Page 66 of Into the Blue

Scouring each one to find something, anything that could point out just what happened between the Lafayette and the Duponts that made them cut ties so quickly. It was a snowball of poor choices and deplorable behavior after that. It was the reason that I was here in the first place.

Then I see it.

A folder that I could only describe as nondescript. I would have passed it, if I weren’t actually looking through every file on this computer.

The name is just a date, but I open it.

There is a news video clip linked in the folder. I open the video and instantly things start to click into place.

There are files from Allen who, I deduced, is working with Milo’s money now. I go back and back and back even further until I find the same date.

And, of course, the date of the video and the moment the numbers become jilted line up perfectly.

I found it.

Here is the reason why Dupont and Lafayette fell apart. I know it and I can fix it.

I send that very thought to Liezel in a text message. I begin duplicating the information and sending it to our account when I hear a voice I very well did not expect to hear.

“The fuck you doing?”

Chapter 21

There’s no worse feeling than coming back empty-handed.

I spent almost a week trying to figure this shit out, breathing thin Colorado air and checking on every damn checkpoint in the grow circuit. The runners were clean. The shipments logged. No one seemed off, and yet—I’m still missing product and it’s even more clear that there is someone out to get Dupont. But why?

The time to be concerned is right now.

If no one fears me, and the consequences of fucking withmy shit, all of this will fall apart.

But if I start hurting people who haven’t done anything wrong, then people will jump ship, I’ll lose good people because they have sense. I wouldn’t support myself if I were them and there is no blame in that.

Is this the point that I accept trying to cut out the Fayes without a proper replacement was bad business?

Fuck.

For shit to look different now is not helping anything. It’s not skimming, not like before. This is tighter, subtle and strategic. A hole punched clean through my business like someone knew where the weak spot was. Not big enough to sink me, but big enough to make me sweat.

Don’t know who the fuck that could be making me sweat like this though.

I don’t have answers. And I fucking hate not having answers as much as I hate gambling.

Still… as my car crunches into the gravel of the drive and the familiar front porch light kicks on like a beacon, a calm I didn’t know I’d been missing crawls up my chest.

I’m not used to this feeling—thishomefeeling. It’s been years since this place felt like something was beating inside it.

And the reason for it is inside.

Racquelle.

The woman with a body like a weapon. The woman who showed up bleeding and still too damn beautiful to be real. I keep delivering her my favorite foods to eat even when I’m not there and more recently a fucking hundred thousand dollar watch she didn’t even ask for.

If she’s mine, she’s gotta look like it.

Even when I don’t want other men looking at her. I need to know that she’s being spoiled like a queen.

Fuck.