Chapter 20
twenty
Despite my aversion to the guy, I don’t object when De Leon shows up at my door.
Whether he planned it that way or it’s just good timing, Cynnie’s just left.
After our first “big” night, we’ve had another two blissful days together.
I got the first ten levels of the app working and downloaded it to Cynnie’s phone amidst much squeeing.
Two minutes later, she sent me the first of a constant stream of chibis, showing her jumping up and down.
Since that’s exactly why I created the app, I quietly patted myself on the back while starting work on the next ten reward levels.
Fifteen minutes after sending Cynnie the app, I got the first request for “an app of their own” from Sammi. I’ve had a steady stream of app requests since then. So many I’m thinking about licensing the damn thing.
The app works so well, keeping us connected, that even as I take her to the train, I’m relaxed. She’s going upstate with her big brother for the day to deliver a presentation to a prospective client. But I’m not worried about her because I’ll know, hour by hour, how she’s doing via the app.
A message from Ness, pinging up on my phone when I return from the train station, ruptures my happy bubble.
It’s just a picture. Me and Cynnie framed in my kitchen window as we make dinner.
Either taken by a spotter or a drone. It says without words that Ness is watching me and knows who matters to me.
So, while I’m not enthusiastic to see De Leon, I appreciate the additional security.
Remembering that the guy is even more unbearable than usual if he’s not sufficiently caffeinated, I put the coffee maker on after I buzz him through the front door.
He always takes me by surprise. Someone as psycho as De Leon should have a bigger physical presence.
It’s not that he’s a small guy. He’s about my size and weight.
It’s just that he’s so utterly ordinary.
His hair’s mostly hidden under a baseball cap, but I’ve seen it before and know it’s brown, to his shoulders, beginning to gray at the temples.
Same color beard and mustache, cut close to his jaw.
His skin’s light brown, which could be genetics or just a deep tan.
His eyes are a clear, piercing gray, but he avoids direct eye-contact, so you have to be around him for a while before you notice.
He’s not obviously scarred, just a few white lines here and there, but I know he’s seen a fuck-load of action.
He wears plain clothes that are right for the late summer weather, no jewelry, plain sports watch, no visible tattoos.
If I had to give a description of him to the cops, they’d be looking for most guys in good physical condition between the ages of thirty-five and fifty, that’s how unremarkable he is.
He nods when I let him into my apartment and follows me through to the dining nook. I leave him taking equipment out of a plain blue backpack while I get our coffees.
When I return, he has a laptop and a strip of black boxes out on the table. He nods me into the seat across from him and picks up one of the black boxes off the strip.
“Manny’s given me the frequencies for your chips. I’m just fine tuning,” he says.
I nod and let him get on with what he’s doing. The less conversation I have with the psycho the better.
He fiddles around with various boxes and his laptop for about ten minutes before he takes a break to sip his coffee.
“Where’s your girl?” he asks.
When I first met De Leon, he had a noticeable British accent. Not as strong as Logan’s, but identifiably limey. Now, there’s nothing. He could be from anywhere in middle America.
I lift my eyebrows at him. “None of your business. And how do you know I have a girl?”
“I can smell her.”
Accent or not, he’s a fucking psycho.
“I want her kept out of this,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “She should be chipped like you. If I was them, I’d snatch her to get leverage on you.”
Of course, he would. Because he’s a complete fucking psycho.
“We’ve considered that already. We’re having a panic button made for her, but I don’t think these guys are likely to involve civilians.”
De Leon lifts his eyes to mine. There’s no expression in them, or on his face. Creepy fucker.
“Have they shown any compunction about killing civilians?”
“No,” I admit. “But not Americans.”
De Leon nods. “Fifty-fifty, then. Anyone else you’re close to?”
“Logan and Emily. Mac. Manny and Jen.”
De Leon tips his head from side to side. Thinking? Thinking about killing someone? It’s hard to tell with the guy.
“Small circle of friends. Makes it easier for us to keep an eye on all of ‘em, but it also makes it easier for them to figure out who really matters to you.”
