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 another

*****

 

Charlotte

Master stands by the nursery door, wearing the jeans and boots he uses

a crisp snap to the air. And the

at the mobile rotating above her in the

My Mom smiles from

five minutes, just while Cara

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

*****

stable, my Master glances up from where he is checking Charlie’s girth. “All ready for you.” Straightening up, he runs over me with his eyes. “You’re wearing plenty of

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

locking his hands

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

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

“Great idea.”

*****

the cold and Oliver is trying to take the bit. Head

also performing, jarring

you to the

fence. No

the wind as I kick heels at Charlie, and she moves from trot to canter to gallop in fewer

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

grinning like a maniac, panting,

stretching down the mountain, the lake glittering at the bottom, the air frigid and fresh. Oliver and Charlie blow blue from their nostrils. “It’s so good to be able to move again properly. Sometimes,

lifting the long arm of the gate latch to let me through, clucks Oliver along behind me,

follow the bridle path that will take us to the trail

there’s something I

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