Page 8 of Override

This is what normal looks like for us.

Combat boots by the back door. Guns locked in the safe downstairs. Bullet silently judging everyone from his stool. Wheels inhaling carbs like it’s an Olympic sport. Matt pretending he isn’t emotionally attached to all of us. Rachel holding the entire disaster together with wooden spoons and threats.

I finally open my beer.

For the first time all day, my brain isn't running five steps ahead. The job is finished. The girl is home. Every loose end has been handled.

Tomorrow's schedule is almost empty except for a few system upgrades at the office and a stop I need to make across town.

Callum Rizzoli has managed to lock himself out of something again. He hadn't given me details when he mentioned it earlier in the week, and I hadn't asked. Callum usually thinks his technology problems are more interesting than they actually are.

They aren't.

Chapter 2

Keaton (Skee)

"You know you've been reading the same page for the last four minutes and twenty-six seconds."

Callum's head snaps up so fast his chair squeaks against the hardwood floor. For half a second he just stares at me from across the office before dragging a hand down his face, somewhere between annoyed and amused.

"Why have you been standing there for five minutes without saying anything? I didn't even hear you come in."

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth as I step fully into the room, letting the door click shut behind me.

"I wouldn't be very Special Forces if I wasn't quiet."

I throw finger quotations around Special Forces, earning exactly the eye roll I'd been hoping for.

Giving the military guys shit has become something of a hobby for Callum ever since Samantha dragged the four of us into the Rizzoli family's orbit. Apparently, because I spent most of my career behind a keyboard instead of carrying the biggest gun in the room, my title doesn't count in his eyes.

Personally, I think infiltrating a foreign government's network without getting caught deserves a little respect.

Callum disagrees. Frequently.

His office feels exactly like the man himself. Organized enough that he can find anything in seconds, cluttered enough that anyone else would get lost trying. Half a dozen monitors glow against the dark walls, security feeds cycling silently while legal pads, folders, and empty coffee mugs fight for space across the desk. My attention drifts lower, landing on the knot of cables disappearing behind one of the monitors, and I physically cringe.

"What are you working on?” I pull the chair out across from his desk and drop into it. I kick my boots up to rest on the top of his desk because I know he hates it.

"Something for my Pops." He shoves my boots off the desk but I put them right back up.

He shakes his head with a laugh as he pushes away from the desk and walks toward the small bar tucked against the back wall.

He pours two fingers of whiskey into matching glasses before walking back. The second he gets close enough, I hold my hand out expectantly. "Anything exciting?”

Instead of giving it to me, he keeps the glass hovering just out of reach.

Interesting.

I lean forward.

The glass moves another inch. He continues to hold it out of my reach until my feet come off the desk and smirks. Dick.

"Not really, Digging into this Irish guy. He married a girl. My Pops is friends with her Dad. Her Dad is worried this guy isn't who he says he is and that he is treating the girl bad. So I am doing a deep dive. Haven't found anything yet.”

That gets my attention. Instinct usually means someone noticed a pattern they couldn't explain. Patterns are my favorite kind of puzzle.

"You are speaking my language brother!" I down my drink and clap loudly. "I haven't been doing any digging for CeCe and Romeo lately. I need something to do." I take my brown messenger bag from around my neck, open it up and pull out my laptop. "Let's get to work.”