing, he called his head of security.

  Gideon sounded a little tipsy as he answered, “Hey, boss.”

  “He was there tonight.”

  “Who was?”

  “K.”

  Gideon’s lackadaisical tone immediately sharpened. “Wait. Wait, K was at the restaurant? He was your date?”

  “I only wish he was my date. But yes, he was at the restaurant. I heard him for a few seconds. Gideon, pull the security footage at the restaurant. I’m sure they have at least a few cameras. I might be able to narrow the field. He was on the phone with me off and on throughout the date.”

  “You realize he’s probably already scrubbed the footage.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. He was rattled that I’d almost caught him. He might not be as on top of his game as usual. Just check, please.”

  “Sure thing. I’m on it now.”

  “Thanks, Gideon.” Brannigan hung up, then blew out a long breath. A hot bath, some bath bombs, and some wine was in order. He needed to unwind if he had even a chance of sleeping tonight.

  K was in Boston. Brannigan would find him or die trying.

  Brannigan was only in a marginally better mood the next morning. He managed to be cordial to people as he walked into the office—well, one of his offices. He ostensibly had nine. There was one in each of the five-star hotels he owned, his home office (that he actually used the most frequently), and one each for his real estate projects. Those were nothing glamourous, just a trailer on each building site, but sometimes he had to be there for hours at a time.

  This morning he went to The Office—originally his father’s, when Mattias Genovese decided to go legit. It was on the second floor of the restaurant he’d opened, a homey and very well-lived-in area with rows upon rows of bookshelves crammed with records. A massive old mahogany desk sat in the middle of the floor, and the laptop and files sitting on it didn’t begin to cover the surface.

  Slinging himself behind it, Brannigan set his coffee tumbler off to the side and opened his laptop. He had a slew of emails to get through this morning, some project requisitions to review and sign off on, and other miscellaneous things. Hopefully his attention span would kick in at some point. He felt more than a bit scatterbrained at the moment.

  Three emails in, Gideon strode through the door. His head of security looked a bit worse for wear, with dark circles under his eyes, and a slight squint to his dark brown eyes that suggested the dregs of a hangover. He was in his normal white shirt, dark slacks, and discreet black boots. “Sir. No luck on the cameras.”

  Brannigan sucked in a breath. Blew it out very slowly to avoid saying something he probably shouldn’t. “Let me guess. They had technical problems.”

  “Something like that. They said the cameras went off
line about a half hour before you arrived, but the machine didn’t throw up a warning for some reason.” Gideon said this very dryly. “I think I know what caused their glitch.”

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Brannigan tried to stave off the oncoming headache through sheer willpower. “Damn his thoroughness.”

  “I know you’re mad, boss,” Gideon hedged, his Boston accent thickening, “but please don’t do something stupid or reckless to get him to call you.”

  “Actually, right now the furthest thing from my mind is talking to him. I’m mad. I’m so mad that I was flipping off random security cameras as I got coffee and breakfast this morning.”

  Gideon’s eyebrows rose, although he was trying to tamp down any obvious signs of amusement. “That must have been a sight.”

  “Oh, I got more than a few strange looks. But I knew K was watching.”

  “You’re really convinced he watches you all day?”

  “Probably not all day, but the majority of it, yeah. He always alerts me when he can’t, which tells me something.” Alright, so that was a dead end. Brannigan should have guessed as much. K was nothing if not thorough. Sighing, he let it go. “Alright, so where do we stand on Roxbury? We have enough security to go through there?”

  “Boss, you need a fucking army. But yeah, we’re making strides. Most of the repairs to the street lights are done at this point, which helps. Crime’s gone down thirty percent in the past month alone.”

  That was Brannigan’s latest project. There were amazing, beautiful places in Boston. But almost like a chiaroscuro painting, where there was light, there must be darkness. Some of the worst neighborhoods in the entirety of the United States were in Boston. Roxbury wasn’t the worst of the worst, but it was certainly on the list. Most of it was boarded up, or condemned, or on the verge of being condemned. Brannigan had swept through the area and bought up most of the properties. What he could restore, he intended to. Where he couldn’t, he’d start from scratch. Charter schools, new housing—housing that was affordable—cafes, restaurants, and strip malls for small businesses. All of that was in the plans.

  The first step in the grand master plan was to put new street lights up. Studies had shown that having well-lit streets cut crime by as much as forty percent. He wouldn’t send people in to work in that area without proper protection. Security personnel was next.

  Now if the fucking Irish Mob would leave him alone, he could get some work done.

  Gideon must have read that thought off his face as he cleared his throat. “I’ve seen some of their guys nosing around. They don’t like the changes. Or at least, they’re still trying to get protection money and force people into high-interest loans.”

  “No one’s taking it, I hope.”

  “I think a few are. Most people are going to that loan place you opened up—word’s circulating good that they can get low interest rates there. But I think a few are desperate enough to take both loans.”

  “Damn. That means they still have a foothold in the neighborhood. I’ll get—” he cut himself off in aggravation.

  Gideon’s amusement finally broke through. “K will happily look into it and tell you who’s got a loan with these guys.”

  Brannigan met that amusement with a glare. “K can suck an egg for all I care. I’ll ask Whit to look into it for me. Let’s buy those loans out if we can. I don’t want the Irish Mob to have even a single investment in this neighborhood.”

  “I hear ya. Let me talk to Whit and work with him on this. I need to go back into Roxbury today anyway, map out patrol routes for the guys.”

  “Okay, fine. Keep me updated on that.” Brannigan turned his attention back to the laptop. He answered more emails, one of which was from the mayor, who was delighted by Brannigan’s proposal to turn Roxbury into something welcoming again. He was assured that City Planning would be open and receptive to Brannigan’s plans, once those were formalized.

