Page 31

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

ALPHABET

I t was early, not as early as the day before, but early enough for the sun to paint through the dust-coated windows in streaks of smudged sunshine.

The files spread out like wreckage.

Flash drives. Printouts. Screens glowing with decrypted data pulled straight from Reznik’s servers. Names. Transactions. Travel records. Coordinates. Bidders. Victims.

Not one of them Amorette.

It was in the first search string of every single program I ran. They’d started the night with me, but one by one, the team had dropped off. Sleep wasn’t an option for me. Not right now, not while I dug through what we’d found, what it meant, and started putting together what came next.

The deeper we dug, the more complicated it became. It wasn’t just one organization, it was several. It wasn’t just one crew handling transport, it was dozens. It wasn’t one geographic location at the epicenter, it was quite literally the world.

Layer after layer peeled back to unveil tangled knot over tangled knot. Decryption revealed the involvement of more than just criminals, oligarchs, aristocrats, and executives. It was probably the ugliest who’s who list of entitled scum.

The one thing that frustrated me each time I managed to drill down past a new web of concealment: Amorette. Amorette Monet Black wasn’t even a blip on the radar. Nor any subject that matched Grace’s physical description and measurements.

They had reams of data on Grace, a mountain of it. I tracked every single place they’d pulled the info.

Social media

Agency websites.

Photographer’s files—watermarked and not so much.

Reddit threads.

Substacks for fashion.

Gossip sites.

What proved even more frustrating was the lack of current information. She’d been missing for months and not even a whiff of her flirted with the headlines. Nothing popped up in front line searches. In fact, someone had done a damn good job of muddying the waters with search-engine poisoning.

If you looked for Grace Black or Amorette Black, there weren’t stories about them being missing. Hell, you could barely get a photo to even pop. It was all spam and scammer sites. Instead it was a lot of noise.

A lot of it.

Search for her dead manager. Same thing.

The photographers? A blip. Their website had even been erased .

Time Machine didn’t turn up even a memory of it.

The manager’s agency had “closed” and currently turned up…

nothing. The effort poured into the distraction campaign had to be ongoing or you’d think we might pop a mention on a gossip site.

But nope, even Grace’s social media profiles were no longer available. At all. Not the legitimate ones, but the fake ass posers and scammers?

They were everywhere.

Goblin ran races in his sleep, little yips escaping him as his claws scraped at the floor. I nudged him gently with a toe. He let out a grunt, then a sneeze as he sat up abruptly and looked around.

“Sorry bud,” I told him and rose myself. My back cracked along with my shoulders as I stretched. Too many hours hunched over the laptop and my ass was also numb. I carried my empty mugs—both of them—back to the counter and rinsed them out.

The coffee pot was empty, and thankfully had turned itself off.

If not, I probably would have scalded the damn thing.

That would have triggered a shitstorm when the others started to wake up.

After washing it out, I started another pot brewing then pulled on my gun holster and a jacket over it before heading for the door.

I swore more of my joints creaked with every step. Goblin dragged himself up. Once on his feet, he took his time stretching before he followed me over to where I waited by the door. “Shall we?”

When I opened the door, he trotted out and gave a little shake.

The sunrise was just at the edge of the trees, all pinks and reds and hints of purples where it slammed up against the dark gray clouds.

Rain today would help. Even if Reznik’s guys managed to track even one of the SUVs, they’d find picking up the rest of our trail next to impossible.

Smothering another yawn, I limped my way out to the garden behind the safe house. It wasn’t kept in the neatest rows, but it was definitely lush enough. The path was visible enough to let me stretch my legs as I moved.

I rubbed the back of my neck as I ran the last set of decryptions through my head.

We had more than enough to bury the political careers of at least a dozen different buyers.

We had five different hedge fund investors that also sat on multiple boards, three CEOs, more members of the aristocracy than I wanted to count, a fuckton of so-called NGOs including some that were “founded” by so-called influencers.

That was just what I’d confirmed so far. The lists of movers, shakers, journalists, legislative, congressional, executive, and even judicial clients continued to grow. No wonder they’d been able to hide so much of this. They had people everywhere and in every government.

