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

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 to take Oliver out.

And the sunshine

to. And Charlie could use the exercise. Um…” I look down to my tiny daughter, blinking at the mobile rotating above her in the cot, trying, with unformed muscles, to

from her rocking chair next

me five minutes, just while

that didn’t know him, but I see the hidden smile behind his eyes. Our daughter burbles a bit but doesn’t seem to mind.

*****

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

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

locking his hands into

is stamping and snorting, eager 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, but he settles long enough for my Master to

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

“Great idea.”

*****

ground is firm with the cold and Oliver is trying to take the bit. Head tossing, his gait

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

the

fence. No jumping. That gate is

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

first closing behind me, then alongside, snorting 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

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 smiling properly

fresh. Oliver and Charlie blow blue from their nostrils. “It’s so good to be able to move

to

bridle path that will take us to the trail

I want to ask

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

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