Page 3 of Crush & Byte (Grim Road MC #9)

River

The public library in Vancouver, Washington looked like a cross between an urban mall and the Roman Coliseum. With more overdue notices and fewer gladiators. I had no idea why I was here. It’s not like I actually expected to find anything. I just couldn’t seem to resist the thought of an adventure.

At exactly four in the afternoon, I stepped through the revolving glass doors and tried to look inconspicuous.

Not an easy feat, considering the purpose was to retrieve a mystery envelope for a possibly ex-CIA spymaster or some shit from behind an old, out-of-date encyclopedia, like the world’s nerdiest drop point.

And maybe I was lost in my own fanciful musings.

I had to smile. I was kind of having fun. It was like an adventure!

It wasn’t raining for once, but the air still had the clinging, wet asphalt smell that was oddly comforting.

I thought I should be nervous or something, but it was too much fun to think about to be nervous.

I’d been assigned a quest by a cryptic, possibly delusional fairy godmother with a Parkinson’s tremor and a talent for psychological warfare. The thought made me stifle a giggle.

I drifted through the main floor, past the help desk and the “Local Authors” display, straight to the elevator. Behind me, a kid in a Spiderman backpack trailed his mom toward the children’s section, skipping along and looking excited. I definitely felt the same way.

The elevator doors closed on a guy in a T-shirt with a faded band logo and I rode in silence to the third floor.

According to Mrs. Walsh, the reference section was tucked back behind geography, a quiet warren of study carrels and shelves no one under sixty ever browsed.

I’d scoped it online the night before. I’m not dumb.

Mrs. Walsh had been explicit. “The 1986 World Atlas , behind the second row, center shelf. Not the 1992 edition. Only the ‘86.” If she’d specified a Dewey Decimal code, I might have laughed, but her face had been stone cold when she said it.

Like there’d be real consequences for screwing this up, and not just “forgetting to refill the saltshakers in the dining room” level consequences.

When I found the book, I couldn’t suppress a little thrill zinging through me.

I remembered the library in the group home I’d spent the most time in during my childhood had mystery series that I loved to read.

Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden were my absolute favorites.

I could see both amateur sleuths in my exact place.

The cover was two shades of dark maroon, sun faded at the edges, and heavier than I’d expected.

I was careful as I pulled out the book, but my hands were actually trembling.

There was no one else in the aisle, unless you counted the porcelain bust of some stern-faced man from a couple hundred years ago glaring from the endcap.

Just behind where the book had been, affixed to the back of the shelf with two strips of black tape, was a little metal box.

Like an Altoid tin but with no writing on it, and bigger.

My pulse thumped and I had to take a deep breath to keep from giggling in excitement.

What the hell was going on? I should probably be alarmed instead of thrilled.

There were so many questions I had a feeling I was going to have a hard time finding answers for, but I knew there was no way I wasn’t going to let this whole adventure play out on its own.

I slid the box free, tucked it in my back pocket, and hurried down the aisle, around the corner, and into the bathroom.

Once safely inside a stall with the door locked, I slid the tin from my pocket and popped it open.

I lifted off the top and tucked the lid into the base and braced myself for…

what? A flash drive? A bloodstained thumb? Uranium? You know, just for kicks.

Nope. Inside the little box was a small phone.

Not an old-ass flip phone like I expected, but a sleek, dark rectangle with no brand, already powered up.

There was one unread message notification on the screen.

In the box, there was a folded sheet of plain white paper and a sealed envelope.

The paper was blank except for a single line written in bold Sharpie.

Remember the words. Do not write them down .

Yeah. I remembered.

I opened the envelope and stared at what looked like a find-a-word puzzle, only with no words listed to circle.

Also, not all the symbols on the page were numbers or letters.

Some were mathematical symbols or hieroglyphs.

Yeah. That was hopeless. A small stack of one-hundred-dollar bills tucked inside another folded piece of paper looked at me like an accusation, like I was doing something naughty.

