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

boots he uses for riding,

to the air. And the sunshine is

exercise. Um…” I look down to my tiny daughter, blinking at

My Mom smiles from her rocking chair next to mine. “She’ll

five minutes, just while Cara

impassive to any that didn’t know him,

*****

is checking Charlie’s girth. “All ready for you.” Straightening up, he

woollens, a cotton top and a thermal vest Mom

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

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 mount. “Walk

through the yard, he says, “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

says my Master, then eyes Charlie, also performing, jarring under me.

you to the end

to the fence. No jumping.

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

alongside, snorting steam as he pulls ahead. But as her son begins to draw away, Charlie jolts under

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

I scan the field, stretching down the mountain, the lake glittering at the bottom, the air frigid and fresh. Oliver and

gate latch to let me through, clucks

follow the bridle path that will take us to

something I

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