The Billionaire's Redemption (The Billionaire's Kiss, Book Five): (A Billionaire Alpha Romance) (16 page)

“You might’ve told me you were a fucking art thief, then, before you put my life in danger,” I sneer.

He wants to say something so badly, but there’s not really a comeback to that one.

He could try,
I couldn’t tell you at the time.

Then I would say,
Sure you could have. You just didn’t want to take the chance of me ratting on you and you going to jail.

And then I see the opening.

Just like he hurt me earlier, I decide to hurt him back.

“Is it that you don’t want me to go to prison, or that you don’t want me to testify against you?” I ask quietly. “Is it
my
skin you’re worried about, or your own?”

He looks hurt, and betrayed, and enraged all at once.

I immediately feel ashamed for saying it.

But, shockingly, it has the desired effect.

“Fine,” he says, his voice cold. “Contact your little FBI friend. Go back to America and tell them whatever you want. I don’t give a damn what you do.”

Then
he’s
the one who walks out of the room.

So.

I just alienated the man I’m in love with. I suggested he’s an unprincipled crook who only cares about himself. And I did it all out of petty revenge.

I’m officially miserable… but I’ve got shit to do.

As I make my preparations to contact Mailin, JP watches me nervously. “This is perhaps a very bad idea, no?”

“It’ll be fine,” I say dismissively as I make the necessary adjustments to the proxies.

“How do you know he will be who he says he will be?”

“Well, for starters, there’s only one place he could be talking about in his message. If he’s there, it’s Mailin. Two, I’m going to do something. If he responds the right way, it can only be Mailin.”

“…and?”

“And that’s it. Yes or no. He’s not going to be a pod person.”

“…pod person?”

“You know –
Invasion of the Body Snatchers?”

It’s apparent JP doesn’t know.

“A doppelganger,” I say. “A bad guy with Mailin’s face. Look, he’s either Mailin or he’s not, and he’s either on my side or he’s not. It’s black and white. No in-between.”

JP lays his head down on the table. “I still feel this is perhaps a very bad idea…”

I download the final program I’ll need and test it out by clicking a button.

Al Pacino’s voice suddenly comes out of the laptop.

“HOO-AH!”

JP and Dominique both jump in surprise, then look at me in bewilderment.

“It’s… just trust me,” I say to them.

“Trust you, huh?” Grant’s voice asks from the doorway.

I look back over at him, and suddenly I’m dreading this even more.

“Yes. Trust me,” I repeat.

Grant walks over and sits in the chair next to me. “You and Al Pacino, huh?”

“And Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

“…what?”

I sigh. I know this is going to sound stupider than I want it to.

“It’s how we used to entertain ourselves when we weren’t hacking. There are these computer programs where you can record sound clips from movies, right? Then you make prank calls to people and hold entire conversations with clips from
Kindergarten Cop
or
The Godfather
or whatever. Mailin and I used to do it to each other all the time. Like… dueling celebrity prank phone calls, but just the two of us.”

Grant stares at me with something like dawning horror
and
disgust.

I continue. “There are clues in the message he sent me. First off, he’s telling me to go back to one of our old online haunts. He also said he wants to talk, so I’m going to open with Al Pacino. If he answers with Arnold Schwarzenegger, I know it’s him.”

Grant stares at me a little longer, then finally says, “I feel so much safer now that I know I’m entrusting my life to those two computer hacking geniuses, Beavis and Butthead.”

I click a button on the soundboard.

Al Pacino yells out,
“FUCK YOU!”

Grant smiles wryly. “Can you record my voice on there?”

“Yes. I can record anything.”

“Good. I’m going to have a few choice phrases if this doesn’t work out.”

I glare at him, then turn back to the laptop.

We’re talking again, so I guess that’s progress.

Even if I’m using Al Pacino as an intermediary.

