need them. For now, just concentrate on doing the job.”
Before he could ask another question, the line went dead. Pompous fuckers.
But they were the fuckers with the money.
He laid the phone on the nightstand and was about to go get a shower, when suddenly he straightened. “Oh, shit.”
His log-in and password. God, he’d left the envelope sitting out on the desk, in plain view. Trying not to look panicked, he strode back down the hall to the living room—and breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Grandpa’s chin was on his chest, eyes closed, the remote now dangling from his hand. Sound asleep.
“Thank Jesus.”
Quietly, he tiptoed to the desk and hid the envelope, far in the back of the drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. Better yet, after Grandpa went to bed, he’d move the paper somewhere safe.
He couldn’t afford to make a mistake like that ever again.
Joseph listened to his grandson move about the room, heard the boy’s soft exclamation. The desk drawer opened and closed, papers moved, something placed inside. Then the drawer slid closed again, the sound furtive.
When Will moved out of the room again, Joseph cracked an eye open, turned his head, and peered at the desk. His eyesight might be failing along with everything else, but he could see the white envelope was gone. Hidden from view, the log-in and password to his bank account was something Will obviously hadn’t wanted him to see.
“Too late, my boy,” he murmured. “When the war was on, I memorized more confidential data than there are stars in the sky. I’ve forgotten more shit than you’ll ever know.”
Tomorrow, Will would leave for work.
And Joseph might just find a clue as to what the holy hell was going on around here.
Tommy stretched out on the sofa in the station’s TV room, feet on the coffee table. Four more days until his dinner date with Shea, and it seemed like an eternity. He’d give her a call later, get his fix to hold him over.
“Hey, amigo. Isn’t it your turn to clean the bathrooms?” Julian strolled in and flopped down on the other end of the sofa.
“Hell, yeah,” he grumbled. “I’ll do it later.”
“Just sayin’, is all. Man, what are you watching?”
Tommy grinned. “Young and the Restless.”
“Holy Christ, my madre stays glued to that crap.” His friend made a face like he’d bitten into a lemon. “How old is that chica who’s been on there forever, like a hundred and forty?”
“Yes, but it only equals twenty-five in soap years.”
“Except for the characters’ kids. The ones who were born last year are dating this year.”
“For a dude with an attitude, you sure know a lot about soaps.”
“Fuck you, man. Change the channel before my eyes start bleeding.”
“You wish, and okay.” He smirked at Julian, then switched the channel to CNN. “Better?”
“Much, thanks. Now I can be depressed on a reality-based level.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “So, other than interrupting my rare moment of peace here, what’s up with you? How are the plans for the house coming?”
“Slow, but sure. Grace wanted us to design the house ourselves so it would be unique. Being the macho man of the house, I said ‘no’ because of the cost and how much longer it’s going to take.”
“Let me guess—you got your balls handed to you.”
“Sautéed and served on a platter. Limped away whimpering yes, ma’am just so I could live another day.”
Tommy chuckled at the picture of how his friend’s mandate went over with Grace. “I could’ve told you how that argument was going to end. My parents have been happy together for thirty years because my dad figured out the secret early on—just do what the hell she says and give her flowers on her birthday, your anniversary, and Valentine’s Day.”
“Heard that. Thank God I have a quick learning curve.”
Where his friend was concerned, this was true in more ways than one. Hard to believe this was the same man who, a few weeks ago, kept
Before he could ask another question, the line went dead. Pompous fuckers.
But they were the fuckers with the money.
He laid the phone on the nightstand and was about to go get a shower, when suddenly he straightened. “Oh, shit.”
His log-in and password. God, he’d left the envelope sitting out on the desk, in plain view. Trying not to look panicked, he strode back down the hall to the living room—and breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Grandpa’s chin was on his chest, eyes closed, the remote now dangling from his hand. Sound asleep.
“Thank Jesus.”
Quietly, he tiptoed to the desk and hid the envelope, far in the back of the drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. Better yet, after Grandpa went to bed, he’d move the paper somewhere safe.
He couldn’t afford to make a mistake like that ever again.
Joseph listened to his grandson move about the room, heard the boy’s soft exclamation. The desk drawer opened and closed, papers moved, something placed inside. Then the drawer slid closed again, the sound furtive.
When Will moved out of the room again, Joseph cracked an eye open, turned his head, and peered at the desk. His eyesight might be failing along with everything else, but he could see the white envelope was gone. Hidden from view, the log-in and password to his bank account was something Will obviously hadn’t wanted him to see.
“Too late, my boy,” he murmured. “When the war was on, I memorized more confidential data than there are stars in the sky. I’ve forgotten more shit than you’ll ever know.”
Tomorrow, Will would leave for work.
And Joseph might just find a clue as to what the holy hell was going on around here.
Tommy stretched out on the sofa in the station’s TV room, feet on the coffee table. Four more days until his dinner date with Shea, and it seemed like an eternity. He’d give her a call later, get his fix to hold him over.
“Hey, amigo. Isn’t it your turn to clean the bathrooms?” Julian strolled in and flopped down on the other end of the sofa.
“Hell, yeah,” he grumbled. “I’ll do it later.”
“Just sayin’, is all. Man, what are you watching?”
Tommy grinned. “Young and the Restless.”
“Holy Christ, my madre stays glued to that crap.” His friend made a face like he’d bitten into a lemon. “How old is that chica who’s been on there forever, like a hundred and forty?”
“Yes, but it only equals twenty-five in soap years.”
“Except for the characters’ kids. The ones who were born last year are dating this year.”
“For a dude with an attitude, you sure know a lot about soaps.”
“Fuck you, man. Change the channel before my eyes start bleeding.”
“You wish, and okay.” He smirked at Julian, then switched the channel to CNN. “Better?”
“Much, thanks. Now I can be depressed on a reality-based level.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “So, other than interrupting my rare moment of peace here, what’s up with you? How are the plans for the house coming?”
“Slow, but sure. Grace wanted us to design the house ourselves so it would be unique. Being the macho man of the house, I said ‘no’ because of the cost and how much longer it’s going to take.”
“Let me guess—you got your balls handed to you.”
“Sautéed and served on a platter. Limped away whimpering yes, ma’am just so I could live another day.”
Tommy chuckled at the picture of how his friend’s mandate went over with Grace. “I could’ve told you how that argument was going to end. My parents have been happy together for thirty years because my dad figured out the secret early on—just do what the hell she says and give her flowers on her birthday, your anniversary, and Valentine’s Day.”
“Heard that. Thank God I have a quick learning curve.”
Where his friend was concerned, this was true in more ways than one. Hard to believe this was the same man who, a few weeks ago, kept
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