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 another

*****

 

Charlotte

boots he uses for riding, and a thick cable-knit sweater… “…I’m

with a crisp snap to the air. And

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

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

me five minutes,

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

*****

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? It’s cold out

neck of my roll-top pullover. “Two woollens, a cotton top and a thermal vest Mom insisted I

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

on the shoulder then runs a hand up his neck. “Shhhh… Calm down. We’re going

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

“Great idea.”

*****

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

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

you to the

finger. “Only to the fence. No jumping. That gate is too

his final words are lost to the wind as I kick heels at Charlie, and she moves from trot to canter

her son begins to

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

the bottom, the air frigid and fresh. Oliver and Charlie blow blue from

to let me through, clucks Oliver along behind

will take us to

something I

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