Page 29

29

JAMIE

T he week is busy, and I only manage to hook up with Sawyer once. When she calls Friday morning, I kick my door shut and sit on the end of my bed, glad to hear her voice.

“I was just thinking about you, Cranberry Sauce. How are you keeping?”

“How am I keeping?” she teases. “You’re very Irish today.”

“And every day.”

“Are you missing home?”

“Always. But less now that I’m talking to you, as the prospect of a great weekend looms.”

“Well, I called because I have good news.”

When she doesn’t speak, I push, which she seems to be wanting. “Go on then.”

“The Briar Club’s VP called. I’m in.”

My smile widens. “That’s grand. We’ll celebrate. You’ll come here, so we can do it properly.”

“I’d love to.”

The eagerness in her voice is a hot wave crashing over me. It’s been a hard slog all week, and the only thing I truly enjoyed was having her in my bed for an hour.

“What’s the word on your schedule, Sauce? Are you leaving town next week for the American Thanksgiving holiday?”

“Well, I thought I was, but my dad is going to be out of the country for work, and there’s no way I’m going to Palm Beach if he won’t be there. Ash actually invited me to come home with her.”

That would be complicated. How would I play things in front of the family and the bosses? Sauce as just Ashling’s friend? Or as something to me, too? I’ll need to sort things first.

“No way does Ash get custody,” I scoff. “She can have you when I’m busy. But I’m about to be free, so you’ll stay here with me for the break.”

“Won’t your family be upset if you don’t come home?”

“Why should they? It’s not an Irish holiday, and I’ve been around the relatives plenty lately. Plus, there’s Christmas next month as well, when we’ll all be together for days before I head home. If anything, they’re probably ready for a break from me.”

“Sure, of course. Understandable.” Sawyer’s droll delivery and the way she slags me off is very Irish, which makes me smile. “So, to hell with family all around. Let’s be rebels.”

“Suits me.” Unlike with her, there’s no resentment on my end. The truth is I’ve gotten so comfortable among my American family I’ve decided I’ll only go home to Ireland for part of the Christmas break. Being in the old house still feels bleak this time of year.

For a while, it was awful because I was staying in the room I shared with Jude when we were young. Later, my parents converted that room to storage, which infuriated me. I admit, if only to myself, there’s no winning with me.

Sawyer chats on, but I’m only half listening as I think ahead to the Christmas holidays and whether I might want to cut my time in Ireland even shorter.

What usually happens when I go home to the island for two weeks is I see family for a few days, including Christmas Eve and Christmas, and then take off to go surfing. I couldn’t do that this year because big-wave surfing is one of the things I’m barred from doing under the terms of my athletic scholarship.

Which means if I want less time where anger eats me alive, I should stay in the States with a cranberry cream pastry in my bed. That would be no hardship at all.

So, if Sawyer won’t be away the whole December break, I could split my US time between Coynston and being at Granthorpe with her.

Running a hand through my mussed hair, I glance around the room where there are scattered clothes. “War’s leaving for Boston tomorrow, Sauce. So, you and I will have the house to ourselves for a whole week. Think you can bear it?”

“There’s no telling until I try.” Her deadpan response to my teasing makes me smile again. I fancy this girl more than I ever imagined I would.

With her entry into the Briar club, the arrangement is ending. It’s time to redefine our situation, and I’m rethinking my position on girlfriends. Turns out I want one if Sawyer’s the girl.

“Maybe we can get some groceries, Jamie, and I’ll cook a Thanksgiving dinner for just us. You know, tradition dictates it comes with cranberry sauce.”

“I always have a taste for that. Sure. A traditional feast it is.”

We chat a while longer, and I arrange to pick her up in the afternoon.

After I toss my clothes in the wash, I walk through the kitchen and throw pizza boxes into the trash. War emerges in boxer briefs and sits on the barstool with his foot up, examining his thigh wound. Using a wee pair of scissors, he clips the stitches and pulls them free, cutting the black hair that’s gotten caught up along the surface. Once he’s cleared the patch, track marks are easily visible on either side of the healing scar. Being relatively fresh, it’s still pink and violent-looking, but it’s well closed.

“That’ll be a proper battle scar.”

He rolls his eyes. “A random ricocheting bullet makes for a shit story.”

