On The House (Caldwell Brothers Book 7) Read online

  “But you’re a hacker,” I protest. “Everyone already knows you’ve done all of that stuff before, lots of times.”

  He shakes his head again, even more implacably. “Was, good buddy. I was a hacker. Now I’m a business owner, a husband, and a father.”

  I nod. Even though I don’t have a family of my own yet, I can understand the need to protect one.

  “But listen, man, getting back to this Dante thing. We can still think of a way for you to come forward without getting into trouble, I’m sure of it. If you made a deal, turned the evidence over in exchange for immunity…or even submitted it to law enforcement anonymously, they could be off and running on putting Dante’s head in the noose.”

  Hawk sighs, and I sense his impatience. “I like you a lot, Lincoln, and I want to help you. But you know me well enough to know I’m smart enough to have already thought of that, and I’m telling you, it just won’t work. Oh, sure, I could try to plead my way out of it and get away without being convicted. Or I could turn it in anonymously and not get caught and arrested. But you don’t understand how things work when you’re a hacker, especially in this town. Every hacker has a style, a specific skill set, and it’s like fingerprints. Even if no one could legally prove it was me, the right people could figure it out pretty quickly once they take a look at the actual work itself. And that news would spread faster than a brush fire, believe me.”

  I grasp at straws that don’t exist. “So what? You’ll be legally untouchable, and you’ll be known as the guy who helped bring Dante down.”

  “No, I’ll be known as a guy who crawled around in a lot of confidential data and disclosed it to a third party, instead of being known as the guy who’s trying to get his business to the next level. That kind of bad press could ruin what I’m building with Waverly, cementing things for our future. And besides, what if Dante somehow manages to wriggle away from this? It’s not inconceivable. He’s a slippery bastard, always has been. So now one of the most dangerous gangsters in the Southwest knows exactly who tried to screw him – again – and I don’t want big red targets painted on my kids. I can’t do that. Maybe before when all I had to worry about was myself, but not now that I’ve got a family to look after.”

  I rub my temples. His answer infuriates me, but it also appeals to my ever-present sense of logic.

  “You’re right, of course,” I admit. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in that position. That was inconsiderate of me.”

  “Hey, no worries,” he says breezily. “And anyway, now you know the score. You just need to find another way to prove it. That’s if you even feel like getting involved.”

  I think about the chemical runoff in the groundwater. “In a few years, there could be a lot of kids born with defects in that damn community. It’s exactly what my charity has been fighting against my entire life. No, I have to do something to stop him. There’s no question about that.”

  “Yeah, I can see how that’d hit pretty close to home. Well, you’re a smart guy, Lincoln. I know you’ll figure something out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go home and nap out for a bit. Like I said, thirty-six hours of coding can really take it out of me. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  I thank him again, and once he leaves, I sit down to think. After about an hour, my blue tooth goes off, and my heart leaps. Part of me hopes it’s Hawk, calling to say he’s reconsidered and he’ll release the information to the authorities after all.

  Part of me hopes it’s Chloe, asking if I’ll kiss her senseless.

  I check the caller ID. Private number. Thinking it could still be either of them, I hit the button. “This is Lincoln Caldwell.”

  Dante’s voice sends a chill up my spine. “Yes, hello, Lincoln? This is Dante Giovanetti. From the ribbon-cutting ceremony.” Something eerie creeps into his tone. His accent seems thicker, with a jolly, lilting, condescending rhythm to his speech, as though he’s wishing a small child happy birthday.

  “Yes, I remember,” I answer coldly.

  He laughs, which sets me even more on edge. “Ah, I was a naughty boy, wasn’t I? I got angry, and I said some very bad things. I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings. I lose my temper sometimes, you know? It was a big day for me, and instead of seeing your friends’ youthful prank as harmless fun, I had uh – little outburst. You forgive an old man for being cranky, don’t you, paisano?”

