Undercover Genius by Patricia Rice Read Free Book Online

time
I’d read it all, my eyes were streaming. Confound it, Graham knew not to let
his damned cat loose.
    I could never figure out how the creature got through locked
doors. Maybe this was our host’s idea of revenge for the bats. I’d have to hunt
for allergy pills. As I stood up, my usual sensitivity to my environment
belatedly checked in. I’d felt safe in my basement hideaway and didn’t usually
bother with extra precautions. But something was wrong.
    It took me a minute of careful analysis of what was on my
work table now and what had been there when I’d left, but I worked it out —
Patra’s DVD was no longer in the stack of library microfiche where I’d stuck
it.
    I’m pretty good at two and two, even if there’s a big old
minus in between like how a man who never leaves the third floor had broken
through my locked barriers and how a cat with no opposable thumb had opened
doors. I saw no reason to beat the walls hunting for hidden elevators and
secret passages when I could simply go straight to the source.
    The problem, of course, was that we were here on Graham’s
charity. He claimed he owed our grandfather a lot, and as long as I helped his
research in lieu of rent, he’d tolerate us. But until we could buy the house
back, we were one temper tantrum short of the door.
    Most of the time, that kept my fury and frustration from
pushing him out a window. Oh, and the fabulous gym on the third floor really
helped me express my hostilities. But cats, theft, and chicanery breeched all
my barriers. I was in need of a face-to-face showdown with the sneaky bastard.
    I’d installed Patra’s information on the computer so Graham
could see it. He had no good reason to steal the disk. Or send Mallard to steal
it. I marched back up the stairs and noted Nick had already departed. EG was in
my study, on the laptop, and I ordered her to bed.
    “There’s still a bat in my room,” she said, looking for a
way around my orders.
    “Then don’t expect Mallard to clean your room until it’s
gone. It’s a school night. You’re going to bed.” Because of her brain, it’s
hard to think of EG as a child, but nine-year-olds need their sleep. I watched
her drag to her room at the end of the hall. Once she closed the door, I
continued up to the next floor.
    I wasn’t sneezing anymore. In my mood, I took that to mean
the cat hadn’t come down by way of the main staircase. Somewhere, the house had
hidden stairs — which would explain a lot.
    Graham’s office door was open. He’d been expecting me. I
stopped in the doorway to let my eyes adjust to the darkened room lined with
wall-to-wall computer monitors.
    The screen Graham sat in front of displayed grainy video
footage from the street outside the Cajun restaurant. I’d have admired his
ingenuity if I hadn’t wanted to bash him over his handsome head. I’d never seen
him out of his chair, so I tended to think of Graham in terms of Christopher
Reeve, the broken Superman, with his dark hair, massive shoulders, and strong,
cleft jaw. But Graham wasn’t a patient, kind-hearted Superman by any means.
    “They set up a roadblock at the intersection,” he said
without preamble. He scrolled the grainy footage backward to show a Hummer
stalled in a turn beneath a stoplight, blocking the one-way street in front of
the restaurant.
    He expected me to know what he was talking about without
explanation. He knew me too well. The appalling video drew me in like a
crocodile to water. Instead of dumping fish guts over his head, I edged closer,
straining to make out details. “How did you get this? Do the police have it?”
    “Of course not,” he said impatiently. “They’re looking for a
drunk driving a black Cadillac.”
    The aforesaid black Cadillac sedan appeared down a side
street, lingering at a stop sign until a chubby, long-haired male in jeans took
advantage of the temporary break in traffic to jaywalk in front of the
restaurant. At which point the sedan accelerated