The Ghost and The Hacker (Dark Fire Book 3) (5 page)

Instead, I'm back on my bed, listening to melancholy lyrics and fucking my fist to a looped video of Sarah and me making out on stage.  It isn't until later, when I get a text from Justin saying he has an update from the private investigator he hired, that I realize I missed the meeting with Juliana.

Oh well.  I'm sure they can cobble together something believable with all the other guys there.  And no matter what I find out about Sarah from this PI, it isn't like I can just go up to her and beg her forgiveness for how fucked up everything got all those years ago.

Hell, until The Tap, I thought
she'd
ditched
me
.  It's what her dad said when he asked me to leave her alone- that it was
her
idea.  So it wasn't
my
fault that everything went to hell.

Let's get this over with.  #shoot me now,
I text back to Justin.

Fuck it.  I would get through lunch, the rest of the 'I Heart NYC' tour, and make that call.  Just because I'm getting information to locate Sarah doesn't mean I have to use it.

How the hell am I supposed to get through lunch?

I order a grilled cheese sandwich, sure that the guys will give me shit for it, but they apparently have more pressing concerns than my lunch order because they all stay quiet.  Aside from some light conversation about the upcoming double-header we're playing this weekend, everyone else
stays
pretty quiet, too.

I am plowing through my food, shoving chips into my mouth between bites of grilled cheese, when Justin pulls a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and holds it out across the table to me between two fingers.

Snagging it, I open it to read a quick rundown of Sarah's life.

Fuck me.
  She lives in a shit neighborhood less than ten minutes' walk from the apartment I share with Cy.

See, while Justin and Griffin jumped on the chance to own high-end places in the City the minute the first check was cashed, I knew too well what it was to live hand-to-mouth.  So did Cy.  I got an amazing deal on a house in the middle of nowhere, paid it off in full, and put money in escrow to pay the taxes for the rest of my life.  It was mine free and clear and if this whole thing goes south, I'll have enough room for all of us. I even negotiated in a collectable car I can liquidate in case of emergencies.

Cy had the same idea I did, but instead of buying a house outright, he picked a nice apartment in a decent part of the City with enough security to be comfortable and has been saving every penny left over. Since the house I bought is lonely and way past the city limits, I spend most of my time at Cy's, technically living out of his guest room, though I pay about half the rent and groceries.  But being in a
decent
neighborhood means we live close enough to average folks, which means I might legitimately end up bumping into average people -
like Sarah
- now and then.

I don't like her living in the slum she's in, though.

I shovel the rest of my food into my mouth and push back my chair.

I just need to make sure she's okay.  That area is scary, especially at night.  It wouldn't hurt to make sure the building is secure.

And what the hell are you going to do about it if it's not, Moore?  Knock on her door and politely suggest she move?

I'm walking away from the restaurant, my eyes on my toes, as I contemplate what the hell I'm doing.  I have most likely missed being a hit-and-run victim several times over on the way here, my thoughts on things other than my environment, but I manage to maintain my hold on the mortal coil until I see her building.  The scary-ass vibe coming from the - probably a crack-house? - next door just about gives me heart failure and I feel bad because heart failure now would just be a
fuck you
to my guardian angel after he spent the last twenty-five minutes keeping me out from under a taxi.

The cement stairs leading to her building look like they might collapse under the weight of the broken empties lining the edge.  Plus, as I stand here, there's a noise, which may have been a gunshot, from one of the floors above. 

What is my game plan here?  Oh, right.  I walked all the way here without one, just to take a look at a place uncomfortably reminiscent of my first few
homes
in New York City.

Does she need money?  Is that why she's in this dump?  Her friend lived in a nicer apartment before this, according to the report in my hand.  Maybe neither of them made the kind of money or had the right kind of rental history for something better?

I am on the phone as I walk away, but it isn't the phone call I'd been planning to make earlier.  This one is to the private investigator Justin found.  His name and number are at the top of the page Justin gave me.

I introduce myself to Ben Crest and tell him what I want to do.  "What do you need from me to make this happen?" I ask when I'm done.  I'm pretty sure what I'm asking for is not standard PI grunt work.

"Well, if you're gonna hire me, we might talk about my rates.  Also, I can get their salary info easy, but do you have a list I can work from if your first idea doesn't work?"

I nod even though he can't see me, before listing off several options.  "And I don't care what you cost."

"Alright.  I'll call you as soon as I have something for you."

I thank my new friend and hang up, noticing that my feet have taken me close enough to my own building that I can see it from a distance.  I look back at Sarah's crumbling brick deathtrap.  If I twist at just the right angle, I can see a corner of a roof that might be hers.  It isn't possible to see one building from the other, I know, but the connection still feels like it's there.

