Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
She shrugs like that’s no big deal. “Obviously. I wouldn’t let my own sister walk down the aisle in some tacky dress.” Her smile is genuine as she pulls away. “Alright, go back to diddling yourself or whatever you were doing in there.”
“I wasn’t diddling anything!”
But Annie’s already stalking back down the hallway. I’d go after her and try to convince her that I wasn’t playing with myself, but that’d only make it worse, and besides, Brenden’s still hiding in my room.
I shut the door, lock it, and run to the closet. I yank the doors aside—
Only to find it empty.
“Brenden?” I search the room, even going so far as to look under the bed. “Brenden!”
Nothing at all. No sign he was ever there. Even the window’s shut and latched, but how the hell did he do that? I peer down at the street, looking for anything—
And catch movement near some parked cars.
I can’t be sure it’s him. That could easily be another person or a random stray cat. But a part of me knows that was Brenden, letting me see that he’s okay, and I feel better as I slip back into bed.
The ring clutched in my left hand, the smell and taste of him still caught in my hair and on my tongue.
CHAPTER 8
BRENDEN
Istomp through what I have to think is water, otherwise I’ll be forced to throw these very nice shoes into a fucking dumpster, and pause near the middle of the alley. It stinks in here, the trash overflowing, the big metal lid left propped open by a pallet. Powerlines cross the space above and the narrow street ends in a chainlink fence.
“Brenden? That you?” A skinny man steps out from a doorway, a cigarette pinched in his fingers. He takes a drag, squinting, and blows out smoke. “Holy shit, what’s with the clothes?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I adjust my jacket and tug at the cuffs of my shirt.
“You’re in a tuxedo.”
“I always wear this.”
Alan Way rubs his forehead and takes another drag. “God, I swear, talking to you is like screaming into a dry well.”
“I’m assuming that’s a good thing.”
Alan does not seem to mean it that way.
He comes closer, twitching like a squirrel. His shirt’s too big and his pants sag. His hair’s nearly gone, but he keeps a few strands awkwardly pushed across his otherwise bald head. His bright blue eyes are sharp though and I know he’s noticing every little detail right now, analyzing and putting it aside for later. Despite his appearance, Alan’s one of my more reliable contacts.
“I got that package for you. Wasn’t particularly hard this time.” He pulls a plastic bag from his pocket. “How we squaring up?”
“Cash.” I take a roll from my jacket. “The usual price?”
“Yes please.” He tosses the bag over. I catch it and throw him the money. He snatches it, gives the roll a sniff, and makes the bunch disappear. “You know, of everyone I work for, you never ask how I do it.”
“Does it matter?” I lift Sam’s iPhone and hold it up. It unlocks with a pleasant click as it accepts my face.
“Lots of people think it does.”
“I’m not a tech guy.”
“Nah, you’re still old school.” Alan’s teeth are nice, white, and straight. Me and Alan, we’ve got a lot in common, more than I usually like to admit. For example: we use our appearance as a way to hide in plain sight.
At a glance, Alan comes off as a sketchy scumbag.
But he’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met and one of the few who specializes in cracking into Apple devices.
“Thanks for this. And for your usual discretion.”
“Happy to help a long-term client.” He hesitates and uses the butt of his old cigarette to light another. “But a question anyway. That phone…” He trails off.
Tension fills my shoulders. I’m aware Alan likely copies everything from the phones he cracks before handing them over. I’ve never asked him not to do it, and he’s always been smart about whatever he does with the data. But now I feel something shifting, and I don’t like it.
“Whatever you think you saw, you should assume you didn’t actually.”
He grunts, scratching his head, and takes a drag. “Yeah, maybe I should, but I wanted to warn you. The guy who used to own that phone? He’s a player.”
That’s a surprise. I expected him to steer me away from a Sarkissian family member, or maybe to ask for more money to keep his mouth shut.
“Player in what way?”
“There was some serious software on that thing. Sort of stuff to prevent people like me from doing what I do. Obviously it failed, because I’m a genius, but still. I’d be careful with that thing.”
“I appreciate the warning.”
“Anyways, good luck with whatever that is.” He gestures at my clothes. “You look like you’re going to a wedding.”