Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
When I’m home, I’ll do a thorough cleanup of all the traces that are recoverable from the cloud and plant a tracker in his software to keep an eye on his whereabouts. It’s the only reason I don’t destroy his phone. I check his photos to make sure there’s nothing and go through his messages and emails. The guy isn’t a big communicator. There’s not much to search.
“Was that all?” I ask, dumping the phone on the seat next to him.
He knows he’s in deep shit. He’s not going to tell anyone. Who’s he going to call? The police?
“I only took the video, and the only person I sent it to was Elliot.” He mumbles under his breath, “That motherfucker. He set me up, knowing his daddy would blow out my brains. If I ever get my hands on that little twat…”
“I’d advise you to leave the city. Lay low for a while. You never know.”
“You got what you wanted.” He juts his chin at the door. “Now get the fuck out of my house.”
He can act as tough as he likes, but the sweat that beads on his forehead says he’s shitting his pants.
“With pleasure,” I say, keeping my gun trained on him and picking up his shotgun as I backtrack to the door.
When I’ve fit my helmet and grabbed the weapons, he’s still in the lounge, wisely not trying to charge at me unarmed and with a broken hand. I let myself out and lock him in. With the burglar bars in front of the windows, it’ll take him a while to break himself out of the house. By the time he picks the lock, kicks down the door, or calls for help, I’ll be far away.
Balancing the shotgun on the handlebar, I fire up my Harley and head out. A message comes in from Walter, saying he’s crossing the Westdene Dam. I tell him to stay put and open the gas. In less than ten minutes, his black SUV that’s parked in a clearing at the back of the dam comes into view.
The driver’s door opens when I stop next to the vehicle. Walter steps out, hooking his thumbs into his waistband. “Any new developments?”
“Sex video blackmailing. You’ll find the guy who took the video locked in the house at the address I sent you if he hasn’t broken out already.” I take the keys from my pocket and hand them to him. “Those are for the front and back doors.”
“Do you want us to go through his house?”
“Nah. There’s no point in wasting your time there. He told me the original was on his phone and that he didn’t make copies. Knowing he understood what’s at stake, I believed him.”
“Must we detain him?”
“He can go. He’ll probably want to run as fast as he can. I just wanted to make sure he doesn’t tail me.”
“’Kay.”
He catches the shotgun I throw his way.
“That needs to be destroyed,” I say. “As in melted.”
“Got it.”
Saluting, he gets into the SUV.
With the mission I set out to do accomplished, I drive home.
Violet is pacing in the entrance when I arrive. She rushes over, hugging me even before I’ve closed the door. She was worried. About me. Warmth spreads through my chest. I kick the door shut and wrap my arms tightly around her, simply holding her for a moment and inhaling her sweet caramel scent.
“How did it go?” she asks, leaning away to stare up at me without untangling her arms from around my waist.
“Good.” I brush the hair from her face. “I deleted the video.”
“He gave it to you? Just like that?”
I raise a brow. “What do you think?”
She blanches. “Did you shoot him?”
“Just broke his hand.”
Her chest deflates. “Okay. That’s good. Right?”
“Right,” I say, smiling at how ludicrous that sounds as I trace the delicate line of her jaw.
“What now?”
Setting her aside with much difficulty, I walk to my office and open the safe to put back my gun and take out my laptop. When I turn to my desk with my laptop in my hands, Violet stands in the doorframe. She watches me with a troubled expression as I boot up the computer. I take a USB key from the desk drawer and insert it into the flash drive.
“You finished it,” she whispers.
I click on copy and meet her gaze. “Yes.”
“When?”
“A while ago.”
When the copying is done, I eject the memory stick and carry it to her. Taking her hand, I place the key on her palm and fold her fingers around it. Our eyes remain locked, her violet gaze somber as we stand there with my hand wrapped around hers.
I don’t have to say it.
She knows what to do.
CHAPTER 23
Violet
I’m sick with nerves for the rest of the week. Violent stomach cramps prevent me from eating. When I force food down my throat, I only end up with more spasms. Finally, I don’t have a choice but to swallow some pills.