I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t get a little thrill with the thought.

The second paper had a number written on it.

No dashes or spaces and it was too many digits for a phone number.

Right. So much for written instructions.

I stuffed the paper back in the envelope and tucked it inside my bra.

Why? Because I’d always wanted to do that!

It was like I was really smuggling something out of the library like a real spy.

I giggled. So not telling Maggie about that.

I left the bathroom and, just in case, I put the metal box behind a row of obsolete encyclopedias a few shelves over, figuring that if I was being tailed by hostile librarians they’d have to earn their stripes.

She hadn’t really given me any instructions past finding the box and its contents but I was starting to get a bit of an eerie feeling.

Not like I was in danger, exactly, but like maybe I should take Mrs. Walsh at face value until proven definitively otherwise.

So, instead of sticking around, I went back to my apartment before I opened the message on that phone.

Call the contact listed in this phone. Use the video option .

I tried to remember if I’d actually committed to doing this, or if I was just being swept along by Mrs. Walsh’s gravitational pull.

The only people who had ever really wanted something from me either needed a bath or a ride to physical therapy, not a covert op involving classified code words and burner phones.

But the truth was, I had nothing better to do.

Literally nothing. My next shift wasn’t for three days.

I didn’t own a car, so I either Ubered or bused everywhere.

No long-term friends, no family, no one to say “don’t do it.

” And what if it was real? What if Mrs. Walsh had once been the spook she said she was?

Was this some kind of generational torch-passing, or did she just want a patsy for plausible deniability?

I mean, given the whole no family, no friends situation I certainly fit the profile in either case.

I stared at the phone. The contact hovered, daring me to press “call.” Before I could think better of it, I did.

The phone rang once, then again. I thought it would go to voicemail, but on the third ring the screen flickered to life with the video call I’d just initiated.

For half a second, I almost dropped the phone.

The screen showed two men in a small, windowless room.

The older of the two had a full face that was deeply tanned and rough with more than a few days’ growth of dark beard.

He wore a black long-sleeved shirt rolled to the elbows, his arms crossed on the tabletop like he was expecting a confession.

The other man was maybe five or ten years younger than the larger man, with short, dark hair and glacial blue eyes.

Neither looked amused and both looked more than a little confused.

“Who is this?” The big one asked. “Where did you get this phone?” Yeah. Not amused at fucking all.

My stomach felt like it dropped through the floor.

If I’d caused some kind of trouble for Mrs. Walsh, I’d never forgive myself.

“Yeah. Hi. I’m River Brooks.” I gave a little nervous wave before clearing my throat.

“The note said to call no longer than ten minutes after I opened it. So… here I am.” When neither man said anything, I continued. “I guess you’re Crush? Or Byte? Maybe?”

“I’m Crush,” the larger man said. He had a low, careful voice that sounded like he was always on the verge of passing judgment on some unsuspecting soul. “Byte is here with me.” He nodded toward the younger guy, who raised two fingers in a lazy salute.

“Hi,” Byte said, which seemed almost cruelly casual. The look in his eyes said I better have a good fucking reason for having this phone.

I cleared my throat again nervously. “I have a message for you from Mrs. Walsh. She said it’s urgent.”

“Did she give you a phrase?”

I nodded. “Lockbox. Sycamore. Breach.” I tried not to make it sound like a question, but honestly, I had no idea what I was doing.

Byte’s face twitched, and for a split second I saw real surprise. “She’s actually doing this,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

Crush studied me. “River. You’re not in any immediate danger, but if you choose to continue this, I’m going to need to know you can follow my instructions exactly. We’ll keep this simple. Can you memorize a set of directions?”

“Yeah, I’m good with directions. And I already have a pretty good memory for random bullshit,” I muttered. “So, go right ahead.”

He raised an eyebrow before glancing briefly at Byte. “You’re going to go to the intersection of Sycamore and Main. There’s a diner called Benny’s. Go in at exactly nine o’clock, order black coffee, and wait. We’ll send someone to meet you.”

