Manic

That was just before Mardee died. Just the one job, we said, just the one guy, the dealer who turned Mardee on to the heroin. We were all feeling guilty. Spence for bringing her around the guys in this neighborhood, Ford for letting me take her away, and me for not caring enough about her to stop what was happening right in front of my face.

But we were all a little lost after Mardee died, and that job was too easy, because regardless of what Spencer looks like on the outside, the fact is, he's a f**king certifiable genius on the inside.

Ford might just be a well-dressed ass**le to most people, but if you saw the guy's psychological profile, you'd shit your pants. I've seen it—that's how I know he's one f**ked-up individual. He showed it to me, walked me right into his old man's office, hacked into his computer, and let me read what his own father wrote about him.

Incapable of emotion—high-functioning Asperger's Syndrome with areas of prodigious savant skills.

Like Spencer, Ford is a genius, but unlike Spencer, Ford's brand of intelligence is scary high. Off-the-charts evil-genius kinda shit. The kind of intelligence that comes about once every few hundred years.

But even though Ford has some emotional limitations, he's perceptive to fitting in. He started failing his intelligence tests long before I ever met him. In fact, that file in his father's computer was created when he was only seven years old. Ford never passed another test after that. He hides both his limitations and abilities well.

Showing me that personal file was his way of making things right for that f**ked-up prank he pulled on me in high school. But we can all thank his solitary childhood computer geek stage for the special skills he brings to the table now.

Me? I'm not a genius, I'm not a hacker, I'm just the face. But every operation needs a front man, right?

And this Jon Walsh ass**le is a worthy opponent. It might even be fun.

I watch Rook and Ford cross the street and then part ways at Ford's little sports car. Rook looks up, sees me watching, then drops her head. I'm not jealous of Ford. If she wants to work out with him, that's her deal. I won't interfere. But that doesn't mean I won't keep my eye on her as she does it.

I stay on the terrace until I hear the door in the apartment beep, then go inside and meet her in the shower.

"Have a nice run?"

"Yes," she says as she takes her clothes off and then gets in. It's just a regular single stream of water, so I take it she doesn't want company and go get dressed. Today is the cyborg bike shoot. It's an amazing custom chopper that's been in the inventory the longest since it was Spencer's first custom bike, and I know he's really counting on this photo to sell the thing soon. So Rook and I will have to be on today.

Trouble is, she's not on at all. She's so off, it's getting dark in there quick. She said almost nothing on the way home yesterday, and it wasn't because of the cameras, because Ford took them out of the truck before we left.

When we went to bed last night I wasn't expecting sex, not after her f**ked-up weekend. But I wasn't expecting the cold shoulder either. I had to tug her up next to me. She settled after that, but up until last night, I've never had to encourage it. I don't even want to think about what that might mean.

I wait patiently in the living room as she exits the shower and dresses in some shorts and a tank top. She doesn't even bother with shoes, just grabs my hand when she gets to the door and we walk downstairs together. "You OK?" I ask as we cross the empty studio.

"Yeah, I think so."

I squeeze her hand. "It's a long day. You're a cyborg today."

She smiles but says nothing.

Spencer is messing with the tunes when we walk in and all the crews are busy checking sound and lighting and all that other bullshit they do for the TV show filming. I take a seat on the couch I had a crew member move in over the weekend. I figured if Ford and I had to sit around and watch, we might as well be comfortable. He's not around when we come in, probably still down the street at his corporate apartment.

"What do ya want to listen to today, Rook?" Spencer calls out to her as she goes into the half-hearted attempt at a dressing room and changes into the little robe.

"I don't care. Whatever you want, Spence."

Spencer looks at me after she turns away from him. I shrug.

"Well, that's not an answer, Blackbird. I need an answer. Choose a band."

She turns back, clearly confused at his insistence. "Um." She stops to think. "Lady Gaga?"

I hold down a snort.

"What?" she asks me, annoyed. "I like her."

I throw up my hands in an I surrender gesture, then kick my feet up on the coffee table as Ford walks in.

"Did you just say Lady Gaga, Rook? I love her."

I turn and sneer at him. What a dick.

"But I have a better idea."

"What?" Rook asks, a little defeated by my reaction to her choice in music. I'm the dick and now I feel like shit.

"I'll read to you."

Rook immediately smiles and I'm like, What the f**k? Read to her gets a smile, but me wanting to take a shower gets a big fat nothing?

"It's a joke, Ronin. Relax," Spence says. "Rook was making fun of his reading list last week."

"Yeah," she says. "You were gone that day. With Clare."

Ouch.

She takes her attention back to Ford. "Is it a billionaire book?" She smirks at him.