The Ghost and The Hacker (Dark Fire Book 3) (17 page)

Is Teddy back?  Really?  What the fuck?  Didn't he get the message earlier?

I open the door ready to beat the shit out of the guy, but it's Cy.  He pushes his way in, then stares at me.

"I think I got the wrong impression from your call, dude."

I look down.  Now I'm barefoot and shirtless.  Next time someone knocks on the door, I'm liable to be naked.

"No.  You've got the right idea.  We just got waylaid and I was about to hop in the shower."

"So you're not about to commit a felony with your girlfriend?"  He looks down the hall to the closed door.

"Actually, we probably are.  I'm just waiting for her to comfort her best friend who just had a giant fight with her date.  Felony will likely occur in the next few minutes; we're just on pause right now."

Cy drops onto the couch and lets his head fall between his knees.

"Any chance I can talk you out of this?"

"I'm not even sure what
this
is," I admit, landing on the couch to splay like a starfish opposite him.

"You're girlfriend's a bad influence," Cy says, chuckling.  "She's gonna drag you down and you're just hanging around waiting until she can come back out and finish the job."

"No way man.  Where she goes, I go.  Where I go, she goes.  She's not dragging me down; I'm going down and she's got my hand."

He forces me to explain what's going on, from the day at the police station during Andy's kidnapping until now.

"So, all this time, you were willing to just walk away from Dark Fire?  From me?"

"Believe me, it wasn't Plan A," I groan.

"Stupid."

"Thanks,
Dad
."  I toss a pillow from the couch at him.

Catching it, he follows through and deflects it to the floor.  "Don't you get it yet, Zach?  You're like a brother to me."

I look at him sideways.

"That apartment isn't your home because you pay rent there."

"All my shit's there?" I offer.

"Also not the reason."

"The commute from upstate would be killer?"

"Dick."  He uses his toe to kick the pillow on the floor back at me.

There's quiet between us, though I can hear voices in Lucy's room.

"So.  Brothers, huh?" I ask, looking at him sideways again.

Cy clears his throat.  "You're all I've got, man.  I figured the same was true for you.  My brother's girl needs help?  I'm here," he points to the floor, "because she's family."

Cy and I sit on the couch in silence for another minute before I shiver again.

"I'm gonna hit the shower.  I'll be back in five."

Cy nods and pulls out his phone.

Despite all the shit from the evening, I'm smiling a huge fucking smile as I get under the hot water.

It takes nearly an hour for Sarah to leave Lucy's room.  When she does, she doesn't look happy.  She walks straight through into the living room where Juliana, Cy, and Alexander Brown - no relation to Justin's relatives - are all waiting.  Juliana introduces me to Mr. Brown.

It's late, nearly one in the morning, but Mr. Brown is dressed in a full suit, briefcase in hand, looking like he just came into the office for the morning, fresh as a daisy.  When the two of them arrived a few minutes ago, I told them to wait for Sarah before they said anything.

"Sarah, this is Alexander Brown of Asplundh Law Offices.  They handle Dark Fire's legal needs- contracts, libel, the occasional stalking fan...  Mr. Brown here gets called if we get arrested."

Sarah doesn't shake his hand or even offer.  She looks terrified.

"I'm not getting arrested tonight," I explain.  I see her shoulders loosen a bit.  I pat the couch next to me and she walks slowly, never taking her eyes off Mr. Brown.

"Okay.  Now that we're all here, tell him what you found."  Juliana motions for Mr. Brown to get moving.

He opens his briefcase and pulls out a stack of papers.  He drops them into my hands.

"You're father was killed while committing a robbery, were you aware of this?" he asks, settling on the wing chair and crossing his leg over his knee.

I give him the date and the name of the bank.  As much as I tried to separate myself from Zach Coffield, I still kept tabs on the local news in Lakemont.  The death of the local bar owner in a robbery-gone-wrong made big enough headlines that even I heard about it.  The Lakemont Press went digital years before and just like the Wall Street Journal, you can read the highlights of an article and then decide if you want to pay to read the rest.  I only needed to read the first paragraph to know that my father was dead.

That was the night I got trashed with Griffin.

"I've really tried not to think about it since then," I explain.  "But yeah, I heard."

"And what you didn't hear is what the local police found in his home.  It took some time, obviously, to go through all the paperwork.  Insurance on his business, a will, contact information for relatives...  In cases like this, they have to look for all that stuff," Mr. Brown explains.  "They were also looking for some sort of explanation as to why a bar owner would be robbing a bank."

I duck my head down.  "The bar," I mutter.  It's the same reason he used to hit mom.  A bad night of tips on Saturday meant bruises on her arms and face by Monday.

"That is what they found, yes.  Specifically, they found this," he says.  "Page three."

I flip the page but I'm not sure what I'm looking at.

"Why would my dad be shopping at Village Decor?"