  Suddenly, I realize why he’s talking to me this way. He thinks I’m simple-minded because of my cerebral palsy. He honestly believes if he talks to me like some quaint, friendly old Italian organ grinder or something, I’ll be too feeble to remember his insults or take them seriously.

  What the hell is this all about?

  “Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my phrases short and simple. I can play along to a point, but I refuse to put on some over-the-top “disabled” act for him. “Sure. Okay. I forgive you.”

  “Good! That’s-a good. Because I’ve asked around, and from what I hear, you’re quite the real estate guy, eh? The capo de tutti capi?”

  What’s he going to do, offer me a lollipop next? And why is he speaking with an Italian accent all of the sudden? Weird.

  A long pause ticks away the seconds. “I’m calling you because, ah, I think we could be in a position to help each other, eh? Maybe finally sponge away all this bad blood between our two families, yes?”

  “I’d like that,” I reply.

  “I’m so glad to hear it. Now, you got a call from that show, what do you call it…Million Dollar Listings – Las Vegas? You’re-a gonna be on the TV, like Big Bird?”

  Yeah, sure, just like Big Bird. You fucking asshole. I just contacted my tailor to get fitted for my suit of yellow feathers.

  “That’s true,” I answer.

  “Well, you saw the model home I put up in my new community, yes? I’m a-gonna need someone to stage it and list it, and if you’re a-gonna be on that show, you’ll need a home to showcase. So, what do you say?”

  When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s a-douché.

  My mind starts racing. Obviously, my initial impulse is to tell Dante to go fuck a cactus and then die in a fire with a prickly dick. The unmitigated gall, asking me for help after insulting me publicly, not to mention all the trouble he’s put my family through for so many years.

  If I can’t use what Hawk gave me, I’ll need to find some other way to collect the evidence it will take to bring Dante down once and for all. And what better way than by getting close to him, and letting him underestimate me? If he honestly thinks I’m that mentally challenged, there’s no telling how much he’ll unwittingly reveal to me.

  “Okay, I’m in.”

  Dante laughs again. “Beautiful! That’s-a beautiful! I’ll get in touch later with the details, and we’ll go from there. You’re a-gonna have a lot of fun with me, kid!”

  He hangs up.

  Yeah, you greaseball piece of shit. I just might.

  Chapter Nine

  Chloe

  “So we’re doing this one now, instead of the other one?” I turn in a slow circle in the middle of the empty living room, taking in the whole space.

  “That’s right.” Lincoln’s voice contains an eerie tightness as he wears his usual inscrutable expression.

  He keeps forcing emotion on me even while I’m desperate to flee it. “But the other one’s…well, I already staged it. I put a lot of work into it, actually.”

  “What difference does that make? You were paid for that project, and you’ll be paid for this one too. You get to make twice the money, and we both still get to be on Million Dollar Listings. I’d think you’d be happy.”

  I sigh. Why is he being so obtuse and filing everything down to the nub of money? The whole situation teems with complications. “I’m not unhappy. I’m just confused, that’s all. Why would we start over so soon before they shoot the show, when we’ve already got a fully-staged home that’s ready and waiting?”

  He raises an eyebrow, and the
re’s the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. “Is that what you’re really confused about?”

  “Honestly? No, it isn’t,” I admit, not sure I want to explore the implications of having this conversation.

  His eyes impale me with understanding. “Then ask what you want to ask.”

  “Why the hell would you suddenly decide you want to work with that Dante asshole?” The words tumble out in a rush of heat and intensity. If Lincoln won’t stand up for the little people, I feel like I have to stand in his stead. “How can you possibly be associated with him at all, after those things he said to you?”

  “You mean the things he said about people like us.” Sometimes, the way he looks at me reminds me of the way a doctor examines an x-ray. My bones are hidden to the naked eye, and yet, he can see the fractures anyway.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. How can you expect me to be part of this, when we’re working for someone who would say things like that about people with disabilities? Why should we give this prick a chance to be on Bravo, after we’ve both worked so hard to make this happen?”

