Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Chapter 9

The coffee strong and fragrant, washes away my doubts and clears my thinking, although granted, it leaves me with my problem.

How to find Juliana?

And what is the significance of the invoice addresses?

I let my mind freewheel, caffeine lubricating the gears.

What's the connection?

?

?

Back to basics...

Finchby’s invoices...

Taken from his own files…

Supply addresses from legitimate businesses…

… Listing women, children… Human cargo.

???

That can't possibly be what went through the customs checks...

Duplicate documents then?

Same references. Same monetary values. Different cargo.

That would seem logical: A parallel accounting system: one for the outside world, one for private records.

Yes, that works. Any competent criminal could make that work. And doubtless, with the money involved, they’d have accountants and bookkeepers… Perhaps even customs officers and tax inspectors on the payroll.

But none of that gives me the connection to Antonio’s bar or any of the others.

Why here?

Frustrated, mind spiralling inward…

Damn the coffee…

order another

*****

 

Charlotte

door, wearing the jeans and boots he uses for riding, and a

a lovely day, with a crisp snap to the air. And the

I look down to my tiny daughter, blinking at the mobile rotating above her in the cot, trying,

smiles from her rocking chair

you give me five minutes, just while Cara drops

him close to me, then reaches down with a long finger, stroking Cara’s cheek. His face might seem impassive to any that didn’t know him, but I see

*****

he is checking Charlie’s girth. “All ready for you.” Straightening up, he runs over me with his eyes. “You’re wearing plenty of layers?

down the neck of my roll-top pullover. “Two woollens, a cotton top and a thermal

stoops by Charlie, locking his hands into a cup. “C’mon, I’ll

My Master slaps him on the shoulder then runs a hand up his neck.

the yard, he says, “I thought we might take the path

“Great idea.”

*****

the cold and Oliver is trying to take the bit. Head tossing, his gait dancing between a walk and a

to run,” says my Master, then eyes Charlie, also performing, jarring under me. “They both do. They’ll settle after they’ve burned off

to the end of the

a finger. “Only to the fence. No

kick heels at Charlie, and she moves from trot

But as her son begins to draw

same. I’m grinning like a maniac, panting, my blood racing. My Master’s eyes are soft. “It’s good to see you

field, stretching down the mountain, the lake glittering at the bottom, the air frigid and fresh. Oliver and Charlie blow blue from their nostrils. “It’s so good to be able to move again properly. Sometimes, it’s just

of the gate latch to let me through, clucks Oliver

the bridle path that will take us to the

I want

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