Page 13 of Remote Access

"Let's just say that Letsen goes by the old proverb of ‘keep your enemies closer.’ It took a lot of time and a lot of lying to get where I am, but I'm there for a reason."

"I thought so. That call wasn’t exactly the kind a regular security guard makes. What reason?" He glanced over to find Quincy's face illuminated in the passing streetlights, enough to see his lips tighten and some kind of resolve settle over his features. He knew then that he wasn't going to get the whole story. Not that he blamed the guy. Who the fuck trusted a thief?

"I want my job back," Quincy finally said.

“What job?” Lane stopped the car at a light on a quiet intersection off the highway. It gave him the opportunity to really look at Quincy, who suddenly gave him a wide grin.

"I'm a cop."

Chapter Five

Lane's foot hit the gas and he lurched through the red light. Luckily nobody was on the road this time of the middle of the night.

The laughter coming from the passenger seat sent anger through him, but it was nothing compared to the absolute panic knotting his stomach into a hard ball. He didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything. He just drove until he saw a motel and pulled in. He finally got some words past his dry throat then. “I'll just uh, get us a room."

"Using your fake identity?"

He knew his wide-eyed stare had to look comical in the lights from the motel's red sign. "I never would have shared so much if I knew…" He coughed. "Never mind." He slammed out of the car and strode into the motel office with anger and fear simmering in a sick mix in his gut. He was going to have to find a way to get away from Quincy. Even if he had to ditch the files.

The image of the elderly woman's face came to his mind. Her eyes wide with terror, her mouth opened on a silent scream.

He had to bite back a moan at the pain that crashed into him. He had to find that poster. He just had to.

They hit the convenience store next to the motel for snacks, drinks, and toiletries for Quincy, since he’d left his behind.

And the whole time they carried boxes into the hotel room, Lane tried to think of a way to escape Quincy once he had what he needed. But right then exhaustion pulled at him. The stress of his mother, the trip here, the break-in and the attempt on his life… it all just caught up in a flash that had him stumbling a few times.

Quincy, obviously exhausted too, climbed onto the bed closest to the door and stretched out. "It's nearly four in the morning. I say we try to get some winks while we can." He popped his head up. “I sleep very lightly, so don’t even think about sneaking out.”

Lane sneered at him and went into the bathroom. He couldn't stand to sleep without brushing his teeth and changing into soft pants. His reflection in the mirror showed his crazy pallor, the fear stamped onto his features like a costume mask.

Quincy’s little bomb had done its job—detonating years of built-up fear into one big blast. He hurried through his nightly ritual and climbed into the other bed.

His worry kept him from falling asleep—insomnia having been a part of his life as long as Hayrick had—and he stared at the ceiling for an hour before he realized Quincy wasn't sleeping either because there were no sounds of deep breaths, no movements.

"A fucking cop. Really?" Lane finally snarled into the silent room. He rolled onto his side but couldn't see anything more than an outline of Quincy in the other bed. "Like an FBI agent or something?" That thought made him sit up. "Oh my God, are you in deep cover?"

"No." Quincy's voice was quiet. "Well, in a way, I suppose. Unofficially. I was a regular detective with a regular police force. You don't have to dig on the internet far to learn why I'm no longer employed. As good as you say you are, I'm sure you'll have all the facts in under a minute of searching."

He’d make sure they picked up a laptop soon then. "A cop is the last thing I expected to find in Hayrick's house. How does he not know?"

"Oh, he knows. He just thinks I'm a dirty one with connections."

Lane couldn't stop his snort of derision. "I really had given the man more credit than he deserves in the last few years then. For him to believe you're a dirty cop is ridiculous."

The silence from the other bed was telling. "Thanks," Quincy finally murmured.

"It's not really a compliment. Not to be the master of the obvious or anything, but your job and mine? Oil and water."

Quincy turned on his side, his face barely visible in the darkness as he propped his head up on one hand and stared Lane's direction. "But it's no longer your job, right?"

And that’s when it truly hit him. Once that poster was back in the right hands, he was done.

He closed his eyes to savor the truth. No more stealing. Ever. But he'd just given a fucking cop access to files showing years of him breaking the law. He lay back on his back and sighed. "Yeah, it's not. Now."

"Well, it's been a long time since anyone has truly believed in my integrity, so what you said means a lot. Even coming from a thief." Quincy shifted on the bed. "Smart as you are, I can't believe you didn't find a way to get away from Letsen much earlier."

Lane was quiet a few moments—long enough for him to hear Quincy's breaths deepening. "My mom was guilty," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

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