Page 3 of One Last Rainy Day
That I don’t have. Not anymore.
B: You never did. Can’t get away now.
Can’t or won’t?
B: Wait for me.
You don’t know what you’re asking.
B: Not asking.
“Motherfucker,” I grit out, tossing the burner on my desk. Screen blinking for a command, I decide to forgo the rabbit hole I’ve been deep diving in. Just as I find a little reprieve in milder, more mindless work, Tyler barks my name before opening my bedroom door.
“By all means, come in,” I snap, regretting the fact that, although we’re grown men, our ambitious plans for the next few months made it a no-brainer to room together temporarily. A decision I’m regretting with the traffic downstairs thanks to Sean and the constant interruptions by both since we moved in.
“Pretty sure you want to hear this,” Tyler supplies. “We have company.”
“Pretty sure I gathered that.” I jerk my chin toward the speaker streaming my playlist more in an effort to drown said company out.
“Not that kind of company,” he counters, leaning against my door frame.
Rolling back in my desk chair, I grab my stash box and unload a few supplies. “Yeah? Enlighten me.”
Tyler stalks further into the room, coming close to hovering above where I sit, his hesitance speaking volumes as he starts to preface his news with caution. “Look, man, whatever shit you have going on—”
“Already had this speech today,” I interject, plucking out a blunt paper.
“I don’t think you’re in the headspace to handle it.”
“Then why bother knocking?” Summoning some patience, I start to unroll the wrap. “Out with it. I’m good.”
“You’re not fucking good, and until you come clean with what’s going on, we can’t help you.”
“I already reached out to France,” I relay to kill the interrogation. He knows if I went to my brother, it’s nothing he can help me with, and with that understanding, he switches gears.
“Sean brought back a new employee from the plant.”
“Good on him.” I sprinkle shredded bud into the prepped paper. “Blonde or—”
“Cecelia,” he interjects, weighing my reaction through the few tense seconds that follow. I school my expression through the adrenaline spike, and he continues as I hit my keyboard. “So, we can handle this one of two ways: I can go feel her out, or you can. But either way, this greatly complicates shit.”
Already logged into her email, I scan the last one sent from Roman yesterday morning. It’s filled with everything from his gate code to his house staff schedule, giving her full access.
Though his mansion sits off a private road, and only the front is gated, it was erected like a fortress—especially in the way that the trees surrounding the property were cut back far enough that anyone who attempted to get in would be spotted by his meticulously placed security cameras. Through a strange fucking twist of fate, we own adjoining land, which grants us backyard access, but the house itself is too far away from any decent cover to get in and out without tipping him off. Any attempt to mic that house would raise flags we don’t want raised.
I have zero doubt that Roman designed it that way.
Though we had every intention of tapping the house, we abandoned those plans after the dust settled on construction. The reason being Roman rarely, if ever, sleeps there. His permanent home is his condo in Charlotte, which we’ve successfully tapped along with Horner Tech’s corporate office. Those taps have since proved useless aside from the ability to keep tabs on his schedule and whereabouts, making it easier for the birds on his permanent watch. One of which is a current headquarters employee.
“Thought we had birds on her?” Tyler prompts.
“I took over her surveillance the day after I got home because we were moving in on Roman. Which is why the old watch didn’t alert us when she packed up yesterday and drove here.Fuck.”
“Did France know?”
“That I took over?” I cut my eyes up at him. “Why...do you think he would have fucking objected?”
“Only if you fucked up and dropped the ball, which you clearly did,” he draws out as he crosses his arms. “Even so, you missnothing, Dom, so what or who distracted you?”
