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…

order

*****

 

Charlotte

the nursery door, wearing the jeans and boots he uses for

snap to the air. And

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

Mom smiles from her rocking chair next to

five minutes, just while Cara drops

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

*****

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

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

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

on the shoulder then runs a hand up his neck. “Shhhh… Calm down. We’re going now.” Oliver’s ears flick forward, but

the yard, he says, “I thought we might take the path through the top field then loop

“Great idea.”

*****

The ground is firm with the cold and Oliver is trying to take the bit. Head tossing, his gait dancing between a walk

Charlie, also performing, jarring under me. “They both

the

fence. No jumping. That gate is

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

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,

same. I’m grinning like a maniac, panting, my blood racing. My

field, stretching down the mountain, the lake glittering at the bottom, the air frigid and fresh. Oliver and Charlie blow blue from

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

bridle path that will take us to the

I want

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