“And the noose will be made of your own bowels.”
Picturing it, he grimaces. “Wow. You’re going full Hannibal Lecter on me.”
I allow my lips to curve into a faint, evil smile. “Aye. In several more minutes, I might be wearing your face as a mask. Tell me about the women.”
With a grudging grunt, he sits forward, sets the laptop on my desk, and opens it. He types on the keyboard for a moment, then turns the screen toward me.
I’m looking at a closeup of a large delivery truck. The shot is from the front. It’s grainy, but visible through the windshield are the driver and passenger of the truck.
The driver is a blonde. The passenger is a brunette. They’re not gazing out the windshield, but instead are looking at each other.
Looking at each other and laughing.
Hard.
I glance up at Declan. He puts his hands in the air, like, I’ve got nothin’.
I turn my attention back to the screen. It’s hard to discern their features, but it’s obvious both women are young.
And, judging by their uproarious laughter, probably high on drugs.
“These are the diaper thieves.”
“Aye.”
“Do you recognize either one of them?”
“Nope. No hits in any database on their faces, either, though that could be due to the angle. Hit the right arrow key.”
When I do, another still shot appears. This time I’m looking at the same truck, but from the rear. It’s parked in the middle of a grassy field, tailgate lowered, back doors wide open.
It’s empty.
Declan says, “They offloaded the haul in a rural area about thirty minutes outside the city and abandoned the truck. Tire tracks coming into and going out of the field suggest multiple smaller vehicles were involved.”
I don’t have to ask to know that he tracked the truck to the field by hacking into streetlight cameras near the warehouse, but I do have another question.
“Where did those smaller vehicles go from there?”
“No idea.”
Surprised, I look up at him. He says, “They cut the feed to all the traffic cameras within miles of that field.”
He sounds impressed, which irks me. “So hack a satellite to find out where they went.”
He blinks.
Looks like I’ll have to do the heavy lifting myself. “Forget it. I still don’t understand the diaper angle. If they wanted to steal something from me, there are far more valuable hauls they could’ve gone after.”
“Assuming they even knew you owned that factory.” His cell phone dings. He digs it from his pocket, looks at it, and frowns.
“What is it?”
Instead of answering, he stands and walks to the coffee table in front of the sofa across the room. He picks up the TV remote and hits a button. The television comes on to the local news station.
Standing outside the front of an institutional-looking red brick building, a cheerful blonde reporter beams at the screen.
“In other news tonight, we have a heartwarming story about the generosity of the human spirit. As we reported last month, a fire destroyed the storage facility of the headquarters of Newborns in Need here in Boston. NIN provides care necessities free of charge to agencies and hospitals serving premature, ill, or impoverished newborns throughout the United States.
“As this location is the main distribution hub for those critically needed supplies, the fire was particularly devastating. But today, an anonymous donor gifted two thousand boxes of diapers to the organization to replenish their losses.
“In addition to the diapers, large quantities of formula, clothing, blankets, and toys were also donated. No word on who the anonymous philanthropist might be, but Meryl Hopkins, president of the charity, has called him an angel. Back to you in the studio, John.”
Declan clicks off the TV and looks at me in disbelief. “A philanthropist thief? I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I. By any chance, does Liam own other companies serving the newborn market?”
“No.”
I mull it over for a moment, equal parts confused and intrigued.
A pair of female thieves breaks into a warehouse and steals a truckload of diapers. If caught, they’d be facing first degree grand theft charges with a possible maximum sentence of thirty years in prison, charitable donation notwithstanding.
So why risk it?
And what about the other items, the clothing, food, and toys? If those were stolen, too, that means the diaper theft was part of a larger, organized operation. One that must’ve taken weeks or months to plan.
All with a final payout of nothing?
It doesn’t make sense.
No one in their right mind takes such risk with zero reward. If it wasn’t money the thieves were after, it was definitely something else.
Because if there’s one thing I know for sure about human nature, it’s that a person who isn’t motivated by greed is usually motivated by something much darker.
Like amassing power, for instance.
Like taking revenge.
Things I myself am all too familiar with.
When I start to type fast and hard on my computer’s keyboard, Declan says, “What’re you doing?”
“Going hunting.” The Department of Defense website loads, and I quickly get to work.
Ready or not, thieves, here I come.
3
Jules
When I glance over my shoulder again, Fin sighs in exasperation.
“Will you quit doing that? You’re making me jumpy.”
I mumble an apology and take another sip of my margarita, but can’t shake the sensation that I’m being stared at intently.
Considering I grew up under the constant, watchful gaze of several dozen bodyguards, tutors, and nannies, I know the feeling well.
Which is why I’m on edge when I should be celebrating.
Sitting on either side of me at the high-top table in La Fiesta’s noisy, crowded bar, Fin and Max don’t share my jitters. They’re all smiles and easy laughs, flirting with the cute bartender who keeps sending over free drinks.
As usual, I’m the lucky beneficiary of the incandescent glow my friends produce—hence the free drinks—but if I were here alone, I’d be paying.
Not because I’m a dog or anything. Though compared to the curvy, creamy beauty of Fin and the edgy, tough-girl sex appeal of Max, I’m as interesting as the sole of a shoe.
It’s for the same reason I wear baggy clothes and no makeup and go by a fake last name: to blend in. To disappear into the background.
Attention is the last thing I want.
Attention means questions, and questions mean answers, and answers—especially truthful ones—are something I never give.
For a girl like me, attention can be dangerous.
It can be deadly.
So I keep my head down and my mouth shut and stay as cool and detached as possible, even as these two yahoos on either side of me cause spontaneous erections all around.
I wish Fin didn’t have such a fondness for low-cut blouses.
“Could you put those things away?” I say crossly, waving a hand at her boobs. “They’re almost in my salsa.”
I grab the dish of salsa out from under her hovering breasts, take a tortilla chip from a basket in the center of the table, and dunk the chip into the sauce. Then I pop it into my mouth, enjoying the spicy, satisfying crunch.