Page 56 of Rooster

Jesus, I haven't even kissed the woman, and I feel a little obsessed. I don't usually invest so much emotionally into anyone because things never seem to work out for me.

I key in some of the information. What Heathen is asking for is pretty basic stuff, but there's always a trail to follow. Finding out who owns a house is simple. Following the trail off of that is the fun part.

What form of payment did they use? Was it a card or line of credit? Is one bank account linked to another bank account?

What else have they purchased with that form of payment?

Following financial trails will disclose a lot of habits about someone.

Following the trail off a vehicle purchase is just as revealing, and it would take some very drastic steps in order to prevent someone like me from finding out nearly everything about a person based on one single purchase.

I work through the list, adding all the information to a new document to print out for him and flagging things I think I should revisit. I'm a very thorough researcher, and I want the guys on my team to have any and all information that I can find. I'd rather give each of them way too much than not give them enough. They can decide what they need and don't need. Sometimes, the information I provide doesn't mean much to me but means something to them, so I do my best not to leave anything out.

"So, what's going on with you and Morgan?"

I keep my hands moving over the keyboard, eyes locked on the screen as information flashes in front of me.

"What do you mean?"

He's silent, but I'm not new to this game. These guys think they can approach me the same way they would a mark, and I've been doing this too long to give in.

He chuckles when I refuse to look in his direction.

"The two of you are spending a lot of time together."

"Maybe she's bored," I offer, eyes still glued to my system. "Her friend is always locked away in her bedroom."

"Touché," he says with humor in his tone.

"Is there a line?"

I glance toward the door. Whiskey walks into the room, and he also has a piece of paper in his hand.

"No line," I say, holding out my hand so I can take his list. "I can do both at the same time."

Whiskey pulls back his list a second before I can grab it.

"I don't want mixed-up information," he mutters. "I can wait."

"Rooster doesn't mix shit up," Heathen says, coming to my defense.

Whiskey looks back at his teammate, but after a beat of silence, he offers me the list.

He takes a seat across the table from Heathen, and I know he's staying to supervise me. I don't let it bother me. The other guys had months back in New Mexico to get used to me being their IT go-to guy. Whiskey, being new, still needs to build his confidence in me, and I'm okay with it.

I open his list, noticing how different it is from Heathen's. This new list is meticulous, and there isn't one scratched-through line or error. Heathen's is a jumbled mess of letters and numbers, and I have to smile at the differences between the two.

"So, what's up with you and that Morgan chick?" Whiskey asks, glaring at Heathen when the man bursts out with loud laughter. "Inside joke or something?"

His tone is filled with annoyance.

"No inside joke," I offer. "Heathen is a man-child."

The laughter dies down, but not any sooner than Heathen wants it to. "I just asked him the same thing is all."

"There's nothing going on," I offer as I continue to work.

"You were bricked up when you got out of the hot tub the other night," Heathen says, and I turn my eyes to glare at him.

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