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“Don’t pee on the toilet seat.”
He snorted. “Anything else?”
I shrugged. “Common sense. Um, you and Paul probably shouldn’t leave the property or go to near the property edge for that matter.” I abruptly realized how that sounded and hurried to clarify. “I mean, you’re not prisoners or anything, but—”
Bryce salvaged my faux pas. “I get it. Even if Mr. Farouche knows we’re here, it’s better if we’re not seen.”
“Exactly,” I said, relieved that he understood. “The fed boys have a game console in the living room that you’re welcome to use.”
“Excellent!” A grin split his face. “Paul set me up with one in our unit at Farouche’s plantation. Helped keep me from going stir crazy while he did his computer stuff.”
“You’ll probably have some time on your hands here,” I said with a slight grimace. “Sorry.”
“No worries, Ms. Gillian. I have a master’s degree in killing time.”
“You stayed with Paul at the plantation? I gather he gets pretty deeply involved in what he does.”
“Yep. Sinks right into it,” he said. “I have to remind him to eat. He set up a number for So
“I know he’s valuable to Farouche and does computer stuff, but what exactly does he do?”
Bryce pursed his lips, tipped his head back in consideration. “He’s a computer security expert and can do all sorts of white, grey, and black hat work,” he explained. “He can get into just about anything—system, network, database, whatever’s out there—but don’t ask me to tell you exactly what he does or how he does it. It’s beyond me.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a fond smile. “I say ‘work,’ but for him it isn’t. When Paul’s in deep, he’s having a blast exploring and uncovering information.”
I straightened. “What kind of information?”
“Pretty much anything you could possibly think of. He knows how to delve, and he’s fearless when it comes to infrastructure.”
Somehow I managed to hold back the delighted chortle. “I have a project for him, if he’s up for it.”
“The bigger the challenge, the more he likes it.”
Paul chose that moment to enter the kitchen, tablet tucked under one arm, empty plate in the other hand, and eyes red despite his smile. “Good lunch. Thanks. What’s up?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Bryce said, frowning. “What’s bothering you?”
Paul scrubbed his free hand over his face and looked a little embarrassed. “I, uh, was listening in on a conversation.”
Bryce folded his arms across his chest, narrowed his eyes. “Whose conversation upset you?”
“So
So
“Well, was he?” Bryce asked.
“He sounded a little stressed, but otherwise all right,” Paul replied. “I was worried something bad might happen to him since he was my handler too.”
There was no mistaking the relief on Bryce’s face. “You did good, kid.”
“Yeah? Thanks.” He smiled. “Hearing him made me miss him more, that’s all.”
Bryce patted his shoulder. “I totally get it. Who was he talking to?”
“His sister. About how he’d be there for Christmas this year.” Paul winced. “She didn’t believe him, yelled at him, and hung up.”
Surprise and disbelief flashed over Bryce’s face. “So
I frowned at the exchange. “Something wrong with that?”
“Not wrong exactly,” Bryce said. “But it means he’s on edge with Paul and me gone.” Bryce rubbed the back of his neck, grimaced. “He hasn’t talked to his family in over a decade. I mean, you don’t do that around Mr. Farouche.”
“That’s right,” Paul said with a serious nod. “B.M. doesn’t play around.”
“B.M.?” I asked, puzzled, then remembered that Paul’s nickname for James Macklin Farouche was Big Mack. I let out a peal of laughter. “B.M. That’s classic.”
Paul gri
Bryce cocked an eyebrow at the young man. “Wasn’t so hilarious when you accidentally called him that to his face. Anyway, Ms. Gillian wants to know—”
“Please call me Kara,” I interrupted.
Bryce gave me a nod. “Kara wants to know if there’s anything you need.”
“No. She doesn’t,” he said with a wry smile. “I can need a whole lot of very expensive things.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling, “is there anything without which you can’t do your work?”
He gave me a sly look. “I already ordered a laptop and some other stuff,” he told me. “It’ll all be here tomorrow.” He paused, fidgeted. “I need a few local things today though, if it’s not too much trouble. I can pay you back.”
“Write it down, and I’ll get the elves to take care of it,” I told him.
A smile bloomed on his face. “Wow, thanks!” He shifted the tablet from under his arm and started tapping on it one-handed, so fast I had a hard time picturing him actually typing anything that made sense. “You want me to help with the Idris stuff?” he asked. “The lord told me about him. I figure I can do some work on that, right?”
My phone dinged, and I fished it from my pocket. “Um, yeah. Hang on.” I checked the message, blinked. His shopping list—composed and sent to me in about ten seconds flat. I smothered a laugh. Chai tea, Krunch ’n Krackle snacks, and pistachios. All absolutely necessary for deep computer work, I was certain. I started to ask him how he knew my number, then decided against it. I had a feeling that would probably earn me a withering look.
I sent the message on to Zack, with a “please buy” added. “That’s right,” I told Paul. “We’re looking for Idris Palatino. Anything you can find on him would rock.” I spelled the name and gave him Idris’s date of birth.
Paul tapped on the tablet. “What sort of info you want? Sightings? That sort of thing?”
“Anything you can get. Sightings, rumors, mentions, you name it, especially within the last week. We don’t know where he is other than what you heard me tell Mzatal in the basement. He called me night before last from a stolen cell phone, heading northwest out of Austin. Farouche is involved, but we don’t know to what degree. We know Isumo Katashi’s organization is in on it. Tsuneo Oshiro. Tito—I don’t remember his last name.”
Paul looked up at me. “Tsuneo. That’s the name of the guy who ran away at the warehouse?”
“That’s right,” I said. “And Tito was the one Mzatal killed.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said, then wandered down the hall, busily tapping on the tablet.
I waited until Paul was back in the office before I turned to Bryce. “Time to shift gears a bit,” I said. “You in the mood from some mild interrogation?”
“As long as it doesn’t involve beatings with rubber hoses, I’m game,” he replied with an easy smile.
“No beatings,” I said with a chuckle. “Not from me at least.” I took a deep breath. “But I need to know if the name Tracy Gordon rings a bell. Or you might have known him as Raymond Bergeron.”
A frown puckered his forehead. “I don’t think I know either name. Why?”
“Tracy was a summoner, killed about six months ago,” I told him. “Your name is in one of his journals along with a bunch of others.”
“Why would a summoner have my name?” Bryce asked, perplexed. “And yes, I know that’s precisely what you’re asking me.” He shook his head. “Sorry, but I don’t have a clue.”
So much for my fantasy of uncovering a simple explanation. I felt Mzatal’s mental touch, and I put on hold any thoughts of other avenues to take with the journal information. “We’ll figure it out later,” I said with a tinge of regret. “I’m going out to do some work with Mzatal, and I don’t know how long it will take. My best friend Jill may come by at some point.” I smiled. “She’s way pregnant. Can’t miss her. Y’all help yourself to anything in the kitchen, and don’t forget the game console.”