month, without his wife and kids knowing about it? In principle, he agreed. But that nausea rolling around inside had him feeling like he was doing the wrong thing. Like he was on the wrong side.
Nothing in the closet but clothes and shoes. Fairly sure after two days at the apartment that there was nothing important tucked away there, he skipped the living room, and headed down to the basement. At the far end of the space, on the left, there were a few file boxes stacked up on the shelves. Pulling one out and heaving it onto the nearby work table, Carson stared at it a minute.
So far, he hadn’t really done anything. And, okay, fine, he needed the money. But not this bad. Not bad enough to fuck over someone who’d been a hundred percent decent to him. Really fucking kind to him, actually.
But when he imagined facing Brian, and worse, facing Max, he yanked the lid off the box. Xavier might beat the shit out of him, if he knew what he was doing. But Max would do something much worse if he got it into his head to blow a case of guilt or nerves out of proportion and imagine he’d been betrayed. Fuck, Carson tried to shake off the images seeping into his mind when he thought of what Max would do if he thought Carson had decided to take Xavier’s side over his.
Files. Utility bills. Dentist. Doctor. Insurance. Tax returns. Property deeds. So, he owned the house. And the tattoo shop. Nothing but income from the tattoo business on his last few tax returns. Nothing like a 1099 or a W2 from the FBI or police or any PI firm. He took a few pictures with his phone, like Max had told him to.
The other boxes were full of mementos. Photo albums. Two whole boxes full of loose photos that went back to long before Xavier was born. Another box of junior high, high school, and college yearbooks. A weird rush of guilt washed over Carson in the wake of his inexplicable surprise that Xavier had gone to college. What had he majored in? Fine arts? Art history? Sarcasm?
Looking around, he didn’t see anything else in the basement that looked important. He made sure the boxes on the shelf were arranged the way he’d found them, and went back upstairs. To the dining table. To Xavier’s computer.
The laptop was sitting in front of the chair, just where Xavier had been using it before he’d left for work. Email application open. Carson half wished Xavier had been more careful. Shut down. Password locked.
He opened a stealth browser window, pulled up Max’s email on his phone, and followed the instructions, logging in to the web site, and downloading and installing the spying software. When it was all set up, he closed the windows, and almost shut the laptop before he remembered Xavier had left it open. Fuck, what else had been open? His email? Or was it just the desktop? Did it matter? Who remembered the exact state they’d left their computer in?
Startled by a touch, Carson didn’t even have time to turn around. Something choking. Squeezing his neck. Thrashing, he tried to pull, tried to claw. Thick, hard arm almost lifting him from the floor. He yelled, but a huge hand clamped hard over his mouth. Kicking. Flailing. Helpless. The arm around his neck, the hand over his mouth didn’t move. Not suffocating. But weakening.
Computer screen blurring and dimming. He was dying. God, dying. For this? The day painted on the window fading to nothing.
FIVE
Xavier hardly had him down the stairs before Carson started to regain consciousness, but he was still out of it. He stayed put where Xavier set him down, and was almost limp as Xavier put the restraints on him. While Carson’s gaze was still murky, Xavier dashed upstairs, adrenaline pumping hard through his chest and limbs, grabbed Carson’s backpack and camera bag. Throwing a smug glance up at the camera he’d hidden on a high shelf, pointed straight at the computer he’d left out as bait, he headed back downstairs.
There. Now Carson was awake. Alert. Scared fucking
Nothing in the closet but clothes and shoes. Fairly sure after two days at the apartment that there was nothing important tucked away there, he skipped the living room, and headed down to the basement. At the far end of the space, on the left, there were a few file boxes stacked up on the shelves. Pulling one out and heaving it onto the nearby work table, Carson stared at it a minute.
So far, he hadn’t really done anything. And, okay, fine, he needed the money. But not this bad. Not bad enough to fuck over someone who’d been a hundred percent decent to him. Really fucking kind to him, actually.
But when he imagined facing Brian, and worse, facing Max, he yanked the lid off the box. Xavier might beat the shit out of him, if he knew what he was doing. But Max would do something much worse if he got it into his head to blow a case of guilt or nerves out of proportion and imagine he’d been betrayed. Fuck, Carson tried to shake off the images seeping into his mind when he thought of what Max would do if he thought Carson had decided to take Xavier’s side over his.
Files. Utility bills. Dentist. Doctor. Insurance. Tax returns. Property deeds. So, he owned the house. And the tattoo shop. Nothing but income from the tattoo business on his last few tax returns. Nothing like a 1099 or a W2 from the FBI or police or any PI firm. He took a few pictures with his phone, like Max had told him to.
The other boxes were full of mementos. Photo albums. Two whole boxes full of loose photos that went back to long before Xavier was born. Another box of junior high, high school, and college yearbooks. A weird rush of guilt washed over Carson in the wake of his inexplicable surprise that Xavier had gone to college. What had he majored in? Fine arts? Art history? Sarcasm?
Looking around, he didn’t see anything else in the basement that looked important. He made sure the boxes on the shelf were arranged the way he’d found them, and went back upstairs. To the dining table. To Xavier’s computer.
The laptop was sitting in front of the chair, just where Xavier had been using it before he’d left for work. Email application open. Carson half wished Xavier had been more careful. Shut down. Password locked.
He opened a stealth browser window, pulled up Max’s email on his phone, and followed the instructions, logging in to the web site, and downloading and installing the spying software. When it was all set up, he closed the windows, and almost shut the laptop before he remembered Xavier had left it open. Fuck, what else had been open? His email? Or was it just the desktop? Did it matter? Who remembered the exact state they’d left their computer in?
Startled by a touch, Carson didn’t even have time to turn around. Something choking. Squeezing his neck. Thrashing, he tried to pull, tried to claw. Thick, hard arm almost lifting him from the floor. He yelled, but a huge hand clamped hard over his mouth. Kicking. Flailing. Helpless. The arm around his neck, the hand over his mouth didn’t move. Not suffocating. But weakening.
Computer screen blurring and dimming. He was dying. God, dying. For this? The day painted on the window fading to nothing.
FIVE
Xavier hardly had him down the stairs before Carson started to regain consciousness, but he was still out of it. He stayed put where Xavier set him down, and was almost limp as Xavier put the restraints on him. While Carson’s gaze was still murky, Xavier dashed upstairs, adrenaline pumping hard through his chest and limbs, grabbed Carson’s backpack and camera bag. Throwing a smug glance up at the camera he’d hidden on a high shelf, pointed straight at the computer he’d left out as bait, he headed back downstairs.
There. Now Carson was awake. Alert. Scared fucking
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