Right now, she’s very fortunate I can’t get my hands on her. When I reflect on her audacity, my palms tingle. She’s treading on thin ice, and retribution awaits her. Shortly. “Memorize their movements and send the pattern to me soon. If I can’t get her out, I want in.”
“I’m on it.” With a slight rumble in his throat, Justice coughs. “Are you coming in to work the crystals? I could use some help.” Like me, he doesn’t sleep much.
“Yes, unless you’ve found anything interesting in town,” I say, a rioting heat rolling through my chest. The beast inside me isn’t appeased right now.
Quiet ticks across the line and then the sound of keystrokes. “I’ve got one,” he says. “Thirty-year-old male named Mike Raptor. Beat the shit out of his pregnant young wife for the sixth time in San Francisco. Wife didn’t press charges, and the DA didn’t either. Wife will be in hospital for at least three months. She lost the baby, too.”
The image of Charity’s bruised and broken body flashes across my mind. They’d let us see her dead.
Justice still has nightmares, although he denies it. I let him get away with that lie because he needs it in order to survive.
I turn the vehicle toward San Francisco. “Give me his address.”
TWENTY-SIX
Alana
I receive orders from my father that I’ll be joining Cal Sokolov for dinner the following night to discuss our merger as I ride the elevator up to Nico’s penthouse, along with a rather smug note that Thorn is dining with the Rendales this evening. My father believes they’re trying to consolidate power, and apparently his spies within TimeGem agree.
The idea makes my stomach feel like I’ve been gut punched. Hard.
My cousin lives only a few blocks from headquarters in a condominium tower that is a modern marvel of glass and steel.
I tap my foot, with Quinlan busily texting on one side of me and Ella reading her phone on the other. While I’m dressed in my customary yellow skirt and white top with both aquamarine and rose quartz jewelry, I’m not surprised to see Quinlan wearing an aquamarine-crested watch. “Scarlett couldn’t make it?” I ask.
He pauses mid-text. “No. She’s working.”
Right. “She doesn’t like me much, does she?” The girl-power statement at the bar notwithstanding.
He shrugs. “She likes you fine, but we’ve been excluded from Aquarius Social for years, and it’s going to take some time for all of us, you know?”
Considering my father runs the business and not me, I guess. Sighing, I turn my phone back on since I’d left it off the night before. Stubbornly, to be honest. I’m not surprised to see texts from Thorn, and my breath quickens.
THORN: Meet me and take your punishment now.
THORN: For every text you ignore, I’m withholding an orgasm.
THORN: If your phone is off, you won’t sit for a month.
THORN: You didn’t learn your lesson the other night. See you soon.
I shiver and fight the very real urge to text an apology. But that’s crazy. He doesn’t deserve one, and my sense of self-preservation obviously isn’t as strong as I thought.
The door opens and we walk into the vestibule of the penthouse where Nico is waiting. As usual, he’s dressed in a three-piece suit.
He looks us over. “So, Nancy Drew and her posse have arrived.”
Ella looks up from her phone, a light peach dusting her cheekbones. “Hi, Nico.”
His grin is charming. “Hi, El. I have some of the kombucha you like in the fridge.”
I look from one to the other. “How do you know what she likes?”
“I keep track,” he says, and her blush deepens. “I’m glad you came. We need your computer skills.”
At the mention, I lose any amusement. The idea that somebody possibly murdered my brother creates a palpable tension.
Nico gestures us into the heart of his condo, which is a wide living area with floor-to-ceiling windows that grant a breathtaking view of Silicon Valley. The dark hardwood floors emphasize the minimalist decor. Nico likes things contemporary, from his plasma TV over the utilitarian fireplace to the plush light gray furnishings.
“Do I still have my beer in your fridge?” Quinlan asks, his gaze solidly on the TV.
“Yes. I don’t drink that swill.” Nico gestures us beyond the living area to another room. “I’m set up in here.”
Anticipation thrills through my veins. I like the idea of investigating a crime. If I hadn’t been so entrenched in Aquarius Social, I might have pursued a line of work as a private detective or maybe even a spy, though I’m not a very good liar, so probably not. But this is personal, and nobody cares about finding the truth more than family.
We stride into the adjoining room, which Nico has used as an office from the day he moved in. A set of windows frame Silicon Valley, opposite an oak and glass desk with matching credenza. The wall across from us has been cleared, and Nico has created one of those murder boards like I’ve seen on mystery television shows.
In the center, he has Greg’s picture and then lines drawn on the light gray paint to other people, including the coroner, a police officer, and then a row of suspects. My heart jolts when I see Thorn as one of the suspects, as well as the owners of the other two social media companies. I reach for a file folder on the desk and start flipping through it to see a timeline of Greg’s movements within the week preceding his death.
“What do you have?” Ella asks, claiming the only chair and plopping onto it.
“Not a lot.” Nico walks over to pictures depicting the lethal car accident, including the crumpled-up BMW. Greg loved that vehicle. I rub my chest because suddenly it hurts even worse.
“If you look at the accident report,” Nico says, “there are no skid marks. So it appears as if he just drove right off Vulture Perch at about a hundred miles an hour. Greg was sober that night and he had excellent reflexes.”
Quinlan moves close to the board. “I agree. Greg was drinking water that night, even before I left.”
Ella finally looks up from her phone. “There has to be more.”