“Could dig deep into your Irish roots.”

“You mean, make something up?”

I nod.

War shrugs and glances at the windows. “You and Killian can’t work on the computer shit during Thanksgiving break, right? Because low network traffic will make it too easy to spot hacking?”

“Didn’t realize you were paying attention when he was here. Thought you were out cold after the marathon you ran.”

The marathon euphemism brings a small smirk to the edges of his mouth. While War had a lighter Crue workload, he brought his on-again off-again dancer submissive into his bed for a couple of nights. The girl is loud when she’s being happily tortured, so I was very aware of what I was missing. After she left, War laid on the couch for hours, like all the energy had been drained from his body. Which I guess it had.

He swipes the black threads and hair into the trash. “What’s the deal? You working or not over Thanksgiving?”

“As you heard, we won’t hack in over break, but I want to monitor the pinhole cameras we put in the staff area of the computer labs and the software Killian installed on the night of the rave. The more passwords we get, the better.”

Killian and I are both pursuing computer engineering degrees, so we can get access to old network storage data, but we don’t have the clearance the two older guys who actually work for the IT department do.

GU is the place where tech billionaire Drew Ralston began his company and created the sophisticated encryption software used by financial institutions all over the world. Anyone with code that can be used to create a key that unlocks Ralston-encrypted data will have access to billions of dollars. It could lead to the ultimate digital heist.

Grabbing a glass of water, I add, “I’m going to do some reconnaissance on the living situations of the non-student IT guys, too. At least one of them was here when Ralston was.”

“I should do surveillance since I’m not on the hacking and I keep later hours.”

He’s right that Killian and I crash early these days because team training is ramping up. The closer we get to the season, the more intense the schedule will become.

I shrug. “I’ll have time on my hands while campus is running with a skeleton crew.”

“No one should gather intel on houses next week when random extra family members may be coming and going from people’s houses. You want an accurate picture? We should watch the IT guys during an ordinary week.”

“Sure, but next week, extra cars driving slowly through neighborhoods will go unnoticed, precisely because of the holiday visitors.”

“Yours wouldn’t. Porsche?”

“Fair.” I rest my hands on the counter, wondering why we’re having this conversation. War can’t really be that interested in the details of a low-risk surveillance operation.

“So,” he says casually. “No reason to be here. Pack up and come to Boston.”

“Nah, other plans.”

His dark eyes flick to my hands as they clear away loose plastic bags and other debris. War nods and rises, grabbing the mustache scissors from the countertop.

It’s the second time he’s suggested I go to Boston for Thanksgiving, which I’m sure means something, but I don’t know what.

For a time, he and I moved as a unit, working and playing hard in the off hours. While school and work haven’t changed, the house dynamic has. War and I didn’t have many hard boundaries until I started bringing Sawyer over. My moving to the downstairs bedroom with her was a clear message. I’m keeping this one to myself. And out of your way.

“Your mother’s coming to town? For the holiday?” I ask.

He makes a nonspecific grunt of affirmation without turning around as he walks back to his room.

There’s maybe a rift there. His mom’s a four-hour drive away, give or take, but he hasn’t gone to New York all year. When I went to Ireland right before starting uni, War flew to Eastern Europe, with the war waging, no less. He never said what he did during the trip, and I didn’t ask.

Honestly, I don’t give a toss what my friends get up to when it’s got nothing to do with me, and he’s the same. That’s men for you. Meanwhile, Cranberry Sauce and Ash keep me updated on all their life events, both great and small, and also how they feel about them. It’s a strange thing with girls. Not unwelcome, but odd.

I grab my laptop and walk to the couch. Speaking of hacking, there’s another thing I need to get on with before Sauce arrives and I get distracted. After I open my computer, I enter my password.

Granthorpe used the same class ring company for fifteen of the target years and hacking into their network was easy. Old purchase data, however, was merged and archived. It took some work to uncover files with useful information.

Now, I’ve got to review the catalogues to find design names and write some code to scour the massive files to get the purchaser information I need.

I get to work, and a couple of hours later, I run the executable I’ve written. It spits out a table that includes everyone who ordered the style of signet ring I’m looking for. I sort by university, checking logos and crests as necessary.

In the end, I’ve got a handful of names.

Among them is one I don’t expect.

Allendale.