  Which was good news, but that meant Brannigan really had to sit down with his architects and get those plans finished. They were still in the concept stage at this point. He fired off a group email to his architects, urging them to get him something final in the next two weeks if at all possible. The individual plans for each building didn’t have to be done at this stage, just the overall scope of the project.

  That done, he sipped more coffee, trying to think of the logistics on this. What needed to happen next? Perhaps the next—

  His phone buzzed. Brannigan checked it on autopilot.

  don’t be mad at him

  He stared at the message for a full second, unable to process it. Then he blinked, read it again, and every other thought in his head evaporated like smoke. It was an unregistered number, but this clearly wasn’t K texting him. Centering the phone in both hands, he typed back, Don’t be mad at K? Why?

  it’s me he’s protecting

  don’t be mad at him

  Brannigan was dying to ask who this was, but he bit the question back. Doing that would shut down this person, whoever they were, immediately. And who knew how much time he had with them before K caught on? I’m more hurt than mad. I want him to trust me. Even with you.

  really? then you want to meet him?

  I’d love to meet him.

  i’ll tell him not to be scared, ok?

  Brannigan had the distinct impression he wasn’t speaking with an adult. He wasn’t sure why, that was just how the conversation leaned. Tell him I’m only a little mad.

  ok. oops gotta go. i didn’t text you, ok?

  Ok. Brannigan stared at the bizarre conversation on his phone. He took a screenshot of it, then deleted the messages. K ignored his pictures for the most part, but the text messages he monitored.

  Just who was that? And how upset was K, that this person would intervene on his behalf?

  Brannigan tapped a thoughtful finger against the top of the desk. Well. Maybe there was some hope after all.

  4

  Kyou

  Kyou came out of the shower, hair still damp and with low-slung sweats and a worn-in shirt hugging his body. He was all set to wander into the kitchen and get some coffee when he saw his niece sitting in his computer chair. Remi had her legs tucked up under her, monitoring Brannigan on three of his monitors, her cup of soup clutched in both hands. She was here this morning, instead of at school, because of a fever. Ari had errands to run, so he was babysitting her until her father could get back. Kyou didn’t mind the company because, even sick, she was fun to hang with. But there was something off about…wait. That top drawer had been firmly locked and closed before he went to take a shower. It wasn’t locked now and was ever so slightly open.

  He stalked to the drawer and yanked it open. Sure enough. One of his burner phones was out of position, ever so slightly, as if it had been replaced in a rush. He stared at Remi from the corner of his eye. “Want to tell me something, princess?”

  She slumped in the chair. “Busted.”

  “What did you need with one of the burners?”

  Remi hunched in a bit more, not looking at him. She looked a second away from pulling the hood up of her Zelda hoodie. Her borrowed Zelda hoodie, as that one was definitely his. That scamp, when had she raided his closet? “I texted him.”

  “Texted who…? No, shit, tell me you didn’t text Brannigan.” Kyou felt true alarm spike his blood pressure.

  “I didn’t tell him who I was,” she defended herself, still only looking at the monitors. “I just asked him not to be mad at you.”

  Kyou counted to ten, reining in his temper. “Why would you do that, Rems?”

  “Because he said he didn’t want to talk to you.”

  He went abruptly still. Shit. “He really said that?”

  “To the other guy, the bald one,” she related, peeking up at him from under her lashes. “He said he was mad and he didn’t want to talk to you right now.”

  Shiiiit. “So you texted him. What exactly did you say?”

  “That I was the reason you won�
�t meet him. He said he wasn’t really mad, but hurt. He wants you to trust him. He wants to meet you.”

  Kyou hunkered down onto his haunches, leaning his forehead against the arm of the chair. He just needed to take that in for a second. Brannigan had been trying to catch him for years. It was pride, and aggravation, and curiosity that drove the man. Kyou would have sworn on a bible that hadn’t changed. So when had it become something else? When had it changed that Brannigan was now hurt because he wouldn’t meet him? That Kyou wouldn’t trust him? And it wasn’t even a matter of trust, it was…hell, it was a lot of reasons.

  “It’s not really you, Rems. You’re not the main reason.”

  She put the cup down on the desk with a clatter before twisting around to face him. It jostled the chair some, her long brown hair smacking him lightly in the head. “I’m not?”

  “No, princess, I refused to meet with him long before you came along.” Sighing, he lifted his head. “And it’s not because I don’t trust the man. Brannigan is one of the most trustworthy men I know.”

  “Then why don’t you want to meet him?”

  “It’s more like, I don’t know how.” Kyou couldn’t figure out how to explain the complexity of the situation to a ten-year-old. He wasn’t sure if he could explain it to an adult, for that matter. “I’ve been protecting this man for twelve years.”

  Remi squeaked surprise. “Twelve?!”

  “Yeah. Your fathers and uncles, they only know about six of those years. But I’ve been watching over him longer than that. I’ve been watching him for so long that he’s his own circle. And then in a different circle, I’ve got you, and your dads and uncles, and the life I have with them. I don’t know how those circles can overlap. If I step out and meet Brannigan, he won’t be content to only do that once. He’ll want to be part of my life, too.”

  “But you want that too,” she said with obvious confusion.

  Out of the mouth of babes. Yes, a part of Kyou really wanted to be part of Brannigan’s life. To be able to step out, touch the man. It was why Kyou kept interfering in his dates. In fact, Kyou liked him too much, because he kept breaking his own rules for Brannigan in order to come as close as he did. If the man weren’t so alluring, this wouldn’t be such an issue. But he was this wicked combination of chaotic good, wicked charm, and intelligence all poured into a smoking-hot body. Maybe other men could resist him. Kyou had already tried and failed.