I enter an ancient forum, one of the tens of millions of derelict ghost ships drifting through the internet that nobody has ever bothered to remove. Then I find the thread dedicated to fans talking about the movie
Old School,
the one with Will Ferrell. Since that came out in 2003, you can guess how long it’s been since anyone has entered a comment. Mailin and
I
found it years after it saw its last visitor. In fact, I haven’t been on in… oh… six years, at least.

As soon as Grant sees a picture of Will Ferrell doing a beer bong hit, he says, “Seriously? This is your secret hacking lair?”

I click the mouse and Al Pacino yells,
“Shut UP!”

Grant sighs. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of…”

I click again.

“I don’t wanna hear any fuckin’ shit, and I don’t GIVE a shit!”

JP snorts in amusement.

Grant glares at him. “This is not funny. This is idiotic.”

Al Pacino retorts with,
“He’s a tight ass! And you got your head ALL the way UP it!”

JP laughs again. Even Dominique smiles.

“Would you stop that?” Grant barks.

“Sit down! Shut up! You understand?”

Grant puts his face in his hands.

“Can I do my thing now?” I ask nicely.

Grant waves me along with one hand without looking at me.
Sure. Go ahead.

I navigate to the correct page, the one where Mailin and I used to do our dueling celebrity quote battles, and hack into a private channel enabled with sound.

I click a button.

“Hello?”
Al Pacino says.

Nothing.

Grant watches me expectantly.

“Who’s there?”
Al Pacino asks.

No answer.

Grant shakes his head. “This is the biggest waste of time – ”

Arnold Schwarzenegger’s German accent suddenly erupts into the room.

“Hi honey, how are you?”

Grant, JP, and Dominique all exchange looks.

With just a few mouse clicks, Al and Arnold start having a conversation.

Al Pacino:
“Do you know me?

Arnold:
“Yeah.”

“So you got somethin’ to tell me, or what?”

“Hey, I’m a police officer.”

“What’s the game plan?”

“Well here’s my plan. My mission is to protect you.”

“Is that all you got?”

“Trust me! You used to be somebody I could trust.”

“How much longer is this going to go on?” Grant asks, seriously annoyed.

Suddenly a text box appears onscreen with the words,
Are we good?

I look at Grant and say, “Well, either Al Pacino and Arnold can keep talking, or Mailin and I can. What’s it gonna be?”

Grant stares at the little black box… then finally gives in. “Fine. Go ahead. Do whatever you’re going to do. Just as long as I don’t have to hear any more lame movie quotes.”

“No guarantees on that. Mailin loooves him some Arnold Schwarzenegger,” I say as I type,
We’re good. Hi Mailin.

Arnold Schwarzenegger replies,
“Hello, sweetheart, how are you? It’s so nice to hear your voice.”

“See?” I say to Grant.

“Please, God,” Grant fake-prays aloud, “forget about Epicurus – just save me from the nerds.”

I grin and type,
Nice to hear your voice, too – after a fashion, anyway.

A text box appears.
RE: your recent adventures in New York and France…

There’s a pause.

Then Arnold asks,
“What the hell were you thinking?”

Grant looks like he’s about to have a conniption fit.

Hey Mailin,
I type,
could you chill on the Arnold soundboard? My traveling companions aren’t feeling the love.

Would one of your ‘traveling companions’ be the former architect and billionaire, now disgraced outlaw, Grant Carlson?

Grant is not looking happy as he reads that. “That little…”

I’m gonna take the 5th on that one
, I type.
I can’t talk long – what’s up?

What’s UP?! I should ask YOU that question. What the hell are you doing jumping out of airplanes?!

Trying to avoid an international computer hacker and serial killer who apparently has ties to the NSA.

There is a long pause.

Then Arnold Schwarzenegger says,
“Bullshit. YOU LIIEEEE!”

“This guy,” Grant mutters. “This fuckin’ guy – ”

“Shh,” I tell him.