The bureaucrats. They were the ones who could bury just about anything.

Repackage it, rename it, and then even sell it as something else altogether.

Crowdfunding based on a network of half-truths and false identities.

The crowdfunding proved to just be another way to make bids.

Some of the anonymous bidders dropped huge chunks of change, while smaller bidders just added to the coffers.

So not only did they make money selling people, they hid it and washed their funds using the same types of services that also provided them with funds from people looking to help or to hurt. It was downright nauseating.

Though, currently, I wasn’t sure what was worse in all of this…

Was it the funds dedicated to raising money for the most reprehensible of people?

The kind you wouldn’t expect to generate sympathy of any kind.

Or was it the false, misleading tales designed to shred the heartstrings so you donated immediately?

Only, if you took the time to dig, you found the lie. It wasn’t even that well hidden.

Goblin raced ahead then back to check with me before he took off again.

My dude was restless and I didn’t blame him.

I was feeling it too. We had apocalyptic levels of information that could absolutely destroy careers and end reputations.

Beyond selling people, and laundering the money—because sure that was more than enough—they feathered their nests with blackmail.

Their leverage could be paid out in cash, materials, or favors.

Insidious, disgusting, and bafflingly clever.

They increased their profits and avoided taxes all at the same time, while adding multiple shields between their activities and law enforcement.

I’d actually dug into the terms and services for one of the crowdfunding sites.

Sure enough, buried practically six feet deep, was a provision shielding them from having to reveal certain key identifying bits of data.

You couldn’t indemnify someone from revealing blackmail or illegal activities. Non-disclosure agreements regarding illegal activities were non-enforceable. Didn’t stop people from agreeing or fearing the repercussions.

Travel agencies, online as well as brick and mortar establishments along with retail warehouses based in foreign locations, offered other inventive ways to make sales and transactions.

Spread it out enough and it turned into a near impossible set of needles hidden amongst an infinite number of haystacks.

Thirty minutes later and with my head clearer after the walk, I returned with a more relaxed Goblin too.

Despite having left a mostly slumbering house, Lunchbox was at the stove working on breakfast, while Voodoo, Bones, and—there she was, I sighed as she cast me a swift smile—Gracie studied everything I had laid out.

The smell from the coffee pot said they’d made more. Excellent. I got Goblin his breakfast before I poured coffee of my own. “That’s about a third of what I managed to decrypt so far. There’s going to be a hell of a lot more.”

“There’s enough here to bury at least a half-dozen buyers I recognize just from their names,” Voodoo said, his icier tone suggesting he had no problem with it at all.

“We could ruin lives with all of this,” Lunchbox commented over his shoulder, but I didn’t miss the way his gaze went to Grace.

“We should ,” Bones said flatly.

“Do we know that everyone on those lists is actually guilty of something? Or were they just put under the thumb of this particular organization?” The almost too damn reasonable question from Grace made me study her.

“That’s a lot of evidence to manufacture based on the hope that someone will do what you want to keep a blatant lie out of the press.” Or so I believed.

“Is it?” She tapped one of the lists that was attached to a series of payments.

“Do you know how swiftly people fall for gossip? Especially salacious gossip? Maybe it all turns out to be bullshit, but the stories debunking the bullshit never have the traction of the ones who wreck reputations and end careers.”

“That’s unsettling,” I admitted and I wasn’t alone scowling at the information I’d scattered.

“Maybe they are all guilty. Maybe some are only guilty by association. Maybe some are just—covering their own ass.” She sighed and picked up another photo.

It was of a woman, she was a student from Bulgaria supposedly studying in the UK.

She’d been missing for more than eighteen months and there was barely even a blip for her via law enforcement.

Unscrewing a water bottle, I downed about half of it before I carried my mug back to the table.

“According to the dates, every few weeks, they host another ‘gathering.’ Another sale. They rotate countries, cities, and ‘hosts.’ Our twelve big buyers all serve as traveling hosts or have, but they aren’t the only ones. ”

“So Monte Carlo wasn’t a chokepoint.” All emotion drained out of Bones’ voice.

