No Quick Fix (Torus Intercession 1)

Walking out the other side—who knew kitchens could have more than one way in and out—we made our way down a short hall, which, wonder of wonders, dead-ended at Mr. Cahill’s office. I wasn’t sure how I’d made it there, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Since there was a bathroom right across from it, I sent April in there with her sister and told them not to come out until I knocked. Once the door was closed, I went back to the open doorway of the office, flew into the huge space—seriously, my apartment could fit in there—and pulled a Kleenex from the box close to the phone. I laid the tissue over the mouse before I shook it and found the man’s email up. Everyone knew if you left your computer, you signed out. But it was his house, so he probably wasn’t expecting anyone to be snooping around in his business.

Quickly, I sent an email to my buddy Huck Riley, then made sure to delete it from the sent folder before wiping the keyboard with another tissue. I stuffed both into my pocket as I walked back out the door. The whole process took only moments. After crossing the hall, I collected the girls, and we retraced our steps back to the kitchen and out into the dining room.

“Did you guys get enough to eat?” Lydia asked us as soon as we emerged.

“Oh, yeah, so full,” I lied, and April and Olivia both followed my lead, letting her know they were absolutely stuffed as well.

I didn’t look at Emery because I knew he’d know it was bullshit, and I just grabbed the girls and went back to the playroom. As they started playing Spyro, I walked to the other side of the room and called my buddy, Huck, from the service, who’d been out only a couple of months. Apparently, after I retired, he’d started to drink as a means of coping with things. He hadn’t hurt anyone or himself, but it had been a near thing. He was discharged quietly with nothing permanent in his file. I’d been begging him to move to Chicago; we could be bunkmates again. But so far he said that being home, back in Phoenix, was working out for him.

“Hello?” came the cold, sterile greeting. Clearly the man had not looked at his caller ID.

“Huckleberry,” I teased him.

“Oh shit.” His voice warmed instantly. “Brannigan, what the hell, man? You don’t usually call until Monday.”

We had a regular phone date and watched Monday Night Football together, because even though his mother and I were friendly and she’d call if she got worried about Huck missing too many Sunday dinners, I still made sure to check in. And it wasn’t that he was weak or that I thought he’d relapse, but it was good to keep up with your friends. Especially the ones who had saved your life more times than you could count.

“No, I know, but I need a favor.”

“What? Tell me. You in jail?”

I groaned.

“What?”

“Why is that the first thing everyone always says to me?”

“Oh, I dunno, buddy,” he said sarcastically, “maybe because you were stuck in that jail in Pattaya for three days before we knew where the fuck you were.”

“That’s ’cause I got mugged in my civvies!” I protested.

He scoffed, and it was loud and made me smile.

“Are you home?”

“I am,” he said with a yawn. “I got ahold of some bad carne asada last night, and—”

“No,” I said quickly. “You know if you talk about barfing, I will too.”

“I know,” he said with an evil cackle. “I’m so great with the details, you can actually feel the chunks rising in your throat.”

“Stop,” I grumbled. “You’re disgusting.”

“Yeah, sorry, go.”

“You’ll need your laptop.”

“I’ve got it. I was watching a movie.”

“What kinda movie?”

“Oh, fuck you. I told you I was barfing all night, and it looked the same coming out as it did going in, and—”

“Stop,” I said, breathing through my nose.

“Then you stop. I have my fuckin’ laptop.”

“Okay then, I sent you an email from Grant Cahill or Cahill Lumber—not sure how it came over.”

There was clicking on the other end. “I see it.”

“Well, I need you to hack the computer it came from for me, because I’m looking for anything about mining that Mr. Cahill is doing.”

“Who are these people?”

“I’m on a job in Montana, and I think the guy our client is mixed up with might be dirty.”

“Data mining?”

“No, regular mining, like for gold or whatever.”

“Ah,” he said, exhaling deeply. “Okay. Gimme a sec.”

At first glance, people would think Huck Riley was a rock star, and if not, then maybe an actor, and after that, a cowboy. He was the guy you stood on the sidewalk and watched walk by. He was that stunning. I had seen normal people lose their shit simply talking to him. Between the dimples and the raspy, smoky sound of his voice, blue-green eyes, thick golden-brown hair, and the body of an Olympic swimmer, he had women falling all over him. I would have as well, but Huck bent one way, and that was for girls. The thing was, though, with the outside being traffic-stopping gorgeous, no one ever suspected that underneath was a scary hacker.