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

it’s a beautiful day…” My Master stands by the nursery door, wearing the jeans and boots he

air. And the sunshine is that brilliant clear white

use the exercise. Um…” I look down to my tiny daughter, blinking at the mobile rotating above her in

Mom smiles from her rocking chair

five minutes, just

close to me, then reaches down 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 his eyes. Our daughter burbles a bit but doesn’t seem to mind.

*****

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

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

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

then runs a hand up his neck.

“I thought we might take

“Great idea.”

*****

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

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

you to the

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

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

her son begins to draw away, Charlie jolts under me with another burst of speed and

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

glittering at the bottom, the air frigid and fresh. Oliver and

the long arm of the gate latch to let me through, clucks

will take us to the trail

something I want

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