Chapter 36
Mack and I are sitting on a couple of folding chairs in my living room. My feet are crossed at the ankles and propped on a moving box. Mack’s huge arm is stretched out along the back of my chair.
The Veilmaiden thumb drive sits on the armrest between us like we're guarding it. I suppose we are. Outside, Alex makes another load of trash bags from the pool house to the back of Mack's truck.
"What do we do with it?" I finally ask.
"Dylan says he knows someone who might be able to wrap this up with a tidy bow. The only thing is that it might involve a little bit of shady dealing."
"I've been kidnapped, threatened, thrown in a trunk, and my house has been broken into. Not to mention the dead guy left on the front lawn of my workplace. I'm open to shady dealings as long as I don't have to do them and they end this thing once and for all."
Mack turns to me. "It occurs to me that the reason that these guys want your brother's program is because it's so good.
Most viruses like that leave traces in the programming that normal security sweeps pick up.
This one was only found out because of a hyper-vigilant CPA. It was only noticed on the user end."
"So?"
"So what if we give them a program that can be detected?" He shrugs. "They upload it wherever they're going to and boom, they get caught."
I pick at the lifted edge of my beer label. "You think that would work?"
"Yeah. Especially if the code is written to take huge amounts of money. Then, whoever was convicted would go away for a long time."
"But what if they point the finger at Alex?"
"Any forensic computer analyst would be able to tell they're two different codes."
"I don't know. I feel like that would just piss them off more."
"We could design it so that it works as intended at first. Like for a couple of months--long enough for them to get comfortable. Then it could go wacky. They'd think it was a bug or something."
"What's this we stuff?" I ask. "You got a mouse in your pocket? Cause my computer experience is limited to Gmail, online billpay, and LoveMatch."
"You're on LoveMatch?" He raises his eyebrow. "Interesting."
Heat crawls over my cheeks and warms my ears. "I tried it once or twice when I was just out of college."
"Meet anybody interesting?"
"Not really." I take another swig from my beer. "A lot of guys find out I'm a nurse and expect me to pay for dinner."
"Seriously?"
"It's bleak out there." I study him from the corner of my eyes. "Which really makes me wonder what's wrong with you."
He gives a lazy grin and starts drawing little circles on my bare shoulder. "Lots of things, probably."
"What did your exes say?"
He shrugs and I can't help but admire his huge shoulders. His black t-shirt is fitted to his impressive pecs and toned stomach. "Never really had an ex."
My eyes flick up to his, and I realize he caught me checking him out--again. "Seriously? You never dated? What is wrong with you?"
"I never said I haven't dated. But usually I knew on the first or second date that it wasn't gonna go anywhere. And once you know that, what's the point of going out again?"
I shrug. "I dunno. Sex? Companionship? Something to do on a Saturday night so you don't end up staring into your refrigerator, contemplating the emptiness of it and your entire life?"
He laughs. "You're funny."
I lower my voice. "Are you a virgin?"
"Would that bother you?"
"Not really. I guess there'd be more pressure to teach you stuff."
Mack shakes his head. His eyes are laughing at me. "Not a virgin, so no pressure. What about you?"
"Not a virgin either."
We clink our beers together.
"To past mistakes," I quip.
Through the windows, Alex struggles beneath another load of black plastic bags. As we watch, one bag splits open. No wonder--he put pieces of the broken toilet in there. My first instinct is to get up and help him. Mack rests his hand on my bare thigh and gives a little squeeze as if he knows it.
Mack says, "This is good for him. He needs to clean all this up--literally and figuratively. He's just lucky his parole officer didn't do an unannounced visit."
"He did, but he came to Shady Lake. Thank goodness Alex was still doing his job. Of course, I didn't know that. I was stressed."
"Are you still stressed? 'Cause I have a couple ideas on how to help with that."
I narrow my eyes at him. "What's the success rate of that line?"
He grins. "You tell me. This is the first time I've ever used it."
I harumph and shake my head. "What about this scenario is sexy to you? My brother is cleaning up a toilet just out there."
Mack slides his finger over my bare shoulder. "You. You're the sexy part of this scenario."
