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Chapter Thirty-One
Maceo
My company—Mercy Ravens Security—was hired as consultants by a small marketing firm to inspect their security. It seemed upper management suspected a mole in the company was sabotaging projects and providing insider knowledge to their competitors. It’s the type of work that involves us coming into the company to investigate. You can expect how well that lead balloon goes over with the employees.
When Jo mentioned Romcom Sunday, I thought it best to pull a team together and head into Denver to conduct a sweep of the three-story marketing building without employees gawking at us.
Immediately, we noticed the lack of cameras and the ill positioning of the few that were up. Gauge, Triple, and I ripped it out and outfitted a brand new surveillance system within the budget they gave us.
Ziggy and Butch worked their magic in the tech room, discovering several shady business dealings going on behind upper managements’ backs. Despite limited video surveillance, running a scan on the company’s internal data system to see if it was infected by the Hacking Team surveillance malware proved resourceful.
We went in looking for a mole and found a whole nest.
The report is going to be pretty straightforward with what we already uncovered. We’ll leave it to the company’s rep who hired us to decide if they want us to do further investigating.
It’s after seven when we return to headquarters. I put my gear away and check my emails in my office. It’s been a little over a week since I last heard from Piero. He usually checks in weekly, even if he has nothing to report. His lack of contact has me wondering if he’s hot on the trail of something.
Tired and ready to see my lovely wife, I head out and down the trail that connects the two properties. I unlock the front door and have to bite my fist to stop from laughing out loud when I step inside the foyer.
Josephine and Punk are wearing matching green-clay facial masks while dramatically reciting the dialogue toThe Princess Brideas it plays on the TV.
Hades and Runt hear me drop my keys in the bowl by the front door and scamper over to greet me.
The commotion catches Josephine’s attention. With a smile taking over her face, she comes and greets me with a big kiss on my lips. “Missed ya!”
My arms snake around her petite body to pull her baby bump up as tight as I can get her next to me. God, it’s good to come home to see her lovely face, mint-green face mask and all.
“Missed you too. Sorry if I’m crashing girl-time,” I say, giving Punk a shit-eating grin.
“Asshole,” he mumbles, turning off the TV before folding his arms across his chest. His glower would be threatening if not for the clay mask.
Faking innocence, I point at my face, circling the whole thing. “You got a little something here.”
Punk flips me the bird, and I bust out laughing.
Josephine elbows me in the gut, making me grunt. “Be nice. Punk and I are ex-bashing besties now.”
Ex-bashing loafer-dick Jacob and Punk’s old bitch? That’s something I can get behind. “Sounds fun—I want in.”
Punk shakes a finger. “No can do. You can’t join,” Punk says, shaking a finger. “You got no ex. We’re an ex-survival group.”
I scowl; I don’t like being left out.
“Sorry, hubby,” Josephine says sympathetically. “The only other who could join is Simone.”
Punk raises his hand quickly. “I veto that suggestion.”
Josephine rolls her eyes. “Stop being a jerk. Simone is decent if you give her a shot.”
“Nu-uh,” Punk says, shaking his head. “Jo, she ismean. She calls me amoron.”
“He’s not lying,” I chuckle before addressing Punk. “Harden the fuck up, bro. You call her a priss, and she’s not whining about it.”
“Founding members meeting, Atlas. Your opinion means nothing here,” he says dismissively and turns to Josephine. “I’m not bashing with her. She isn’t even ready to do the whole ex-bashing thing. She’s still in mourning.”
Josephine rubs at her chin. “Agreed. She’s not ready to have fun yet.”
I shake my head at these two. “I’ll let you two ladies finish with your pamper party. I’m gonna hit the shower.” I dodge being beaned in the head with a throw pillow. Punk curses as I laugh my way into the master suite.