“Logan, Mac, and Manny can take care of themselves. Jen’s already chipped and I’m sure Logan’s got Emily locked down.”
A ghost of a smile wisps across De Leon’s face. “That, he does. I hear she’s interesting.”
“Interesting,” I say flatly.
“Unusual. Unique. That’s what Jen says, anyway. She smarter than you?”
“We haven’t compared IQ scores.”
“Smarter than you.” De Leon nods to himself. “Stand up.”
I rise to my feet without decking the fucker. Somehow. He picks up another black box and runs it over me from head to toe.
“Signal check?”
“Body mapping. Someone looking very like you is going to board a commercial flight to England a few hours before we take off.”
Since that’s not the worst idea, I nod.
He does a few more things with the black boxes, then begins returning everything to his backpack.
“Got it. See you Tuesday.”
“What happens on Tuesday?” I ask.
“We fly to England.”
“We fucking well do not. I’m in the middle of a semester. I have an exam next week. I can’t just drop everything and go to England.”
De Leon puts his palm on the table and leans over to stare into my eyes.
“That’s when I’m available. I know you don’t like me, Max.
I don’t give a fuck. You can hate me as much as you want as long as you don’t get hurt on my watch.
That means you do things when I tell you to.
You fly when I think we’ve got a good window.
You leave the hotel I tell you to stay in when I say it’s clear.
You do the shit you gotta do. You get back on the plane and we fly home.
You’re my problem from now until you cross that threshold when we get back.
” He nods at my front door. “If you make my job harder pissing about, I will make your life fucking miserable for the next however long. Be a professional and let me do my job.”
I hold his alpha stare for a long moment, so he knows I’m not rolling over and showing throat, before I nod. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Good.” He takes out a smart phone and hands it to me.
“That’s the way you contact me until we’re back.
No other way. Call comes through from me another way?
That means I’ve been compromised. Send out the SOS.
If we’re already in England, go straight to Liverpool airport.
There’ll be an open, first-class ticket waiting for you there in the name Maxfield Bateman—”
“My name’s not—”
“Just listen. I know that’s not your name.
When you get to the airport, go through the first-class line and tell them your friend booked the ticket for you and got your name wrong.
They’ll change it for you with the receipt that’s on that phone.
Ticket’s not a straight shot. It’ll take you to Amsterdam, then to Miami, then home.
If you end up with a layover, do not leave the airport.
Best place for a grab is when you’re coming or going from a hotel. Clear?”
I nod. “Clear.”
“Good. See you Tuesday. I’ll text you the time by noon on Monday at the latest.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have a license to carry in England?”
“No.”
“Then don’t pack any weapons. We don’t have time to get you a permit.”
“Got it.”
De Leon slings his backpack over one shoulder. “You want me to do anything about them?”
“About who?”
“The bastards who want to grab you.”
I run my hand over my face. “That sounds like you’re suggesting premeditated murder.”
“I’d call it preventative murder, but you call it whatever the fuck you want.” When I shake my head, he continues, “So there’s no confusion, if they go after you with force while I’m on you, I will kill them.”
“I understand that.”
“Then we’re on the same page.”
He sticks out his hand and after a moment’s deliberation, I shake. As I show him out, he whistles a happy tune.
Once he’s out of the building, I pull out my own black box and scan for bugs.
He’s left a dozen between the front door and my dining room, including one on the pepper shaker.
He’s good. I never saw him plant a single one of them.
After grinding my teeth, I leave them all in place. He’s doing his job, keeping me safe.
Guess I’ll be playing with Cynnie upstairs until Tuesday.
Neither my professor nor my baby girl is happy when I break the news of my imminent departure.
“You’re really going to blow-off my first freaking exam?” Lindy grumbles.
“You be gone for ages and ages, Oppa?” Cynnie asks, her lower lip trembling.
I appease them each the best I can. I take Lindy out for nachos and promise to take whatever make-up test he decrees.
I’m not worried about my other class—the mid-term is a project I’m almost finished with anyway, not an exam.
But I really don’t want to fuck up things with Lindy, exam or no exam.
He’s more than my professor; he’s a friend.