Hot Revenge Box Set 4

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

*****

Charlotte

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

lovely day, with a crisp snap to the air. And the sunshine is that brilliant clear white you only get in

to my tiny daughter, blinking at the mobile rotating above her in the cot, trying, with unformed

an eye on Cara.” My Mom smiles from her rocking chair next to mine. “She’ll

give me five minutes, just while Cara

didn’t know him, but I see the hidden smile behind his eyes. Our daughter

*****

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

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 give you a leg

to be off. My Master slaps him on the shoulder then runs a hand up his neck. “Shhhh… Calm down. We’re going now.” Oliver’s ears flick forward,

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

“Great idea.”

*****

me and my wonderful Master, riding together as though there were no-one else in 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 him says

Charlie, also performing, jarring under me. “They both do. They’ll settle after they’ve burned off some

the

“Only to the fence. No jumping. That gate

I kick heels at Charlie, and she moves from trot to canter to gallop in

steam as he pulls ahead. But as 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

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

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,

gate latch to let me through, clucks Oliver along behind me, and lets the gate

bridle path that will take us to

I want