It’s not a lie, Mailin. We’re on the run. The penthouse in New York? The apartment in Paris? On both occasions it was mercenaries hired by a serial killer who’s out to get… one of my traveling companions.

Are you sure about all that?

Of course I’m sure.

It wasn’t just that Carlson stole a Picasso from somebody who didn’t take it lying down?

Carlson?
I smile as I type.
Who is this Carlson you speak of?

Har-de-fuckin-har-har. Seriously, Eve – a serial killer? REALLY?

Yes, really.

Okay, fine. Let’s pretend this isn’t just a delusional fantasy from watching SILENCE OF THE LAMBS one too many times. What’s his name?

If I knew that I would sic your employers on him.

Fair enough. Got any leads?

Not yet. But he calls himself Epicurus.

…SERIOUSLY?

Hey, he chose it, not us.

Wow. And so this serial killer works for the NSA. Again, I have to ask… REALLY?

I don’t know that for sure. But the NSA were the ones who tipped off Interpol, so we figure he must have some sort of access to them.

Nice hack last night, by the way.

I smile.
Not that I can claim credit, since I didn’t do anything.

Uh-huh. So you just GUESSED that the NSA tipped off Interpol, right?

Mailin, I never told you this, but… I’m psychic.

Very funny. You know I’m not going to rat on you, Eve.

I got the subtext: ‘I didn’t rat on you years ago, and I’m not about to start now.’

I appreciate that. What makes you think it was me?

Well, nothing concrete – you covered your tracks perfectly. But when Interpol said they’d been hacked and couldn’t verify who did it, and we got intel that placed you in France, I put two and two together.

Wait a second. Who’s ‘we’?

My employers and I.

I see. So is the FBI involved now?

That’s a bit of an understatement. At the moment, finding Grant Carlson is priority number one.

My stomach turned when I read that.

Apparently Grant wasn’t too happy about it, either. He sat back in his chair and looked extremely grim.

I tried to feign lightheartedness in my reply.  
Again, this Grant Carlson… I have absolutely NO IDEA who you are referring to.

Yeah, yeah. Look, Eve… if you’re in danger, we can get you out of there.

My heart quickened.
How?

We can fly you out. You can be gone in two hours. Just say the word.

I can’t fly on a regular airline, Mailin. I’d be too much of a target for Epicurus.

Forget Epicurus, forget commercial airlines. I can get you out immediately on a private jet.

How are you going to do that? ‘Borrow’ one from the French government?

No. It’s one of ours, and it’s already here.

‘One of ours’?

The FBI’s. Well, actually, the Department of Justice’s.

I frown.
How the hell is it already here?

Because I’m in Paris. With the FBI.

By now, Dominique and JP are freaking out.

Grant points at the laptop. “Shut it down. NOW.”

“Calm down,” I tell him.

“Calm down?!
Calm down?!
Your little boyfriend is already here with the FBI in tow! They’re in Paris as we speak!”

“This could be a good thing – ”

“No, Eve. When finding you is the FBI’s ‘priority number one,’ it’s
never
a good thing!”

“I just meant that we might be able to turn it to our advantage somehow.”

“Turn it to
our
advantage?! They’re going to turn
you
to
their
advantage! They’re just like Epicurus – they’re trying to use you
to get to me!”

I have to admit, it doesn’t seem like he’s wrong.

A text box appears on my monitor.
Eve? You still there?

You just created a bit of consternation on this end, that’s all. Are you here for me, Mailin, or for Grant?

I see you stopped being coy about your ‘traveling companion.’
  :)

He even puts a smiley face at the end of his comment.

Cut the bullshit, Mailin. Are you here for me or for Grant?

I’m OBVIOUSLY here to get you. But unfortunately, I don’t have anywhere near the authority to requisition a private jet, so I had to sell it however I could.

And how did you sell it?

That we might be able to apprehend Grant in the process.

Jesus.

“SEE?!” Grant yells.

“
Putain d’merde,
” JP mutters as he finishes reading the comment.