Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Klempner

Over the next day or so, I visit a dozen establishments, all chosen for having been header addresses on invoices received, and apparently paid, by Finchby.

I find myself calling by two more bar-restaurants, a ladies’ shoe shop, a bookseller, a cut-price budget outlet, two fruit and veg stalls and a liquor store.

None of them seems even remotely likely as an export outlet for organised criminals. The only even slightly illegal behaviour I encounter comes from my last call: a jeweller.

By now, my doubts are sprouting. I’m almost out of options and I’ve found nothing that takes me any closer to tracking psycho-Juliana.

WTF’s going on here?

In the jewellery store, the proprietor skulks at the back. Then, seeing me browsing his stock, thinking I might find something for Mitch, he tries to pass off a locket, gold-plated but base metal, as the genuine article.

He cringes satisfactorily as my fingers grip his neck, squeezing just enough to cut off his air for a few seconds. I’m not serious about doing him any real harm, but I leave his store of over-priced crap whistling.

But still, my disquiet crawls…

What am I missing?

I arrived in Sao Paulo believing I had plenty of leads to track, as I first thought, Baxter, then his blood-besotted paramour, Juliana. But I’ve used up my leads and I’m rapidly running out of ideas.

Juliana’s still out there, shrieking for my blood. And she’s as likely as not to go looking for her own peculiar brand of vindictive entertainment with someone else connected if it’s not actually with me.

Mitch…

Jenny…

Think…

A quick check of my messages: a confirmation from Hickman that all’s well over there...

Wearing the ring?

A warm glow, having nothing to do with the weather, floods my chest and face.

What to do?

how I

out, running on autopilot, letting

my thoughts

to find one woman in a

But nothing suggests itself.

The old man cracks a smile and hastily wipes down a tabletop before pulling out a chair and, brows raised, offering out

the beer clears my thinking, but nothing else

the table, then scuttles off, returning in under a minute with a

perfect. The first couple of gulps slide down my throat. Slipping the skin from a bean, I chew the salty nibble, tossing the skin to a nearby pigeon Another

miss the

That mountain…

The clean

Be honest…

I’m missing Mitch.

missing all of it. My daughter… My

Three husbands?

does Haswell fit

?

the hell do

Mitch…

are you doing

with Jenny I

mobile, into my images, download one

the tourist, but seldom bother with the camera. I prefer taking the time to see the places I visit: capture them in my head. The few times

this one

I don’t think she knew I was taking the photo. Indeed, I made a show of simply fiddling with my phone, looking up some file or other.

any gem I could give her. Greener

myself

to with a start: Antonio leans across, setting a basket of bread on the table. His eyes crease, if

the phone closed, but his

“Lady here? Sao Paulo?”

here.

go home to lady