His voice has lowered, his eyes are soft, and if I look at them too long, I might melt. Suddenly, I start to think that maybe this is a sexy scenario, after all. Mack doesn't release my gaze as he leans forward and brushes his lips to mine, feather-light, once, twice...
"Gabriella? Do we have any trash bags that are thicker?" Alex yells from the back door.
"Put one inside the other, dude!" Mack hollers back. "And you'd better not track any toilet water into the kitchen."
I hear Alex grumble something and the back door shuts a little more forcefully than necessary.
I take a deep breath and remind myself that he isn't a normal twenty-two year old, that in some ways, he's more like seventeen.
Not that the judge listened when we told her that.
Not that the parole board will buy that, either.
"Rain check," Mack whispers, running his fingertip over my shoulder again.
I shiver and hope it wasn't too noticeable. By Mack's smug expression, I don't think I got away with it. But he doesn't say anything. Outside the windows, Alex has given up on the trash bags--he's picking up chunks of the toilet and carrying them through the open gate one at a time.
"That's one way to do it," Mack mumbles, taking a swig of his beer.
It's hours later before Alex comes to the door and announces he's finished. I take him out back and give the place a cursory inspection. Other than the futon frame, which is staying, the place is empty.
"I'm surprised you were able to load everything yourself."
"It's lucky that everything was busted into pieces small enough for me to carry on my own." He's sweating profusely and his deodorant is failing. But he’s grinning.
"Yeah, lucky."
We take the surviving twin bed from the second guest room and put it in Alex's apartment, as well as a desk and chair from the hallway that I never use. We move Dad's ancient recliner out there, too, even though the cushions were shredded. We add some duct tape and call it good.
I actually like the living room better with it gone, anyway, but sentiment always kept me from getting rid of it.
By the time we're done, Alex's studio is furnished again.
It doesn't look quite as homey as it once did, but it's liveable enough to hopefully keep Mr. Franklin from asking too many questions when he visits.
“It’s ugly,” Alex whines. “Why can't I have the dresser from your room?”
"Speak to your sister with respect," Mack says. "Do you have any idea what you put her through?"
Maybe in the past I would have leapt to my brother's defense. But the truth is, Alex hurt me by running away. He knew what he was doing was wrong, and he did it anyway.
"Sorry," he says.
"Don't tell me," Mack says. "Tell her."
Alex meets my eyes. "I'm sorry, Gab."
I jerk my head toward the house. "Go take a shower; you're starting to stink."
Typical boy, he raises one armpit and buries his nose in it, inhaling deeply. "Phew, you're right."
"Why on earth would I lie about that?" I want to smack him on the back of the head like Grandma used to, but his curls are damp with sweat and I think better of it.
"It's just something a guy has to find out for himself."
I shake my head. "If you say so."
After Alex showers, we load into Mack's pickup and head to a Mexican restaurant. It's a good one--the salsa's so fresh, it tastes like it was chopped that morning. It probably was.
"Are we heading to the dump after this?"
I'm not looking forward to it--an open landfill in the Texas heat is awful. The smell gets in your hair and sticks to your clothes and skin until you wash them.
"Nah," he says easily, dunking his chip in the super-hot salsa. I wonder if I should warn him, then he says, "That's no place for a delicate lady like you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I keep my mouth shut and watch as he eats the chip. Not a flicker of remorse. Huh.
"Did you just consider warning me about the salsa and decide not to after I called you delicate?" He grins.
"How did you know that?"
"Your face is the easiest thing to read. And it might be my favorite, too." Mack grins and I feel that same familiar swoop in my stomach. I wonder for the hundredth time how he’s as into me as I am him.
"What did you mean by delicate?"
"It was supposed to be a compliment. I only meant that I'd have to be a special kind of stupid to take my girlfriend to the dump and hope to make out with her later."
"You're hoping to make out with me later?" I ask, flustered.
"I'm always hoping to make out with you."
Thankfully, Alex returns to our table and I'm spared answering, because I'm feeling a little shy and a whole lot pleased at Mack's cheesy come-on. Truthfully, lately, I always want to make out with him, too.
"Ugh, this is Diet Pepsi, not Diet Coke," Alex says, grimacing. "Do you think they have Mr. Pibb?"