Page 52 of Juan

Not surprisingly, the shelves contained more knick-knacks than books. Still, she picked up each one, examined it, leafed through the pages of the leather-bound volumes, and got close-up stills of the few pictures. She recognized a few of the folks in the smattering of framed images—mostly politicians who’d passed their heyday. Ones who’d been elected, could say they held the title, but wouldn’t be remembered beyond the term or two they held. Some wouldn’t even be remembered during their term.

Pressing on the paneling and running her fingers along the shelves, she checked for any hidden switches or latches. Finding none, she placed a listening device on a rather exquisite Lladró horse and one on a less impressive bronze replica of Antinous Standing.

After running her hands over the walls running perpendicular to the shelves, she removed the three pictures and examined the backs. They looked untouched, as if they’d never been removed from the walls once hung. But not one to leave a job half done, she pulled out a handy tool from her pocket, gently loosened the glue holding the protective paper to the back, and had a little look-see. Under two, she found nothing but the business card of the company that either sold the framed image or did the framing. She took a picture of the details, resealed the piece she’d prized loose, and rehung them. The third held more promise, the only original work of art among the three, and something rattled when she lifted it to examine it more closely. Something weightier than a business card.

Resting the painting, image-side down, on the desk, she went through the same process of gently removing the protective backing. When the bottom left corner lifted enough for her to see, she tipped the piece and listened as whatever was inside tumbled toward the opening.

A thumb drive.

Grinning, she extracted the small device, made sure nothing else hid inside, then rounded the desk and took a seat. Pulling another small piece of equipment from her handy pocket, she plugged in the thumb drive, scanned her prints, and started the process of copying everything on the drive to her personal data center.

As it did its job, she searched the twatwaffle’s drawers, looking for hidden compartments or secret cubbies. He seemed the sort to have at least one. And since she hadn’t found any in the walls, it stood to reason she’d find one in the desk. Sure enough, eight minutes and one drawer short by four inches later, she found it.

Setting the drawer on the floor, she knelt and examined the sealed cubby. A hole in the upper right corner suggested she needed a key or a tool of some sort, but she had something even better. Reaching into the slim utility belt strapped around her waist, she pulled out another handy little device. Part electronic, part old-school, she held it against the hole. Through some magic she didn’t care enough to know the details of, the little box would image the hole, identify what kind of “key” could be used to pick it, then proceed to do so. She generally preferred to do her own picking, since she found the device louder than she liked. But with the rank swine sleeping the sleep of the dead upstairs, the noise didn’t concern her.

Twenty-two seconds later, the panel popped open. Zipping the device back into her pack, she wiggled the piece of wood out of position, then shone her pencil light into the cavity. A bundle of papers. Interesting. What was Mr. Lopsided Saggy Nutbag hiding?

Pulling the packet out, she noted it weighed more than a few sheets of paper. Unfolding the trifold, a passport fell out, along with a phone. Picking up the passport, she flipped it open and grinned. Looks like toe-jam twat was planning to make a run for it. Under the name John Smith. How appropriately unoriginal.

Setting it on the desk, she took a picture of the identification page, then set it aside before plugging the phone into the device still downloading from the thumb drive. Her encryption software at home would address access issues. Not something she needed to think about right now.

Straightening out the papers, she spread them across the desk. Before taking the time to examine them, she took photos of each, front and back, that she’d add to the files she’d send to Juan. Once done, she checked her equipment. Seeing the download of the thumb drive complete, she removed it, then plugged her device into the laptop sitting on the desk.

After returning the thumb drive to the painting, resealing the back, and rehanging it, she sat down in the heavy oak-and-leather chair, booted up the computer, and stared at the password screen. She’d have access to the files once home, but checking out his browser history while she waited would pass the time.

Her gaze drifted to the shelves. Antinous stared back at her. So did a bust of Julius Caesar, an eight-inch version of the Column of Marcus Aurelius, and the head of Nero. She considered the personality of the man sleeping on the floor above her, then leaned forward.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed “HaveINeitherFriendNorFoe.”

It didn’t surprise her when the red text appeared denying her access. Deciding what the hell, she didn’t have any other ideas, she typed in another Nero quote: “Isthismyfidelity?”

Another red set of text.

Assuming he had standard security, the computer would lock after one more try. Rather than take a different tack, she doubled down and typed in “Hiddentalentcountsfornothing.”

She chuckled as the screen came to life.

Leaving her device to do its job, she opened a browser, navigated to the history, then to the secret history, and scanned the list of websites the odiferous bag of rot upstairs visited. Randomly clicking on a few, they were exactly what they purported to be: antique auctions, mediocre porn, and a couple of gambling sites. Closing out of the browsers, she ran a search and found another browser hidden in the application files. Opening that, she went through the same process. Only this time, the results were much more interesting.

Leaning forward, she scanned the web-based accounting software she’d been able to open. Her attention snagged on four entries. This was almost too easy. The sleeping log of excrement had saved his password. Big mistake when grifting Mario DeLuca. Even she’d hesitate to tangle with the DeLuca crime family. Well, not “hesitate,” but she’d take extra care planning.

She scanned through eight more files and the picture got worse and worse—for Anthony, anyway. She grinned, not feeling the need to expend any more energy on creative names. His time on this planet was limited. If the Falcons and HICC didn’t take care of him, the DeLuca family would. And she doubted Anthony had any clue exactly what kind of fire he played with when it came to Mario. She smiled at the thought.

They say karma is only a bitch if you are. And she’d put even odds on karma making an appearance in Anthony’s life in the next few weeks. Karma or Mario.

She couldn’t wait.

Chapter twenty-five

Amber looked up from the open laptop on the table as Callie, Philly, Leo, Ryan, and Grace walked in. A pang of guilt mixed with gratitude wrapped around her. So many resources were dedicated to helping her that her intrinsic reaction to not want to be a bother warred with her appreciation for having these people in her life.

“Wipe that look off your face,” Daphne said, bringing up the rear, followed by Lovell. He’d been in the garage with Philly, working on a car, and both men had more than a few stains on their work jeans. “I can see the doubt creeping in,” Daphne continued. “First, everyone is here because it’s the right thing to do. And second, harsh to say, but it’s not all about you. There’s Zoe to think of, all the victims who have been killed by the drug Anthony is handing out like candy, and a pharma company that employs over three thousand people who likely won’t appreciate a researcher willing to be corrupted. It’s a bad look for them.”

Amber blinked. “Well, when put like that.”

Daphne nodded as the others found seats. “Now, where’s my niece?”

Amber smiled. “Spencer took her out to the garage. Thought she was old enough to start learning about tools. I suggested maybe a walk would be better, but he insisted she needs to learn her way around a car. A bike, too.”