Lock In (Lock In, #1)(18)

“Are you the doctor?” I asked. “Ms. Robinson said one of you was a doctor.”

“That’s Tayla,” Tony said. “She’s at work. Everyone’s at work, except me. I’m a contract coder. Today I’m working for Genoble Systems, on their brain-interface software. Tomorrow, someone else. I usually work from here, unless a client needs me on-site.”

“So someone’s always here.”

“Usually,” Tony said. “Now. Should I make like I don’t know who you are, or can I admit that I was reading about you on the Agora yesterday?”

“Oh, joy,” I said.

“You’ll note I said everyone is at work,” Tony said. “So you’re not likely to get judged for that. We have a range of political opinions in the house as it is.”

“So you know I’m an FBI agent,” I said.

“I do,” Tony said. “Deal with conspiracies and murders?”

“You’d be surprised,” I said.

“I bet I would,” Tony said. “Well, I just met you but I like you. You’ll have to meet and get the approval of the others, though.”

“How many more of you are there?”

“Four,” Tony said. “There’s Tayla, Sam Richards, and Justin and Justine Cho. They’re twins.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“They’re all good folks, promise,” Tony said. “Can you swing ’round tonight to meet them?”

“Ah, no,” I said. “I have a family thing tonight. It’s my second day on the job. I’m supposed to go home for the official ‘hooray, our kid is employed’ dinner.”

“Well, you can’t miss that,” Tony said. “When do you think you’ll wrap up?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Probably nine thirty, ten at the latest.”

“Here.” Tony pinged me over the common channel with an invite. “Tuesdays are our group night in the Agora. We hang out and usually frag each other’s brains out in an FPS. Pop in. You can meet the crew and take a head shot or two.”

“Sounds good,” I said.

“Great. I’ll send over the room application and we can do it up formally. We’ll need first month and a deposit.”

“I can do that.”

“Even better,” Tony said. “Presuming you get the signoff from everyone tonight, you can move in as soon as your payment arrives.”

“You’re not going to want a background check?” I joked.

“I think your entire life has been a background check, Chris,” Tony said.





Chapter Six

“OH, FUCK ME,” I said, the minute I saw the valet at the door to my house.

The painkillers from my oral extraction at four o’clock had started wearing off as I headed home, and that made me grumpy to begin with. But the valet meant one thing: donor dinner. Most cars could self-park but there were still people who demanded that they had to be behind the wheel, and took great pride in their dumb cars. A bunch of them were the sort of cranky old people who might support my dad’s bid for senator. That made me crankier than the tooth extraction.

My mother had obviously guessed my mood as I stomped up to her, because she held out her hands placatingly. “Don’t blame me, Chris,” she said. “I thought it was just going to be a family dinner. I had no idea your father was going to turn it into a fund-raiser.”

“I’m skeptical,” I said.

“I don’t blame you,” she said. “But it’s the truth.” Behind her, catering staff laid out place settings in the formal dining room, directed by Lisle, our house supervisor. I counted out the settings.

“Sixteen settings, Mother,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Where are they all?”

“They’re not all here yet,” she said. “The ones that are, are down in the vet’s office.”

“Mom,” I warned.

“I know, I’m not supposed to say that out loud,” she said. “I’ll amend. They’re in the trophy room.”

“So it’s not just the usual gang of idiots,” I said.

“You know your father,” Mom said. “Dazzle the new money with the hardware. It would be vulgar except for the fact that it works.”

“Actually, it’s still vulgar,” I said.

“Yes, it is,” Mom agreed. “And it still works.”

“Dad doesn’t need their money to run for senator,” I pointed out.

“Your father needs them to believe he’s invested in their interests,” Mom said. “That’s why he takes their money.”

“Yeah, that’s not Machiavellian at all.”

“Yes, well,” she said. “The things we do to get your father elected.” She reached out and touched my shoulder. “And how was your day?”

“Interesting,” I said. “I’m working on a murder case. And I think I may have found an apartment.”

“I still don’t know why you think you need an apartment,” my mother said, crossly.

“Mom, you’re the only person in the world who would have chosen my apartment hunting over a murder case as a topic of conversation.”