  Lincoln closes his eyes for a moment and pinches the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, he says, “Do you remember I mentioned that my family’s had dealings with Dante in the past?”

  His words whisper around me, casting shadows of dread. “Yeah, actually, I do. And I seem to recall that they didn’t go very well.”

  “That’s because Dante is a greedy, corrupt scumbag who’s done everything he can to sabotage my family’s businesses and endeavors, not even stopping short of trying to take over The Armónico multiple times. And every time he’s made a move against us, my brothers have managed to shut him down. Every. Single. Time. But what they haven’t been able to do is make sure he’s caught and goes to prison for the things he’s done, so he can’t bother us anymore. So he can’t bother anyone anymore. So he just keeps popping up over and over again, like a bad penny.”

  “None of these seem like selling points with regard to doing business with him, Lincoln,” I point out.

  He holds up a hand, indicating that I should let him continue. “You’re right, they don’t. But after what happened at the ribbon-cutting ceremony, Dante called me and said he wants us to stage one of his houses – this one – and put it on the market, all while we’re doing the Bravo show. Now, why would he do that?”

  I flap my arms in an exasperated shrug, knowing I have zero chance of reaching him with fear. “Who knows what motivates people like him.”

  “I don’t know either,” he admits. “But I do know this gives me a chance to find out what angle he’s exploiting, and to collect enough proof to ensure that he goes away for good this time. If I play this right, he’ll never be a problem for my family again. Wouldn’t it be poetic justice if the Caldwell he least expects ends up being his ultimate demise?”

  I nod slowly. To be fair, that does make a certain amount of sense. “Will it be dangerous, though? It seems like it might be.”

  “It might. But to me, it’s worth the risk. My brothers have done so much for me, they’ve taken care of me my entire life…so if I can do this for them, I will. If this isn’t something you want to be part of, though, I’ll understand completely. You don’t owe me anything.”

  I understand why his safety suddenly matters more to me than anything else. I don’t want him getting caught up with this guy. “Yeah, but then I won’t be on Million-Dollar Listings, will I?”

  He gives me the warmest, most genuine smile I’ve ever seen from him. “With your talent, I’m willing to bet you’d find a way onto the show anyway. If not this season, then definitely the next one.”

  I think it over. Despite what he’s just said – and the fact that he probably even means it, which makes my heart flutter a bit – I have no certainty that I’ll ever get this chance again. And I have worked hard to get on this show, and it would jumpstart my career, absolutely. Walking away from it now seems like it could potentially be the biggest mistake of my professional life, the kind I’ll still be kicking myself for years from now.

  Plus, he’s not wrong about the money. I’d be getting paid to do a whole other house, and I could definitely use the income.

  But my mind keeps dragging me back to the footage of Dante losing his temper at the ceremony. What do I really know about this guy? Not as much as Lincoln clearly does, and it’s obvious that he hasn’t told me nearly as much as he actually knows.

  The fact that Lincoln’s hiding things from me on this is far from comforting. Dante’s volatile, and it would seem, a criminal. What if I’m getting in over my head? Lincoln admitted that it might be dangerous, but that could mean anything. Would I be risking my business? My life? The lives of Jamie and my other associates?

  I realize I’m probably being dramatic. These thoughts are extreme, and I have to admit, many of them are probably coming from gangster movies I’ve seen. What lurid images will my brain feed me next? Jamie in cement shoes? Dante showing up at my home with a Tommy gun, snarling “You dirty rat?” A rogue giggle almost escapes at the absurdity of it all.

  And then there’s Lincoln.

  I’m finding myself extremely drawn to him, and the thought of working with him on a project – of getting to know him better – appeals too much to be dismissed. Also, even though I haven’t known him for long, part of me really wants to help him do this if it’s so important to him. It feels crazy, but it feels…right somehow.

