Permits weren’t the fight he’d intended, but it was a Monday. He was due to start off the week rough. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’ll tell you when I can figure it out.”
“I know you will. I don’t suppose you can tell me why? We’ve been together six years, baby, throw me a bone.”
“You’re terrible when you try to sweet-talk me. I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“Makes two of us. Come on, K, one thing.”
There was a beat of silence that stretched into two, an audible hesitation, then K slowly admitted, “It’s not because of you, actually. I owe your dad.”
“My father?” Brannigan could not have been more surprised if a planet had been dropped on him. Then again, he shouldn’t be. His father had spent his entire life helping people. Well, that is, after he went legit. Brannigan had met more than a few of the recipients, and even though his father was retired, people still came out of the woodwork to try and return some previous favor. “What did he do for you?”
“Saved my life. And I’m not telling you more than that, Sherlock. I probably said too much already. It’s just…” a gusty sigh, sounding more resigned than Brannigan had ever heard, “I have a bad feeling shit’s going to hit the fan soon. And when it does, I need you to trust me. I can’t have you questioning my motivations. At least, where you’re concerned, they’re pure as the driven snow.”
Brannigan almost believed him. Almost. “So, you’re saying that if I offered to tap your ass, you’d pass?”
“Hell no, are you crazy? You are one fiiiine specimen, Brannigan Genovese, and you know it. But I’m saying I’d have the best of intentions when you do me.”
“Uh-huh.” Brannigan rolled his eyes before he could catch himself. He did know that he was good looking, that people found him attractive. Topping just over six foot, with a rangy build, curly dark hair, and hazel eyes, he could admit he wasn’t bad to look at. His father’s Italian heritage only helped as it kept his skin a nice warm olive complexion. But he was self-aware enough to know that it wasn’t his looks that drew people to him. It was his money. “Oh look, I’m at work.”
“You are not. You’re stuck at a red light.”
“You’re never going to tell me how you’re tracking me, are you? For that matter, how do you keep hacking my emails?”
“Why do you keep asking these questions that will only give you heartburn?” K teased. “It’s fine, man, I’m not going to let anyone else hack you. I’ve got your back.”
Brannigan almost told Gideon he needed an Irish coffee and to pull over at the nearest bar. “That actually wasn’t my worry, although thank you for throwing that one into the mix. I’m more worried about how you keep track of me. How many laws are you breaking, K?”
“Dunno. Not a lawyer.”
“That many, huh?” Shaking his head, Brannigan let it pass. It would only give him a headache if he pursued it. He knew that from past experience. “So if I ask my dad how many times he’s saved a man from the Midwest, now in his twenties, how many people would fit the bill?”
“A lot,” K admitted cheerfully. “You know your dad better than I do. You knew that would be the answer.”
Slumping a little in his seat, Brannigan said with a sigh of resignation, “Yeah. I did. Thanks for your hard work. What’s your account number, again?”
“Hardy har har. Nice try, Genovese.”
“I’d actually be perfectly willing to pay you for your work, you know. You’ve preempted all sorts of trouble for me. Surely you can set up some bank account with the Cayman Islands or the Swiss or whatever.”
“You’re cute,” K responded in a tone that said the opposite. “Your money is no good here. Now, light’s green. Off you go.”
The call abruptly ended.
“K again, eh?” Gideon said from the front seat. Expression resigned, he twisted in his seat to look at Brannigan. “What is it this time?”
“Someone being bribed and permit delays. He sent us an email about it.”
“Oh hell.” Gideon made a face. “It sounds stupid on the surface, you know that, right? That we’d trust whatever K says to us.”
Brannigan nodded sourly. He did understand that. More than one person had questioned him about it. But they’d learned the hard way not to ignore K. The man was never wrong.
Gideon met his eyes through the rear-view mirror. “Let me ask you something, Boss. Do you realize that these days, you’re flirting with him?”
Groaning, he rubbed his forehead. “Yes, I know. I somehow got sucked into his pace.”
With a noncommittal hum, Gideon let that one go. The car smoothly sped up as Gideon rounded the last corner and entered the underground parking area. “Boss, I can tell you one thing. He’s right about you not going on that date tonight.”
Wearily, Brannigan just stared at him. “Not you too. Let’s just focus on a possible issue with permits, alright?”
2
Kyou
Kyou tossed the burner into his desk drawer, with all of the other burner phones, and gave himself a second. Damn, but Brannigan was sharper than he’d realized, and he gave the man plenty of credit already. He’d taken the Genovese fortune—respectable in its own right—and doubled it with the hotel business. He now had four different five-star hotels, and was dabbling in other real estate, and he ran the businesses well.
When Kyou had first started hacking for Genovese Enterprises, his only real thought had been to return the favor to Mattias Genovese, Brannigan’s father. The man really had saved his life as a kid, and he owed it to him to look after his son. He’d naïvely assumed it would be easy, looking after a spoiled rich kid, but (un)fortunately Brannigan didn’t fall far from the tree. He was heavily involved in many causes to help people, and sometimes his projects made political enemies. This wasn’t the first time someone had tried to sneak in spies for a little corporate espionage.
With all of the hotel safes and the goodies people left in them, thieves routinely tried to sneak in past security. Between Brannigan’s own people and Kyou, none of those thieves normally got past the front door. It was the really sneaky ones, like the trio that just got hired on, that Kyou had to watch out for. Those guys knew how to play the long game for a bigger payout.
Sighing, he let his web crawlers do their thing and stood up, stretching his arms over his head until he heard his joints pop. He’d been in front of the computer for fourteen hours this time, and if he didn’t move soon, he might just fuse to the chair. An hour on the treadmill, a hot shower, and something not pizza would revive him enough that he could continue for a little longer. Maybe a nap. He didn’t really want to sleep until he got to the bottom of things, but a nap was called for soon.
He sauntered away from the corner where all of his computers and monitors were set up. Kyou had leased a rehabbed warehouse near the downtown sector of Boston two years ago, right after the team was formed. It was one of those open-floorplan affairs that looked impressive and modern. The exposed rafters, brick work, and polished cement floors kept things austere while the plush sofas and brightly colored pillows made it look homey. It still amused him to no end that Brannigan Genovese was technically his landlord, as he owned the whole block of apartments.