Fast and Loose (Men of the Sisterhood #4) - Fern Michaels Page 0,1

an underground convention of cyber geeks in New Jersey that he had wanted to explore but had never quite got up the nerve to because he was afraid he would be the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. The thing was, to his relief, not one of the geeks or their promoters gave him a second look. All they were interested in was his fingers and what he could do on a computer. And that all worked for him. He’d never attended another convention.

In some ways, the relationship was a bit one sided, what with Philonias knowing everything there was to know about Abner, while all Abner knew about Philonias was his cyber name of RCHood. And Philonias planned to keep it that way. Forever, if necessary. Philonias had spent many enjoyable hours watching Abner try, to no avail, to ferret out his real identity. Each and every time Abner was about to crack the code, he threw up a happy face. To Abner’s chagrin.

Philonias Needlemeyer was also a brainiac. He had two doctorate degrees and MBAs from three different Ivy League schools—Harvard, Yale, and the Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania. He also had total recall on each and every event in his life from the age of five. His parents, even at that early age, had recognized that they had given birth to a genius who had no equal.

From that day on, the man and the teenage boy were fast friends, not flesh-and-blood friends, mind you, but cyber friends. Each saw something in the other that allowed them both to swear to secrecy as to their professions. It was a rule neither of them had ever broken, because it was sacrosanct. Like doctor-patient confidentiality or lawyer-client privilege. Neither knew nor cared where the other lived. They communicated only through computers and only by using their cyber names. No matter how much depended on one of them locating the other at a moment’s notice, even if it was a life-or-death matter, doing so was impossible. Philonias was simply RCHood, which stood for Robin Cool Hood. Abner was TRIPLEM, which stood for Triple Mister Magic Money.

The man and the boy had met face-to-face only once, at the aforementioned cyber fair. And that was years and years ago, too many to even remember these days. The boy of sixteen with fire in his eyes, ragged jeans, and stringy hair was now a grown man who wore Armani suits and John Lobb shoes and worked at legitimate jobs. And some that were not so legitimate. Talking about one’s achievements, along with bragging rights, was allowed as long as no names were mentioned. TRIPLEM was also wealthy these days, though not as wealthy as RCHood and not because he had inherited anything of value. No, his wealth had come from special jobs he did for private individuals. Philonias was very proud of his one and only star pupil. Just as Abner whooped and hollered when he saw a cyber message attributed to RCHood that said something had gone down that was not to RCHood’s liking, to which he had replied, Screw this up, and I will wipe out your entire bloodline. That simple, succinct response put him at the top of the cyber pole. Or in layman’s terms, “Never mess with RCHood.”

RCHood was a legend among the men and women of the cyber world.

The legend among men stared at the wraparound computer room, which rivaled NASA, with all its computers and monitors, as he tried to decide what he wanted to do. It was early in the day, not quite seven o’clock Vegas time, and he’d already had his hourly workout in his private gym and eaten a manly breakfast that he prepared himself—eggs, bacon, pancakes, and a whole melon, along with three cups of coffee. He’d showered, shaved, and read three newspapers online, and he was now ready to start his day. This was the time of day he loved best, because he knew he was clicking on all cylinders. Today, though, he was out of sorts, and he hated the feeling. He hadn’t slept well. Normally, he slept a full ten hours of deep, peaceful sleep. Last night he’d tossed and turned all night long, and when he did finally drift off into a fitful sleep, he had awful dreams, which he could not remember on awakening.

Philonias flexed his fingers, gave his neck a workout, then rotated his massive shoulders in preparation for a long stint at the keyboard. Something wasn’t