"Check the date."

It's a register receipt - the kind that you put in the register when someone else makes a purchase.  The date and time stamp show a late evening transaction.  Several hours later, I was leaving Lakemont behind, running away from my asshole father.  That night was the first and last attempt he ever made to hit me.

"I don't understand."

"Flip the page."

There's another register receipt, this time for Rita's Hair Shop for the same date.

"What are these?"

Mr. Brown clasps his hands in his lap.  "Those are register receipts, taken along with the cash in the registers, the night you left town.  They were found with your father's papers.  For some reason, he put them in a file with his taxes for that year."

I point to the photocopy of the register receipt.  "This is proof..."  I can barely make a sentence, so I stutter out, "He had evidence in his files..."

"Yes.  Whoever searched him missed the money and those credit card receipts somehow.  It was looked into, but your father must have hidden it well because the officer did his job right.  But the fact is, there is solid evidence that your father committed those robberies.  Turn the page."

The next page is another photocopy.  This time, a page from a bookie's journal.  In my dad's handwriting.

"He made a bad call and lost a lot.  When the bills came in for the bar, he probably decided to hit stores down Main Street until he had enough to cover his losses."

I look at the total payout.  Two thousand, five hundred dollars.

I drop the papers to the floor.

"This is evidence to clear me, sure.  But I can still be arrested.  There's still a warrant.  This can still hurt Dark Fire," I say.  I go for stoic, but it sounds resigned to my ears.

"Actually, if you'll turn the page..."  He waits until I pick up the stapled pages.  I flip to the second receipt and then once more.

It's a copy of a form.  Some kind of notice?

"This is a copy of the report sent from Police Chief Jennings to the prosecutor, notifying them of the new evidence in the case.  At the bottom, Chief Jennings recommended dropping the warrant against Zachary Miles Coffield."

I hear the words coming from Mr. Brown's mouth but I can't make sense of them.

Sarah's voice is quiet.  I can barely hear her through the tunnel I'm in.  "He didn't know how to contact you, Zach.  He alluded to it, but my mom never realized what he was talking about."  Sarah's hand is on my face, but I'm lost.  I can hear everyone talking now, but I don't know what to say.

Sarah finally says it for me.  "It's done then?"

Mr. Brown stands and dusts off his spotless pants.  "The Prosecutor's Office filed the paperwork that week.  There was no warrant to find when you turned yourself in to the New York City Police Department.  Not as Zachary Moore, nor Zachary Miles Coffield."

Mr. Brown walks to the door and I watch Sarah run up behind him to hug him before he can put his hand on the knob.

"Thank you," she says.  Her words are tight and thick.

I understand.  I feel the same way.

"All I did was make some photocopies."  He starts to move away from Sarah, but stops to add, "And come out to a client's apartment in the middle of the night to advise a client on the best course of action."

He just stopped her from committing a crime and he knows it.

Sarah drops her arms and wraps them around her body.  "I appreciate you making the trip."

"Of course."

Cy stands and helps Juliana to her feet.  They walk to the door and Juliana gives me an aggravated look.  "As it turns out, I've fired Dylan, my assistant.  It's a long story, but I'm going home now."  She turns her head to Cy.  "I appreciate the call."

"No problem.  I appreciate you getting here so quickly, and bringing Mr. Brown with you.  I'll walk you to your car."

Juliana hesitates and then I see her shoulders relax a bit.  She goes through the door Cy holds open for her.

The door closes behind them and I pull Sarah into my arms.  I'm so exhausted.

"Just let me hold you tonight?"  I lift her into my arms and carry her to her bed.

She nods and I strip her down to her panties, drop my own clothes to the floor, and tuck us both in.

True to her word, she lets me hold her all night long.

When we wake, she's still wrapped in my arms.

There's something I have to do, and I think Sarah can figure it out.

"Can you get the day off on Monday?" I ask, pressing my lips into her hair.  Her shampoo or conditioner has this amazing smell.  Sometimes I find myself sniffing her when she's not paying attention to see if I can figure out what it is.

"I'm sure I can just call in sick.  It's flu season and I've been working at least a half an hour of overtime each day to impress my boss," she explains.

She stretches in my arms.  "Are we leaving before breakfast?"

Yup, she's figured it out.

"Coffee first," I take one long, deep breath in through my nose, letting her smell infuse into me.  I feel like I'll need it later.  "I'll look up flights."

"I'll make the coffee," she says, pulling on some yoga pants and one of my t-shirts.  It's the one I got when we went on tour with Breaking Benjamin and the Gaelic-style interwoven Bs fall right between her breasts.

I'm staring.  She smirks and wanders away.

Cy's laptop is next to Sarah's computer. I log in as myself and bring up flights to Pittsburgh.  We'll have to rent a car when we get there. Lakemont is about twenty minutes from the airport, but I don't want to cab it.  We'll need a car.