Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“That sums it up.”
I drum my fingers on the desk, thinking. What did Enzo do, or didn’t do, that could cause this kind of mess? If he did go clean something up so to speak, then it couldn’t have been him outside Mira’s courtyard last night.
So, who the fuck was it? Were they there to watch her? Fuck, it felt so good to have her against me last night, but having her close like that made her feel so far at the same time. Because I want more, and I’ve found myself thinking about her more and more.
I had given up on the idea of finding someone who understands what I do, who would be okay with not knowing the full details of my schedule or what’s going on at work. Mira entered right into the thick of it and has a good grasp on what goes on here. We have similar backgrounds though we each went a different route with our degrees, but she’s good and understands how the mind works.
Yet she has her own struggles and doesn’t pretend to be perfect or act like she has her shit together all the time. I might have spent a good amount of time going through her older Instagram posts this morning, which then lead me to finding her ex mother-in-law’s fake accounts. It was pretty obvious to figure out it was her since she leaves the same negative comments over and over again.
And then I went to that Noel chick’s page and Mira wasn’t joking when she said this lady is trying to single white female her. Some of her posts copy what Mira wrote word for word, leaving me to assume that Noel is just plain stupid. She wants to make Mira mad to get a reaction out of her, but all she’s doing is making herself look like a total ass. If she was really trying to start a career in a similar field, mocking and making fun of someone who trail-blazed their way to the top is the worst thing to do.
“We need to get all the files on the Morettis in New Jersey,” I say and start to pull up files. I get an email from the ME and quickly read through the report. “Mark Roberts died from a single gunshot wound to the head,” I tell Diego. “And the bones in his arms seem to have been broken by being run over with truck tires, fitting the MO, but the bones weren’t crushed as good as before, which is a fucking weird thing to say. Done post mortem and sloppy.” I pull up crime scene photos. Roberts’ arms are pulled up over this head, tied together like the theater victims. But his wrists are bent out at unnatural angles. Whoever set this up was in a rush.
“I think we will take this to the bossman,” Diego suggests. “This could be enough to get a tap on a few phones.”
It doesn’t take me long to think it over. I’m going to have to bend the truth, say something along the lines of me seeking out the girl Enzo is dating and seeing if she’s willing to talk or something like that. “Yeah.” I put my hands on the desk’s surface, spinning my chair around so Diego can see my face.
“Let’s go.”
“I’m kinda surprised you wanted to get together,” Mira starts. “Since I won’t be your puppet for the next week or so.” She gives me a pointed look before smiling.
“I am too.” I slowly shake my head. “It’s not like you’re enjoyable to be around or anything.”
Mira and I met for lunch and the moment she walked in, I had to remember to breathe. She’s dressed casually in jeans and a white crop top. Her hair hangs in loose waves around her face, and a gold horse pendant rests on her collarbone.
“You’re not the worst company, either,” she shoots back. “What’s going on? Got some good intel for me?”
“I do, and I wanted to let you know that we have confirmation that Enzo is in New Jersey.”
“Oh wow. He was telling the truth.”
I nod. “The Morettis lived there before moving to Chicago. I can’t really go into more detail than that, but if you could try to get some text conversations or even a phone call or two out of him over the next week, that would be great.”
“I’ll do what I can. And yes, I know that phone is cloned or whatever the proper term for it is.”
“I didn’t—”
She holds up her hand. “You didn’t have to. It’s a phone the freaking FBI gave me. Of course, you can see and hear everything. I’ll just call from my other phone if we get freaky.”
“For the safety of our nation, I’ll have to hear that.”
She makes a face. “Can you imagine him on the other end of phone sex?”