“It was,” I assured him. “The hit they took there, at the secondary event with O’Rourke, and even with what we took here, they are going to feel it.”

“But they aren’t going to just curl up and die.” Lunchbox flipped pancakes as he stared at the stove. “Even if we shove a bomb up their asses and blow it.”

“No,” I said with a sigh. “We kill this arm, another will pop up. Probably two based on what I’ve pulled apart so far. There are other ‘organizations’ involved. One in Eastern Europe, Russian, another in Singapore, probably something for Australia and we know the U.S. is in there.”

“Central and South America,” Bones added both items like ticking a box.

“Definitely, but that gets us into cartel land and there are some we don’t want to start a fight with,” Voodoo murmured.

“Not right now,” I agreed with him. “We’ve already got a lot on the board.”

Grace hadn’t said a word since she asked if there was a way to be certain if the blackmail list clients were guilty or not.

“I’ve run every tag and ID through facial recognition. No hits on Amorette,” I said softly. “I have another program running descriptions, keywords that could apply to either of you and some that would only apply to her.”

Grace didn’t react. Not visibly.

“She’s not in this cluster,” I continued “I don’t think this was her pipeline.” I hated telling her that. Hated telling her that while this had been her destination, it wasn’t her sister’s.

“So we keep looking. Right?” Lunchbox had the pan off the stove and he flicked a look at each of us.

“It’s not our only option,” Voodoo said slowly, but I could hear the dislike he chewed over with each word.

Grace turned to face him. For his part, he focused on her and not us.

“We could turn this over,” Voodoo continued. “Interpol, a contact in MI6 I trust, maybe even leak it. It’d go wide fast. Public. Big splash, lot of heat.” It was what she’d wanted to do for herself, only then it was FBI or Homeland.

“But no control.” Bones shook his head, despite his neutral tone. Again, facts, but even he seemed to find impartiality a challenge. “Once it’s out, we don’t get to decide how or when it ends.”

“We might get Amorette’s name in the noise,” I added, because we couldn’t afford to not take all the acts into account. “But she’ll be just that. Noise.”

The room fell still. Lunchbox shut off the stove and joined us in studying Grace. The food smelled good but none of us were going to eat with this hanging out there.

“Your sister’s not in there. But you are.” Bones braced his knuckles on the table, his gaze fixed on her. “Every risk we take now—it circles back to you. So... it’s your call.”

“We keep hunting,” Lunchbox added his vote “Or we light this fuse and walk away.” He clearly had no interest in walking away, but I was with him on lighting the fuse. We might not ever burn it all down, but it had to go.

“Any way you want to do it,” Voodoo summed up. “We back your play.”

Bones folded his arms. “You’re not the mission anymore. You’re the center of it.”

I damn near wanted to cheer. Never thought I’d see the day Cap took the stick out, but he cared and it showed .

She didn’t answer us, not immediately. Instead, she studied the files, the papers, the notes I’d cobbled together.

“Then we go after the rest,” she murmured, touching another picture, one of a girl who couldn’t have been fourteen when it was taken. She’d vanished into that system four or five years earlier.

“Even if Amorette’s not part of this?” Bones met her gaze. He wasn’t doubting or testing her, he was verifying.

“ Especially if she isn’t,” Grace said. “Because that means the system is bigger. And I want it to choke on everything it tried to take from me. From her.”

“Then we burn the rest down,” Bones stated and he flicked a look at us. “One name at a time. Some of it we handle personally…”

“Some of it, I can take out from a distance.” Yeah, I knew exactly where he was going with this. Some would need a bullet for real, and others? Well, with what I had here, I could drop them with the metaphorical shot.

Either way, they would bleed.

“We still need to eat,” Lunchbox stated and I didn’t have to glance at him to know that by “we” he meant Gracie. “Then we have to clean up the debris from the last mission. Alphabet is gonna need time to finish breaking down the master list.”

“Oh,” Grace blinked. “I almost forgot. What did you do with him?”

Voodoo grinned and Lunchbox chuckled. Only Bones maintained his guarded expression. He lifted his chin when our gazes met. He wanted a word, in private.

I nodded.

We’d make it happen.