  I haven’t done much for other people in my life, because no one’s done much for me except make things harder. Mostly, I’ve just focused on taking care of myself. Now, I’ve met someone who’s limped down a similar road, and I have a chance to offer him the help no one ever offered me. Shouldn’t I take a risk if it helps make the world a better place in the end?

  As I consider my options, I look into Lincoln’s dark eyes, and it feels like they’ve made my choice for me.

  “Okay,” I tell him. “I’m in. But I don’t want to deal with Dante directly, if it can be avoided. And for the record, I seriously think it’s a mistake for either of us to be seen on television with him, but I guess that probably can’t be helped.”

  “A small price to pay for taking him down,” Lincoln insists.

  Fear’s an attention whore who loathes being rejected, so she wraps herself around my throat and squeezes. “Maybe not. What if whatever nefarious shit he’s into ends up making us look bad by association?”

  Lincoln shakes his head. “I see what you mean, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. If whatever he’s doing is exposed, we can act shocked and horrified, and come off looking like the innocent victims of his schemes. If anything, the louder we denounce him once that happens, the more heroic we’ll look by comparison. I mean, nothing we’re going to do will be suspicious or illegal at all.”

  My concession whips another shiver of fear through me until I worry I’ll never eradicate it. “Fair enough.”

  “Good.” He pauses, then continues awkwardly, clearing his throat. “And…thank you. For saying yes. That means a lot to me.”

  “I’m glad we’ll be able to work together after all.”

  “Me too. Now, tell me what you’re thinking in terms of staging this place.”

  I look around at the house again – opening my mind and heart to it, letting the structure speak to me. Usually, this is when the visions come to me, guiding me on who would live here and how to stage it.

  This time, though, something feels…off.

  I’m not getting anything from the walls, the floors, the bones of the house. A strange and hollow feeling fills my mind and heart, as though I’m standing in the middle of a movie set – something that looks like a home, but instead is a shell, never meant to have people living in it. It’s weird, and it isn’t based on anything specific that I can put my finger on, but I’m definitely not getting the inspiration I’d usually be getting right now, and a breath of unease snakes up my spine as gooseflesh spreads across my skin.

&n
bsp; Well, screw it. If the house won’t talk to me, I guess I’ll have to just make it up on my own. Not my preferred method, but I’ve done it before when necessary, and the results were still serviceable.

  This is for Bravo, though. Will anything less than my most inspired work really be enough?

  “I’m thinking the same approach as the last place,” I finally tell him. “A development like this, people will want to move their families in here.”

  “Are you sure that’s the right approach here?” Lincoln asks, his brow furrowed. “I conceded your point on the previous house because I didn’t feel like fighting you on it, but…”

  I let out a squawk of laughter. “What? You ‘conceded my point on the previous house’ because I was right.”

  Lincoln smiles, seemingly in spite of himself, and continues, “But in this case, I really feel that appealing to the wealthiest buyers is the way to go, at least in terms of drawing attention to ourselves and our work. A clean, spartan design. Besides, I’m well-informed on Dante’s style. Let’s avoid the painful hailstorm of bullets from his revolver-like mouth, if we can.”

  I sense a plethora of passé ideas raining down on my head in the next few minutes. “With a lot of tastefully-placed high-tech toys and expensive workout equipment? Maybe a tank full of exotic fish, a meditation room, and a solid gold jacuzzi?”

  “Well, yes, that’s what I had in mind,” he admits sheepishly.

  Damn, when he lets his guard down, it disarms me and my lady bits roar to life.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you did,” I retort. “Here’s the thing, though. People like the ones you’re hoping for don’t necessarily watch shows like Million-Dollar Listing. Super wealthy dudes aren’t going to be sitting on their couches one night vegging out to Bravo and saying, ‘Wow, hey, we should get those people to take care of our home buying and decorating needs.’ They have people for that.”