Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,10
was smiling. “Found it okay?”
“Yes.” Max hadn’t yet told him what they were meeting for—he’d merely said to wear dark clothes and rendezvous at this spot. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” replied Max with a little chuckle. “C’mon. It’s this way.”
I’ve lost my mind, Crane thought, following Max down the right-side fork. Gravel turned to hardpacked earth under his feet as the path narrowed farther. This is completely stupid. I’m being completely stupid. I shouldn’t be here.
“I can hear you thinking,” murmured Max, glancing back. “Just relax. Okay? Nothing bad’s going to happen to you. I promise.”
“So you say,” replied Crane a bit stiffly. Nothing bad’s going to happen to me… But is something bad going to happen to someone else? Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?
Max stopped abruptly in front of him and turned. The trees had thinned out some, and Crane could see that they had come to a high iron fence.
“See that tree?” Max said, pointing. A large tree was nestled in the corner of the fence, one thick branch jutting out over the top of it.
“Yes.”
“I’m going to go first and you’ll follow, okay? You’re going to grab the big branch near the middle—there’s a smaller branch on the far side that you can hang on to—and haul yourself up. Use your feet on the fence about halfway up. Watch what I do, and do the same. Be careful because the top of the fence is spiked… But if you go along the branch, you’ll be safe. Got it?”
Crane pressed his lips together, frozen with nervous disbelief.
“Doc?”
“This is someone’s property,” Crane finally whispered. “What if we get caught?”
“We won’t. Trust me. Okay?”
To Crane’s surprise, Max reached up and grasped his shoulder softly, an oddly reassuring touch. Damn you. Whether the sympathy from the young man was real or not, it worked.
“Fine. Just… I haven’t climbed a tree in ages.”
“Go slow. I’d help you up, but that branch can’t hold the both of us. I can help you down on the other side though.”
“Okay.” Crane cleared his throat and let out a tense breath. “Okay. Okay.”
The hand on his shoulder squeezed again, and then, nimble as a monkey, Max swung up into the tree, crawling along the big branch until he was lost in the gloom. Crane heard the creak of wood and then a hoarse whisper: “Your turn.”
Exactly where Max had said, there was a handle-like branch he could use to pull himself up onto the bigger branch. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything like this… maybe never. Frowning in concentration, he inched along the branch and over the sharp points of the fence. A hand touched his and he flinched, startled.
“This way. One foot here, the other one against the fence. That’s it, Doc. See? It’s a cinch for you… You’ve got longer legs than I do.”
With Max’s guidance, Crane found himself safe on the ground, and he followed Max through a gap in the cedar hedge that lined the fence. He slowed in surprise when he realized they were in the yard of a huge stone mansion.
“Where are we?” he asked in a hush. “Whose house is this?”
“Marc Ouimet, CEO of Talis Wireless.”
Crane stopped in his tracks.
“Jesus Christ,” he choked out. “What the fuck are we doing here, Max?”
“You’ll see.”
“No. Tell me now.” Ouimet was one of the richest men in Québec—Talis Wireless was the leading mobile service provider for the province. His property had to be riddled with security cameras and personnel.
“It’s a surprise. Don’t ruin the surprise,” Max protested, walking backwards. He beckoned to Crane. “C’mon. It’s safe. I do this alllll the time.”
“What about, huhh—” Crane stumbled after Max, breathless and afraid, but still following along like the obedient dog that he was. “What about security? Won’t we be seen?” he hissed.
“Nope.” They took a path between two swimming pools, and Max pointed up. Crane saw the camera attached to the corner of a vine-festooned pergola and froze again in a panic. “Like most rich assholes, he outsources his security, and I happen to have a friend who works at the private security firm he uses. Wave hello to Dwayne,” Max said breezily, waving in stiff fashion like the Queen of England.
Self-conscious, Crane pulled at the collar of his black shirt, trying to hide his features. “Are you lying to me?” he asked, stepping out of the light. “So help me God, if you’re lying to me…”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, but I assure you,