He finally came up with something as they were leaving the lobby. “Where exactly are we going?”
“Whatever hole you’ve been hiding in.”
It was still early enough to be cool, and dew dripped off the butt-studded potted palms that framed the smokers’ corner. Jacob balked on instinct—since the loftdidhold all the evidence Simon would need to prove what he’d done at Syntech. And other places.
“All I need is a burner phone and an Internet connection,” he protested. “I can get that in a Walmart with a McDonaldsandenjoy the breakfast menu while we wait.”
It would be an admittedly long wait—the data packet on its own was pretty sizable, never mind his various backups—but itcouldbe done.
Simon stopped and turned to face him, and his eyes narrowed over the high line of his cheekbones. “Let me get this straight. You don’t trustme?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant. Look, I told you. Get me the information you stole, and we’re done. You’re free to go and enjoy a shitty Christmas with your shitty sister.”
Some childhood habits you never grew out of. Jacob glared at Simon. “Fuck you,” he said. Temper set off hot little sparks behind his eyes. “Your shitty brother-in-law is athief. Remember?”
Simon’s jaw clenched, and he grabbed Jacob’s shoulder and pulled him a step closer. Jacob’s knuckles itched with the urge to throw the first punch. Playground experience told him that it wouldprobablyalsobe the last punch he got to throw, though.
“No, he isn’t,” Simon gritted out. “Whatever youthinkyou found is wrong, so keep your mouth shut on it. Understand?”
“Yeah, well, keep your mouth shut about my sister. And her Christmas,” Jacob muttered. The jolt of adrenaline was fading, and starting a fight over someone calling his sister “shitty” wasn’t looking like such a good idea. Shewasshitty, after all. It was a family trait, and the way Simon was studying him made him feel uncomfortable. It was like he’d seen something Jacob hadn’t put up to be seen. He tried to squirm out from under Simon’s hand and scowled. “Can we go already?”
After a second, Simon gave in and lifted his hand. Whatever he’d been thinking was gone from his face, leaving the sharp lines chilly and composed. “Gladly,” he said. “The sooner I know you’re out of my lifeandmy city, the better.”
“Not your city,” Jacob muttered and scuffed his feet across the gritty tarmac.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The sullen sound of the word on his tongue made Jacob cringe in embarrassment. Apparently he had actually regressed to preschool. He took a deep breath, tasted heat and the sour nicotine that had soaked into the plants, and tried to find his mental footing. Jobs had gone wrong before—not this spectacularly, but still wrong—and the key had always been to keep his head.
But around Simon the head that made bad decisions was in charge.
“I’ve been renting a place in Southtown,” he said.
Simon snorted without looking at him, unlocked the battered car with a beep, and folded his lean frame into the driver’s seat.
“What?” Jacob asked.
“You’re secretly a hipster,” Simon said as he started the engine. “Good to know. We can stop for some artisanal cheese for breakfast if you want.”
Jacob slid into the passenger side, pulled the seat belt over his chest, and anchored it with a click. “I had to move in a hurry, if you remember,” he said. “A friend had an open property there.”
“You have friends,” Simon said dryly. “Who knew.”
Friend might be stretching it, Jacob supposed. Mani was more of an asset—a cheerfully amoral property manager with a portfolio of executive rental properties whose details she didn’t mind selling on to a few trustworthy white-collar crooks. Lovely lady, though. She gave him a discount on the rent. Well, shesaidshe gave him a discount, and it was the thought that counted.
It was half an hour to Southtown. After fifteen minutes of grim silence, Jacob flicked the radio on and bounced down the stations.
Adele. Awkward.
Metallica. Weirdly more awkward than Adele.
Opera. Yech.
The news…. Without taking his eyes off the road, Simon whacked Jacob’s fingers away from the scan button.
