Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 126840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
And again, she got there before him.
“You don’t have to say it.” She spoke quietly. “I know. So after this, I promise I’m not going to let Bree do anything stupid, but I figure she’s already made that promise to herself. This means you won’t have to save us again, neither will any of your friends. So we’re done.”
It was like taking the steak knife and cutting himself from gullet to gut, having to say, “Yeah, baby. You’re right. We’re done.”
She lifted her chin a smidge. “Can I please have my phone to call an Uber?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, please do not make me put you in a car with a stranger.”
He saw the sheen of tears before she looked out the window again.
Core finished his steak fast, ate a few chips, swilled it back with some beer, and called softly, “Ready?”
She immediately set her beer on his kitchen table and walked to him. He handed over her phone as she walked right past him toward his garage door, not even glancing up at him.
Not giving him those pretty green eyes or what was in them, he’d even take her hurt, that was how deep he was sinking into her.
Jesus.
Yup.
Gutted.
Nanook started to come with, and her voice was throaty when, for some reason, she begged, “Not the dog. Please. Can he stay at home by himself?”
“Sit. Stay, Nanook.”
Nanook sat and didn’t move.
They hit the garage.
He opened her door on the truck.
She avoided looking at him as she climbed in.
He got in beside her, pulled out and drove her home.
He was idling at her curb when he turned to her.
“Hellen—”
“’Bye, Dustin,” she whispered, already opening her door.
She leaped out and slammed the door without looking back.
Running on her toes up the walk, she was closed into her apartment before he could release his breath.
And she was gone.
9
WHAT MATTERS
Core
It was ten to midnight the next night.
Friday.
Core was standing a few feet from his bike, his back resting against the brick of a building.
He was in an alley behind a restaurant in downtown Denver, and he had his phone to his ear.
The voice that came over the line was either altered, or someone was typing out the words and the reading was automated. He didn’t know which.
The brothers had discussions about it. Core was in the camp it was automated because, he reckoned, that was the only way The Nerd rolled.
“Your assignment has been accepted,” the voice said. “Research will commence at zero hundred hours Saturday.” In other words, in ten minutes. “Expect a report at eighteen hundred hours on Sunday.”
After that, there was a disconnect.
But it was good news.
The Nerd was going to do the online footwork on the Greeks.
Resurrection had other geeks they could go to for that kind of thing, but none of them were anywhere near as good as The Nerd.
Because of that, the brothers had more discussions about whether The Nerd was a one-man operation, or it was a coalition of computer geeks who worked together. Results were always thorough and swift, and when they went to one of their other assets for this kind of thing (even Brody, who was the best in Denver), they couldn’t produce those results in that short of a time.
The Nerd referred to itself as The Nerd, but Core was convinced identifying as being singular was one of many tactics they used to throw people off.
The Nerd was underground. The Nerd didn’t charge. The only thing you had to do to keep in the good graces of The Nerd was to keep your mouth shut about them, and you accepted that they worked for you when they wanted to. You told no one about them. You submitted your assignments, and they accepted them, or they didn’t, and you didn’t push it.
The Nerd had introduced itself to Resurrection when the club was working with a mom who was a friend of a friend of Rainman’s old lady.
Shit had been real with her daughter—behavior changes, mood deteriorating rapidly and alarmingly. All of this defying explanation, nurture and therapy.
Then it happened. The mom came home and found her girl in her car in the garage. The car was on. The garage door was down.
She didn’t die, but she’d been in that garage long enough with oxygen not getting where it needed to go, the mom would be taking care of her girl forever.
The dad was an asshole, checked out, no help.
And eventually, when she went through all her daughter’s stuff to try to find answers, the mom discovered her sixteen-year-old daughter was caught in a cyber-sexploitation gig. Journals she kept shared she was terrified, and so ashamed, she didn’t tell anyone, not even any of her friends, that some perverted piece of shit was making her life torture.
The cops wanted nothing to do with it. Cyber-crimes weren’t easy to solve, and the victim was as good as dead. They took it on, but their tepid attempts to make headway were not lost on the girl’s mother.