In a perfect world, she would be able to think of some witty, biting comment to put him in his place. But as her world was spinning in much the same direction as her day, she plucked the envelope from his hands without saying a word. In her first stroke of luck that morning, the elevator doors chose that moment to open, and she stepped inside with as much silent dignity as she could muster. Her only minor victory was the look of shock on Jeff’s face as the door gently closed, leaving him standing alone and talking to himself.

* * *

CHASE TYPED RAPIDLY on his keyboard, his fingers moving in time with the pounding beat of the song playing in his earbuds. On his screen, a small frame in the corner displayed a montage of images flickering on and off, also in perfect synchronization with the music. He ignored them for the most part—except for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit pictures he’d downloaded the previous week. Those very fine ladies got his full attention. When his program started flashing pictures of rock bands, cars and twisted space aliens, he moved his gaze back to the chat box in the center of his screen, and the message waiting there.

Robotic cat failed to attack mice, although it did fall on one.

Chase read the sentence twice, swore, then pulled out a worn notebook and began flipping through the pages.

Did it show any interest at all? he typed. Can you confirm sensors are working?

Because in the last test, the sensors had been working fine. At least they’d been registering. But did the robot understand what it was seeing? That was where he and Peter stumbled. Maybe a robot cat was too ambitious, he thought for the thousandth time. Maybe they should have started with the mouse instead. Maybe—

The pounding in his earbuds suddenly went silent. Chase glanced up and saw Zane standing next to his desk, the jack connecting the earbuds to the computer dangling from his hands.

Instantly he hit three keys in rapid succession, activating the macro that sent a message to Peter telling him, due to adult interference, communication would have to cease for now. All his friends had similar emergency escape messages. Some of them were pretty funny. But looking at Zane’s angry face and the fury blazing in his eyes didn’t make Chase feel much like laughing.

He tried to remember if he’d messed up recently. He’d accidentally broken a couple of plates while cleaning the kitchen last night, but Zane had already yelled at him for that. Plus the level of anger radiating from him wasn’t about two broken plates. Which meant Chase had messed up somewhere else. Somewhere big. But it wasn’t noon. Except for breakfast, he hadn’t even left his room.

Unless Zane had found out about...

Zane didn’t say anything. Instead he moved closer to the desk, then leaned over and typed in an internet address. By the time he punched in the fourth letter, Chase knew he was totally and completely screwed.

He watched the site load in a matter of seconds. A panoramic picture of the town of Fool’s Gold nestled into the Sierra Nevada filled the screen. Text scrolled at the bottom. Come to the Northern California wilderness and experience a vacation like no other.

The picture faded, replaced by one of people riding on horseback. It was a great photo, he thought, remembering how he’d copied it from another site.

“Start talking,” Zane growled as he straightened and fixed Chase with his sternest expression.

When Chase had been little, he’d called it the death-ray look. It used to terrify him. But he’d been a kid then and still unclear on how things worked. Back then Zane had been his big brother and the best part of his world. He’d been too young to know that while he would always think of Zane as his brother, his family, Zane would only think of him as a constant screwup who always got in the way.

“Well?”

Chase unwound himself from his chair and crossed to the bed. While the death-ray look no longer sent him running, he liked a little distance between himself and Zane.

“It’s no big deal,” Chase bluffed. “Peter Moreno and I designed a website for our computer science class. Mr. Hendrix gave us an A. He said someday we’re gonna be better at computers than he is.”

Zane pulled out the chair Chase had vacated and sank into it. After rubbing his eyes, he slowly shook his head.

“Yeah. You got an A in computer science and physics and math and every other subject that interests you. We’ll ignore the C in English and the D in history.”

Chase threw himself back on the bed. Jeez, were they going to go through all that again? No one at MIT was going to care if he didn’t do well in history. It wasn’t that kind of college. Of course if Zane had his way, Chase would never get to MIT. Instead he’d spend his life shoveling cow shit and feeding goats.

“I got a phone call about a half hour ago,” Zane said.

His carefully controlled voice made Chase sit up slowly. Even scarier than the death-ray look was the quiet voice. It meant that Zane was doing the best he could to hold on to his temper before it exploded and took out everyone from here to Sacramento.

“A woman wanted to know if she could get a massage before going on her cattle drive.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yes, that. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Chase swallowed as he remembered what he and Peter had done. It had been a joke that had gotten out of hand. He glanced at Zane and saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. Not exactly a good sign.

“Don’t panic,” he said quickly. “I’ve got everything under control.”

“Tell me the plan, Chase.”