Manic

I drag my hand across my forehead to wipe the sweat and Rook breathes a little heavier than normal, like she's dreaming. She's a perceptive girl, that's one thing I noticed about her immediately. She reads body language like a librarian reads books. She's on to us.

But anytime she asks, we shut her down. And something tells me she's OK with that. She's at the very end of her coping capabilities, she wants us to handle it for her.

She still runs with Ford in the mornings, but now Spencer and I hang out over there too, just in case. The AM training program at Coors Field is not something most people know about. It's private, reserved for big shots in the know. But this Jon guy seems to be in the know more often than not.

The waiting is killing me.

My phone buzzes with a text and my heart jumps at the noise.

Fucking Ford. I read the text and it simply says: Nibble, nibble.

He's such a child. I text back: Don't f**k it up this time.

I didn't f**k it up last time, ass**le. Part two, commencing now. Website accessed.

I click the link Ford sends and almost get physically ill when I see Rook's picture advertising a live sex cam. I grimace and look over at her again. If she knew, she'd probably hate me. I close the web browser down and sneak out of bed. Light is already filtering through the windows and since we're leaving for Sturgis later this morning, I might as well just get up and go find Ford and talk this shit out with him in person.

"Rook," I whisper down in her ear. "Wake up, Gidge."

"Hmmm."

"I'm going down the studio for a second, but the alarm is still set, so if I'm not back, don't ignore it. We gotta get ready to go in about an hour. OK?"

Nothing but snores.

"Rook!"

"Mmm-hmmm. Heard you."

"And do not ignore me if I text."

More snores.

"Fuck it, I'll be right back, OK?"

She's out.

I slip some jeans on and walk out to the hallway and make my way down to the garden terrace, texting Ford as I go. When I get outside he's over on the far side, craning his neck to see something down the street. The edginess is back and my heart beats a little faster. "What's up?" I ask softly as I near him.

"Saw someone. Maybe him, actually." He takes his attention to a ping on his tablet, scans the message, then turns back to the street below.

My heart rate jacks up as I process his words. "You're f**king kidding me? Now?"

"I said I think, Ronin."

"Where's Spence?"

"I sent him down the street, that's who I was watching."

"Did Walsh make a purchase?"

"Not yet, but I've had seventeen nibbles on it in the past several hours."

"Define nibble, Ford. What's that even mean?"

Ford stops his intense concentration on the street and turns to me. "He's tried to hack it repeatedly over night. But my friend is mistaken if he thinks he can crack past my firewall machine before I'm ready to let him in."

"So he wants cam access but doesn't want to pay and leave a record."

"Pretty much," Ford says, turning back to the street. Spencer is in plain sight now, walking back towards us.

"Well, that pretty much defeats the whole f**king purpose of having that site in the first place, doesn't it? If he gets access, we're f**ked."

"Relax, Ronin. Let me handle it. It's my ass that will burn if he does that, not yours. You do your job and that's it."

Spencer enters the building downstairs and we go inside and wait for him in the studio, turning on the fans to keep the conversation muddied. Just in case. We are paranoid f**kers and that's why we're not in jail. The keypad on the door beeps out his code and then Spence enters, a little out of breath from running up four flights of stairs.

"Nothing," he says to Ford. "There's a few vagrants down there, that's all."

"I'm not buying it," Ford says. "He's down there, he's just hiding. It's definitely today. He's watching us, waiting for us to f**k up."

"Should we cancel the trip?" I ask Ford.

"Fuck that, we're not canceling the trip," Spencer retorts in a huff. "The sooner we get on the road the better. Keep her confined in the RV. That's better than hanging out here in this huge-ass building. Besides, everyone's ready. The crew are all packed and they'll be here in a few hours."

"Maybe," I say, but internally I'm thinking about all the ways we're sitting ducks inside that RV on that long, almost empty highway leading up to Sturgis. All the way through Wyoming. It's not good.

"You got anything else, Ford?"

"No, it's dead now. Nothing. I got seven proxies to query, though, so I'm gonna go back to Rook's apartment and work on that. Let's just move on like there's nothing out of the ordinary. Pack up the RV, pack up the trucks, when the crew gets here, just keep them busy. We'll decide what to do next on the road."

He walks off towards Rook's apartment and Spencer heads for the door. "I'll be down in the art room packing up the last of my supplies."

I'm like a deer in front of a Mack truck at night. Not sure what to do, paralyzed by the possibilities that are barreling down upon me.

Chapter Thirty-Three - ROOK

Ronin is a manic mess this morning and I'm standing here in the middle of his apartment, trying for the life of me to figure out why. We're packed, we're on time. The RV is gassed up. The crews aren't here yet, but they're not due for another half hour or so. We ate breakfast. The bikes are on the truck. Spence is downstairs getting his supplies together and shutting down the art and production studio.