Page 30 of Fraud
“You mean, I’m babysitting this place, so you don’t get robbed while you’re off doing—what the hell are you doing again?”
“I’m on assignment,” I replied, pacing the floor of my motel room.
After stalking Jane in her five-star hotel had paid off, I’d checked out of the swanky place, giving my credit card some breathing room, and moved down the street to a more affordable option across town.
The towels weren’t as fluffy, the staff was kind of rude, and the bed was hard as a rock. But it was cheap. Dirt cheap.
“On assignment for what? You don’t even have a job. And, last time you did, I don’t recall it requiring travel.”
My fist curled into a ball at my side. I chose not to remind him that, at the moment, neither did he, which was why he was crashing at my place.
“It’s a piece I’m going to cover and then sell. Never mind. What do you need? Is there a reason for this call?”
“I need some money.”
Motherfucker.
I let out a sigh as I tried to gather my composure. “For what?”
“Stuff. Bills and shit.”
Massaging my left temple as I wore a path in the carpet around the room, I tried to think of a rational way to respond. But this wasn’t the first time I’d been asked this very same question.
Hell, it wasn’t even the second…or the tenth.
My brother had been mooching money off me since he was old enough to understand the concept of it. First, it had been allowance money. He’d spend his and always need more for one thing or another. Being the older of the two of us, I’d felt it was my duty to take care of him.
I’d done far too good of a job, and in doing so, I’d created a monster.
He’d grown into a young adult who couldn’t hold down a job and spent money faster than he could make it.
“You know I don’t have a lot of money right now,” I finally replied. “I’m pinching pennies as it is.”
“Really? Is that why you dropped two hundred bucks on dinner last night at a place called Duos?”
And there it was, my never-ending problem when it came to my baby brother.
Liam was smart.
Not like normal smart.
He was Mensa-level smart.
Before my father had died, by the time he was sixteen, the kid had breezed through college, on a full ride, and graduated with a degree in computer science.
He had so much potential but no will to use it, so for the last few years, he’d been freeloading off me. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d loaned him money with no hopes of ever seeing a penny returned.
“It was a lead,” I replied.
“Expensive lead. Was she pretty?” he asked.
I could hear the keys clicking away as he typed on a keyboard—my keyboard most likely.
“Yes—no. That’s not the point. If you are so damn smart and can literally hack into my bank account, why go through all the trouble of calling me? Why not just take what you need? Isn’t that what you want to do?”
The typing stopped.
“I don’t want to steal from you, Killian. I was fucking around.”
