Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 124574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 623(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 623(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Tragedy most certainly.
But not one that concerned me.
I’d left him to his brooding, ignored the pointed look I got from a flustered-looking Stephanie who was having to do her job, and sat at my computer.
Well, I’d gotten a coffee first, because it was practically a crime to be that close to the sweet smell of coffee beans and not indulge.
In the midst of my Googling, I had a thought.
Manifest.
The thought popped into my head like one of those lame cartoons where the light bulb appeared after an idea had finally finished cooking.
He was looking for a manifest.
In my research of Lucinda before interviewing her, which was what I did before any interview so I didn’t ask dumb questions and look like an idiot, I’d read that all her designs were made in Italy from the finest quality metal, then handmade in some specialist factory, and then shipped here for sale.
Shipped.
Manifest.
I was more than embarrassed that it had taken me so long to put it together.
But I had Keltan and the whole dead body and almost dying thing, so I hoped that gave me somewhat of a pass.
I picked up my phone.
“You’re speaking with the genius of the world, the universe and all the galaxies beyond. How may you serve me?”
“You have caller ID, Wire. You know it’s me,” I said, shaking my head.
“Why do you think I answered with my handsome charming quip instead of my club-assigned biker grunt?” he replied teasingly.
I grinned wider. Wire was the club’s resident computer whiz, and he was only twenty-four. I’d known him since he was a prospect, and you would rarely see him without some form of caffeinated beverage in his hand. Nor did he sleep much, or at all. Hence having to be always “wired.” His eyes would never stay in one place too long unless it was life or death, which there had been way too much of lately.
“How are the grunting bikers?” I asked. “Behaving?”
“Well, there’s been no explosions,” he said hopefully. “A win for us.”
“No explosions equals win,” I agreed.
“Well, that could be because both you and Rosie have left,” he replied.
The car bomb may’ve had a lot more to do with the son of underworld kingpin exacting revenge for his father’s murder, but the explosions before that may or may not have been because Rosie and I got pissed off with the men during lockdowns. Or were bored. Or drunk.
I sobered. “Rosie still commencing radio silence with the club too?”
“Yep,” he said, the tapping of keys in the background telling me he was in the windowless room full of computers where he spent eighty percent of his time. “Cade’s got me trying to hack into satellites to find her. That’s some serious ‘lock you up under the Patriot Act’ type shit, but I’d do it for Rosie. In a heartbeat. Plus, I’d get away with it because I’m brilliant. But I know she’s okay. She just doesn’t want to be found. She promised me she’d burn all my hard drives, and backups, if I broke any federal laws trying to find her.” He sighed. “What is it with you chicks and burning things?”
“Sends a message,” I replied.
“That it does,” he agreed.
“So, since Rosie has you unable to commit the felonies I know you live for, and the club is quiet, how about I give you some excitement?”
“Please don’t tell me it’s something juvenile like hacking into your guy’s phone to see who he’s been texting?” he asked with a bored sigh.
I scoffed. “You know I don’t have a guy, and if I ever did, I would not be that girl.” I paused. “You can do that, though?”
“Lucy,” he warned.
“Right,” I muttered. “How easy is it to access shipping data from a certain person and download a manifest and give it to me?”
“You got a name?”
I rattled it off.
Another sigh.
“You can do it?” I frowned down at something on my cluttered desk that was not a part of the clutter. It was a silver owl figurine. Not a toy, more like a knickknack that older ladies collected and laid out on their mantelpiece.
I didn’t have a mantelpiece. And even if I did, I was not likely to line up a collection of silver birds.
Yet it was rather pretty and delicate. I idly wondered how it got on my desk before Wire spoke, distracting me.
“The shipping manifest is the candy, and the United States Customs Service is the baby,” he said by way of answer.
“So, it’s easy,” I deduced.
Keys tapped. “Maybe I should hack into a satellite. Just for fun. Reposition one to Megan Fox’s bedroom or something,” he mused.
“Just because you use state-of-the-art technology and above-average intelligence to do that doesn’t make it any less creepy.” I fingered the figurine, then tapped it on my desk. Stephanie glared at it, then me. The sound must have been distracting her from having to do her work, and mine, instead of Facebooking her boyfriend.