Chapter 13
“What’s 089208?” Damon asked, watching as Cain put a passcode into the keypad that controlled the massive black iron gates outside Senator Shaw’s sprawling suburban home. “Anniversary? Birthday?”
After Cain had made a quick stop at a pharmacy and another at a hotel where they’d rented a room, dumped their meager belongings, and quickly changed Cain’s bandage, they’d gotten back on the road to the senator’s house, about thirty minutes outside of the city. When Cain had turned onto his street, Damon’s eyes had widened. He’d seen mansions before, but the concentrated wealth of the area, literally glinting in the setting sun, was pretty stunning.
“No. Neither,” Cain sighed, turning to give him a look as the gates slid smoothly open. “It’s the date they broke ground on the headquarters at Seaver Tech.”
“You’re kidding,” Damon said, but Cain shook his head. “You’re telling me your father types that passcode in every time he comes home?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you,” Cain agreed, but he shook his head again. “I’m not saying I understand it.”
God. Damon’s stomach clenched at the idea of someone who could murder his best friend, but still use the date they’d co-founded a company as his security code. Were there any limits Emmett Shaw wouldn’t go to?
Cain pulled the car around the semi-circular brick-paved driveway and parked directly in front of the house. “You ready?”
“I guess.”
Cain jogged up a short flight of stairs to the front door and paused to wait for Damon. Though not quite as bad as it had been yesterday, Damon’s leg still hurt like a bitch whenever he put weight on it. Still, when Cain had suggested buying a pair of crutches at the pharmacy, Damon had refused. Coddling himself wouldn’t speed his recovery, and it sure as fuck wouldn’t make him feel better either.
When Damon got to the top step, Cain entered another passcode. “This one’s the date my father was elected, with the numbers 9–4-9 at the end.” He looked over his shoulder at Damon and explained. “It spells out W-I-N.”
Damon wasn’t sure what expression he had on his face, but whatever it was made Cain laugh softly. “I know. I know, it’s gross.”
They stepped into the house, which seemed unnaturally hushed.
“Nobody working?” Damon whispered. “No staff?”
Cain shook his head and answered in a hushed voice, “My parents are gone on a fundraising tour for various politicians for a couple of weeks. BecausenothingsaysHappy Holidayslike promising millions to your local politicians, right? Usually the staff stay here to take care of the house, but not this time. My parents gave them the week off for Thanksgiving.”
“No security guards? No cameras?”
“No guards when my dad’s not here, which means the outside cameras are recording, but aren’t being monitored. Unlikely anyone would check them unless an alarm was set off. And there are no cameras inside the house at all. That’s one thing my mother put her foot down about.” Cain rolled his eyes. “She’d rather be caught dead than have someone leak a photo of her in her bathrobe, sans makeup.”
Damon nodded. “So, if no one is here,” he muttered. “Then why are we whispering?”
Cain shrugged. “I don’t really know, except… I think I’m conditioned not to attract notice in this house.” He grinned. “Hard to break the habit.”
He led Damon up an enormous curved white staircase to the second floor, and then to an imposing set of double doors. “This is his office,” Cain said.
Damon wrapped his t-shirt cuff around his hand then pushed at the knob.Locked.
“No worries,” Cain told him. He went to the doorway of the room across the hall and stood on tiptoe so he could run his fingertips along the top edge of the doorframe. “Aha. Gotcha.”
“That’s where he keeps the key?” Damon demanded.
Cain chuckled. “Nah. That’s where I keep the skeleton key.” He jimmied the locked door, and a second later, the latch popped and the door swung inward. “I had to rescue my cell phone on more than one occasion when I was younger,” he said. He took a second to put the key back atop the door, and Damon smirked. Putting everything back in its proper place was such a fuckingCainthing to do.
“Lead the way then, Secret Agent Shaw,” Damon told him.
Cain rolled his eyes and shouldered his way past Damon into the office.
Dark wood and brown leather were the first things Damon noticed, as though it was an old English hunting lodge. The air inside the room was still and chilly, with an air of disuse. Damon limped forward, being cautious not to leave fingerprints on anything.
Cain paused in the middle of the room, looking around. “I have no idea where to even begin,” he said. “There’s a file cabinet, but… Maybe it would be hidden?”
“Does he have a safe?” Damon asked.
“Nah, not here. Not that I know of, anyway.” He moved to a large painting of a horse suspended on the wall next to the door and lifted the edge to peer behind. “Nothing here.”