I looked at the phone, then at my notes, then back at the phone. “Is that it? How will I know who I’m meeting?”

Byte grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll know them when you see them.” He glanced at his brother. “Might want to pack a bag of essentials for an overnight trip. Just in case.”

“Okay,” I said. I hesitated, then added, “So, just to clarify, this isn’t some weird prank, right? I’m not about to be filmed for a TikTok where I get arrested for loitering in a diner or busted for some espionage game gone wrong. Right?”

Crush’s expression didn’t change, but Byte actually laughed before winking at me. “No. But keep your head on a swivel, princess.”

There was a moment of weird energy between them, like they were having a silent argument or something.

Byte shrugged, but Crush picked up the conversation.

“Mrs. Walsh knows what she’s doing, and I can assure you she’s not in any danger.

Besides, she has people who will look out for her until we can take care of this…

situation.” He rubbed his hands together a couple of times before resting one on top of the other.

I thought it might be a nervous habit, but I couldn’t imagine these guys being nervous about anything.

“Your part in all this is done, and we appreciate you doing what our grandmother asked. You don’t have to do anything else.

” He laced his fingers together, but he was anything but relaxed as he stared at me intently.

He looked at my face instead of at the camera.

I felt like he was studying me for any sign of weakness, or if I had the resolve in seeing this through.

“Crush, Maggie wanted her in on this. She wouldn’t have done this otherwise.” Byte looked more serious than he had since the start of the call. I got the feeling it wasn’t often they weren’t on the same page.

“Maggie doesn’t get the final say here. And I seriously doubt she told River any more than she told us.”

Byte shrugged. “Probably gave her about as much notice too.”

“Look.” Crush rolled his eyes at his brother before addressing me again. “I’m just saying, don’t feel like this is something you have to do. We can take it from here.”

I thought about it. Really, I did. But the truth was, Mrs. Walsh had been the only person in a very long time who’d treated me like I mattered, even if it was just as a pawn in her retirement age spy game.

“I’m in,” I said, and tried to sound braver than I felt. “Is this the smartest decision I’ve ever made in my life? Not in the least. But if Mrs. Walsh wants me to do this, then I’ll give it a good hard try. You know. Whatever the hell ‘this’ is.”

Crush nodded, the barest flicker of surprise on his face while Byte chuckled and winked at me as he spoke. “Good. Keep the phone on you and charged at all times. We’ll be in touch.”

“Wait!” There was something I needed to know. “Mrs. Walsh. Did she really work for the CIA?”

The brothers looked at each other, again having one of those silent conversations. Then Byte shrugged, like he could give a good Goddamn whether Crush answered my question or not.

“Yes.” Crush nodded at me. “If she told you that much I’ll confirm it for her. Did she tell you anything else?”

“Oh, she told me lots of random shit. She was always vague and, I’ll be honest, I really thought it was her dementia talking.

She loves to read spy novels. Sometimes, she’ll scoff at them and say it’s not realistic or something, but I never thought she was really in the CIA. I thought her mind was…”

“I understand.” Crush gave me a tight smile.

“I can also assure you that our grandmother always has a reason for what she does. Even if it’s not something we all agree with.

She is not senile or weak of mind in any way.

” He held my gaze for several seconds before reaching toward the camera and disconnecting the call.

I took a shaky breath, tucked the phone in my pocket before collapsing on my sofa in a heap. Great. Not only did I have some time to kill, but I probably had also insulted Mrs. Walsh’s grandsons. Awesome.

Why? Why did I do this to myself? I was just going to take off with a couple of hot bikers with no clear destination or purpose.

The thing was, no matter how much I told myself this was a bad idea, it all came down to whether or not I trusted Mrs. Walsh was in her right mind, and that she wasn’t setting me up for something nefarious.

The second was laughable. Mrs. Walsh genuinely liked me, I was certain of it.

The first? Yeah. Jury was still out on that one.

Or, maybe it was me who needed the reality check.