I finish the long walk home and then plop on my couch, hobbling teenagers with my sniper rifle as they come home from school to join the fight online.  Cy drops onto the couch beside me, offering an open rootbeer and clinking his own bottle against it when I hold up a hand to take it without looking.

"Three o'clock," he says calmly, logging in as well.

"Got him."

We're guys...  One of our only big money purchases was a gaming setup that would make most other guys cry in envy.  There are two TVs mounted to the wall, all 60 inches of one, and all 48 inches of the second.  We don't do picture-in-picture.  No need.  We have a separate feed to a second screen.  Neither of them are small, but Cy likes to bitch when he gets stuck with the smaller screen to play, claiming it hurts his kill-count.

"I'm older than you.  Shouldn't I get the big screen?" he mumbles, logging in.

"Are you saying you're so old, you need all the help you can get?"  He's four friggin months older than me.

Cy takes out two guys before answering.  "Apparently not. 
Eat that
."

"Then don't bitch,
Dad
."

We're both quiet, working our way through the tunnels.  Then he says, "You bailed the other day."

"Yeah,
Dad
, I did.  Ground me," I say, huffing in frustration at the incoming team's idiocy.

"Not your dad."

"Act like it sometimes," I point out.

"Just worry."

"Like a dad."

"Yeah.  But not
your
dad.  I heard you say once he was an asshole."  Cy manages to strafe to avoid a hole in his head as he talks to me, something I still haven't mastered.  I can barely talk about in-game stuff and survive, and here he is carrying on a whole conversation while mutilating the other team.

"True.  You're not an asshole.  Most of the time," I offer.  "Sorry I bailed.  I hope Juliana wasn't too mad."  I know I don't sound very contrite.  Or very concerned about Juliana's ire.

I see him smirk out of the corner of my eye.

And just like that, he lets the conversation drop.  We sit in almost-silence, the quiet broken only in short cuss-filled spurts and warnings.  We drink our soda, up our rankings, and pass the time until we need to get ready for the show at Kermit's.

I swear, Sarah was here.  There's a pair of red panties on my keyboard frame by the end of a song, and Griffin and I do our little show before he stashes them in his pocket.  But right then, I look up and I swear I see that same flash of red ponytail.

I know I'm losing my mind, so I don't even bother trying to party with the guys.  It doesn't matter anyway.  Andy is freaking out because the pops managed to catch her rubbing her tummy and she believes the end of the world has come in the form of The Hollywood Word.  So Justin won't be partying either.

After loading our gear into Justin's SUV and my truck, Cy ducks mysteriously into the back of a cab with a wink.  Cy, who never goes home with groupies, just disappears without a word.  I wasn't up to partying, but now, I don't even have my roommate to hang out with and I feel a little lost.

I drive myself home, still seeing that flash of ponytail in my mind's eye, sure I saw her tonight.  Which is just crazy since the City is so fucking huge and there's no way she could accidentally find the band more than once just by walking past a club.  There's just no way.

But still...  I bring a picture from my stash with me to Ferdinand's.  I show it to the rather well dressed bouncer at the door and tell him that if he sees the girl, he's to hold onto her and bring her to me after the show.  I'm such an asshole; I even tell the guy - who's wearing wingtips, of all things - that she's my future baby momma and I have the right to see my kid, but she's been giving me shit.

The guy nods and murmurs something about good men sticking around for their kids.

I nod, but I don't explain that I'm actually the bad guy in all this.  I just lied about knocking her up so I can make sure I'm not hallucinating.  If he sees her, I'll know, which means no red ponytails flashing in the audience will distract me tonight.

I finish out my conversation with Wingtips when I see Cy walk in.  I haven't seen him since he winked at me the night before.  He's scruffy, like he hasn't shaved since yesterday morning, and his Three Days Grace t-shirt is a little creased.  But hell, the guy could walk in wearing sweatpants and a wifebeater and the girls would still fall all over him.  As it is, he has a kind of rehabbed bad boy thing going that makes Carlos, one of the club owners, check him out from behind.  I watch him tap Ferdinand on the shoulder and point.  Ferdinand takes a nice long look, too, and I have to wonder if the couple plans to proposition my roommate tonight.

Cy walks over to where Justin's practically having sex with Andy against a table.  I watch Cy lean over and yell Justin's name right into his ear.  It's funny as shit watching Justin and Andy skitter apart like they hadn't realized where they were.  Justin takes a few deep breaths and finally hops back onto the stage with the rest of us.

Griffin finishes setting his kit correctly and chuckles.  "Glad you're marrying the poor girl.  Hopefully after a two-week honeymoon, you two will be able to stand in the same room together and not climb down each other's throats."

Cy and Griffin continue to harass Justin pretty much until the curtains open, and I spend the time wishing I could have just a tiny taste of life working out like that for me.