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…

I order

*****

 

Charlotte

day…” My Master stands by the nursery door, wearing the jeans and boots he uses for riding,

a crisp snap to the air. And the

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

My Mom smiles from her rocking chair

minutes, just while Cara

might seem impassive to any that didn’t know him, but I see the hidden smile

*****

ready for you.” Straightening up, he runs over me with his eyes. “You’re

roll-top pullover. “Two woollens, a cotton top and a thermal

then he stoops by Charlie, locking his hands into a cup. “C’mon,

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

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

“Great idea.”

*****

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

to run,” says my Master, then eyes Charlie, also performing, jarring under me. “They both

to the end

finger. “Only to the fence. No

are lost to the wind as I kick heels at Charlie, and she moves from trot to canter to gallop in fewer hoofbeats than I can

he thunders up, first closing behind me, then alongside, snorting steam as he pulls ahead. But as her son begins to draw away, Charlie jolts

a maniac, panting, my blood

was great.” I scan the field, stretching down the mountain, the lake glittering at the bottom, the air frigid and fresh. Oliver and Charlie blow

to let me through, clucks Oliver along

take us to the trail

there’s something I want to ask

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