Page 72 of Ruthless Lord

“Then what? Someone stole his card?”

“Or spoofed his identity. That’s possible too. Whoever we’re dealing with is sophisticated.”

I glare at the fence before stomping back to the depot. “I don’t like this. First those transmitters and now this. Someone’s targeting us, and I want to know why.”

“There’s one more thing, speaking of the transmitters. I finally managed to locate where they’ve been uploading to.”

I stop outside the depot entrance. “You gonna keep teasing me all night or are you gonna make the first move?”

He gives me a tired look. “It’s somewhere in the suburbs, out near Radnor.”

“That’s rich people territory. Can you be more specific?”

“Wish I could, but that’s the best I got.”

I let that sink in, trying to figure out who the hell in Radnor would want to fuck with my trucking depot. It’s not a long list.

Right now there are exactly zero names on it.

“Keep digging. We need to find these bastards and put a stop to this.”

Davide nods and walks off, probably heading back to his cave. I linger in the main repair section of the depot, looking at a few trucks getting refitted for long routes.

Who would want to break into this place? And who would care about our trucking routes? If I were a paranoid man, I’d think it was the Feds trying to sniff out our smuggling operation. But we’ve got enough of their number on our payroll. That shouldn’t be an issue.

I can’t put it together. But I can feel the problem circling around me like hungry wolves.

I reach my office, put my feet up on my desk, and glare at the clock. Charlie’s fast asleep right now, curled up under the sheets, all alone.

I should be there with her.

Not in this fucking place.

But I have a job to do, and even if my wife’s a big distraction, I can’t afford to give in to temptation.

It’s going to be another late night and long day.

Nobody knows a goddamn thing.

That’s my only takeaway from four hours of hanging around the depot talking to Giorgio and all his guys.

Except he did mention that he’s missing his keycard. He seemed pretty ashamed of that and had no clue where it ended up.

I’m guessing our thief lifted it at some point.

A more vindictive man might punish Giorgio for fucking up and losing his security card. But I’ve known him too long to hold it over his head. People make mistakes all the time, and it didn’t end up hurting us in the long run.

But who took it and why?

I trudge into my house at six in the morning. I smell coffee already brewing, which means Charlie’s awake. I pour myself a cup, drink it all down, pour myself another, and set a second pot to brew for her. Slowly, I make my way upstairs, aching all over, knees on fire and spine a wreck.

I don’t see her anywhere. Not in bed, not in the bathroom. I hear a hanger squeak in the closet, and I go over to the door, curious about what’s going on, only to find my wife rifling through my side.

She doesn’t know I’m watching. I can be quiet when I want to be, and right now, I’m too damn curious about what the hell she’s doing. Charlie shoves her hands in my suit pockets, sliding them aside, and ends up down on her hands and knees, looking through my shoes.

“You lose something in there?”

She yelps, tries to sit up, and bangs the back of her head on a shelf. Groaning, she sits back, rubbing her head.