Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Leaving the bar, I get into my car and drive for roughly ten minutes, taking the quieter roads until I come to another cartel bar. I don’t even know what Antonio Romero looks like, dammit. I need to do some prep. Get his appearance.
Yep, I’m a jackass. I was so damn concerned with my hard-on when I left Lena in the apartment and eager to get away from her, I didn’t bring my laptop, which is my lifeline with all the governmental databases a man could need.
I can’t just walk in there and hope I run into him. Dropping his name might work over a sting, with some time, but it will look too obvious. Plus, there’s the obvious fact I’m visibly not a cartel member.
I’ll have to drive home and return here. If I could avoid wasting that time, I would. If only there were somebody back in my apartment who could… She’s motivated, clearly, and it’s not like it would be complicated. I could use the voice password so she won’t be able to reaccess the laptop.
I sigh and take out my cell phone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lena
I almost run to the phone when it starts to ring. It’s cordless, sitting on a small table near the tall window in the kitchen. I quickly answer it. My chest is getting tight again. My mind is filled with ugly, twisted images of Mom.
“Hello? Mom?”
“It’s me.” Jamie’s voice is grim, making me think the worst. “I haven’t found your mom yet.” I sigh, unsure if that’s a good or a bad thing. “But I need your help. I have a laptop. It’s in the left drawer of the TV unit. I need you to get it for me.”
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“Just get the—”
“I am,” I tell him. “Your apartment’s huge. I’m walking, all right? You can tell me what’s happening in the meantime, right?”
I expect him to call me fiery again. He says, “I’ve got word from an associate in the cartel world that a man called Antonio Romero has got Simone. I need to learn more about him. Have you got the laptop?”
Opening the drawer, I take out the laptop. Or, rather, the small briefcase. It’s one of those military-grade laptops I’ve seen on TV shows before. It doesn’t seem like something a drug kingpin would have, and his friendly dog is throwing me off. I’ll have to ask about that later, not that he’ll tell me anything.
“Yes, booting it up now.” I set it on the coffee table and open it up, relieved I’ve been practicing using computers. We never had any at home, at least before the move. “I need a passcode.”
“Click the audio symbol and put me on loudspeaker.”
“That’s a passcode?” I ask.
“It’s voice-activated.”
“Oh, uh, okay.” My heartbeat suddenly picks up. This is so wrong. This is so sneaky, but he is my kidnapper. Why should I have to play by the rules? “Two seconds. My loudspeaker is annoying on here.”
“Annoying?”
I quickly go to my phone, find the recorder app, and click record. “It’s not on the main call screen. Sorry. I’ve got you now.”
“You can hear me?”
“Yeah.” I swallow. The symbol at the top of my phone blinks, telling me it’s currently recording. I hold the phone toward the laptop. “Okay, ready…”
“Unlock,” Jamie says clearly, and the screen flashes blue. There’s nothing on the desktop except one icon. Anybody, it’s called, with a small symbol of a person. “Are you in?”
“Yeah.”
I want to click the bottom left, explore his files, and snoop. If he won’t tell me what’s happening, I’ll learn that way.
“Search Antonio Romero on Anybody—the app at the bottom left.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it,” I say a little testily. I open the app, type in his name, and swallow when I see the advanced search options. Select database: NCA, FBI, CIA… The list goes on. “Which database do I use?”
And who the hell are you?
“All of them,” he grunts. “When it loads, take a photo of each page and send it to me, then video-call me.”
“Video-call you? Why?”
“Just do it, Lena.”
“Who said it was okay for you to talk to me like your pet?” I snap. “This isn’t exactly fun for me, you know.”
“I need to see you close the laptop.”
Ah, so he doesn’t want me snooping. “What if I don’t?”
“We haven’t got time for this, but if you don’t, I’ll confine you to your room.”
“I didn’t even know I had a room.” The screen loads, and he’s right. We haven’t got time. A mugshot of Antonio Romero fills one side of the screen. He’s got a thick neck and a shaggy mop of black hair. His face is covered in tattoos—covered. His pupils are small, making the whites of his eyes look huge. “This is the guy who has Mom?”
I take a photo, then switch through the pages—assault, kidnapping, armed robbery, murder. My bones are cold.