Page 24 of Cinder (MC Fables #2)

L ars

“So, who is she?” I ask Bram.

We’re in the security room of the clubhouse, and Bram has completed the background check on Ella using the identification she gave Mrs. V. this morning as part of the hiring process. All staff are fully vetted. History. Socials. Family ties. Everything .

It’s late, and I should get some shuteye before we ride out early in the morning.

But I want to know what Bram has found during his background check.

“Meet Ella Antonio.” He pulls up her DMV file on one of the many monitors in front of us. Then a couple of old photos he’s pulled from different socials she was tagged in .

I study the photos on the monitor. One is of her and a group of college-aged kids. All smiling for the camera. Friends out drinking. The other is her with another woman. A selfie taken during a night out.

“How come we didn’t get this when we ran facial recognition a couple of days ago?” I ask.

“The photos aren’t very clear. It would be easy for facial recognition to miss them.”

“And you’re certain they’re not AI?”

Bram looks surprised. “Why would they be AI? You think she’s hiding something?”

“There’s not a lot there.”

“No, there’s not. But then if anyone ran the same checks on me, they wouldn’t find a lot either.”

“Because you’re on the run from the law, and the FBI is still chasing you for hacking into their databases, not to mention the military wants your ass for the same thing,” I remind him.

Ten years ago, a warrant was issued for Bram’s arrest. Lucky for him, we found him first, and he’s been our crazy hacker ever since. He knows he’ll always be running. But he’s stealthy enough to never be found.

“Touché,” he says. “Sometimes I forget I’m a fugitive.”

“What about her family?”

“No siblings. Both parents are gone.” As he speaks, he brings up a couple of death certificates on the screen. “Mother several years ago. Cancer. Father only recently. Car accident.”

“How recent?”

“Three months ago, according to this.” He brings up a newspaper article with a photo of a wrecked car.

“There’s more about her parents than her. Which is strange for a twenty-something woman.”

“Maybe she values her privacy.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “More and more people are digitally detoxing. Maybe she’s one of them.”

Maybe.

My gaze is glued to the images on the screen.

My gut tells me something is off.

Or maybe it’s the attraction I feel toward her getting in the way of my good sense.