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

beautiful day…” My Master stands by the nursery door, wearing the jeans and boots he uses for riding, and a thick cable-knit sweater… “…I’m going

snap to the air. And the sunshine

blinking at the mobile rotating above her in

smiles from her rocking chair next to

minutes, just while

with a long finger, stroking Cara’s cheek. His face might seem impassive to any that didn’t know him, but I see the hidden smile behind

*****

glances up from where he is checking Charlie’s girth. “All ready for you.” Straightening up, he runs over me

my roll-top pullover. “Two woollens, a cotton

hands

a hand up his neck. “Shhhh… Calm down. We’re going now.” Oliver’s ears flick forward, but

yard, he says, “I thought we might take the path through the top field then loop back

“Great idea.”

*****

the world. The ground is firm with the cold and Oliver is trying to take the bit. Head tossing, his gait dancing between a walk and a trot, everything about

to run,” says my Master, then eyes Charlie, also performing, jarring under

to the

to the fence. No jumping. That gate is

the wind as I kick heels at Charlie, and she moves from trot to

her son begins to draw away, Charlie jolts under me with another burst of speed and as we reach the end of the field, Charlie and Oliver, mother and son, my Master and I, are neck and

do the same. I’m grinning like a maniac, panting, my blood racing. My Master’s eyes are soft.

and Charlie blow blue from their

it is.” He reaches out, lifting the long arm of the gate latch to let me through,

will take us

there’s something I

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