Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(92)

“Not sell them,” my brother gasps. “This will be a service company. Hire us to come in and verify your products. This is actually where you come in…”

“Not really,” I argue. “I was just in it for the egg sandwiches and coffee. Have you seen Shelby anywhere?”

“Eric, listen. I have a proposition for you.”

“No,” I say immediately.

“You haven’t heard it yet!”

“I’m just saving us both the time. I’m going to say no. Unless this proposition lets me scare Tatum again.” Max shakes his head. “See? Then I don’t care.”

“Max!” Call the nerds at the table. “We need a new testing configuration. How about a phone this time?”

“Sure,” Max agrees. “Eric, hand me your phone.”

“No way!” I put a protective hand on my back pocket.

“It’s just for a minute, I’ll put it back together when we’re done.”

“That’s exactly what you said about my Operation game,” I argue.

“I was nine years old!” Max yelps. “I didn’t have access to the right tools. It’s not the same at all. Besides, I’ll make you an espresso.”

“Use your own damn phone.”

“I can’t. I can’t get a blueprint for mine, because I’ve altered it myself.”

Of course he has. “Where are you getting these blueprints anyway?” I pull out my phone. “That can’t be public information.”

“Oh, the dark web.” He shrugs. “And I called in a couple of favors. That’s why I need your Katt phone. Nate sent over the plans.” Max tries to grab the phone out of my hands, but first I have to see whether I have any new messages from Alex.

Nope.

“Bummer about the cracked screen.” Max clicks his tongue. “Heads up, Kyler!” He takes it from me and throws it to his guy at the other end of the table.

“Why am I really here, Max? Aside from letting you perform surgery on my phone.”

He grabs my arm and steers me over to the kitchenette on one wall.

The heavens are merciful. There’s an espresso machine here. Max grabs four pods out of the overhead cabinet and shoves two of them into the machine. He puts two cups underneath and pushes the button.

“This is a big deal,” he says. “Not just for me, but for the future. A year from now, hardware hacks will be all over the front page of the Times and the Post. Everything is in play. Privacy, industrial espionage, and national security. I need someone I trust to shepherd this project along. I can’t be everywhere at once.”

It’s not that I don’t believe him. My brother’s big ideas are exciting, but they’re just not me. “I already have a job,” I remind him.

“Do you?” He takes the cups out from under the espresso machine and hands me one. “What if you can’t go back to hockey?”

“I can if I want to.” It’s just a matter of how much pain, surgery and rehab I’m willing to endure.

“But for how much longer, Eric? Be honest.”

Sulking, I take a sip of espresso. Does Max know how terrifying this question really is? I think he does, and he just doesn’t care. “One season, tops,” I admit.

“Then do this for me. Now, or in 18 months. It will help Alex.”

And this is exactly why I hate discussing my inevitable retirement. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m going to do with myself afterward. But it will not be this. “I want Alex to get all the help she needs. But not like this, Max.”

“Look, I know an office job would be an adjustment—”

I stop him right there. “It’s not the office. It’s your world view. I don’t want to spend eighty hours a week thinking of all the ways the world is about to end. Even if it’s true. That’s not how my mind works.”

My brother sighs. “You’re smart enough for security work. But you’re just not cynical enough. It’s a problem.” My brother drains his coffee, then puts the cup beneath the machine again.

“Look,” I say as he grabs two more pods to make himself a double. “Duff told me he’s worked a lot of overtime this week.”

“Yeah, and I haven’t slept since I last saw you.”

“That was forty-eight hours ago.”

“I noticed.” He hits the button and espresso begins to stream into his cup.

“There’s a way I can help you guys. I want to.”

“Really?” He glances my way, and then he frowns. “Wait. No. You cannot be serious.”

But I totally am.





33





Alex





“I don’t understand,” Whitbread grumbles into my ear. “Why are we vetting two contracts for the same manufacturing job?”

“I’m spreading the risk around,” I explain for the third time. “The factory fire was a wake-up call. Two manufacturers will insure a steady supply.”

“But this is the only part you’re buying two of?” he asks. “That makes no sense.”

Honestly, he’s right. But Whitbread brings out my self-righteous side. “It makes sense to me,” I argue. “The Butler will sell out during Christmas, and I’m not taking any chances.”