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Feeling like a decision was being made for her, she got off the porch rail, fished out her phone, looked at the caller ID, and sawTT. Tull’s researcher declined the call and texted the author that she would phone when she got to her car.
After checking both ways, Moore moved out of the shadows and down the street with only a glance back at the Pans’ bungalow before she turned the corner. Three blocks on, she opened the door of a black Prius and climbed in.
After she’d gone several more blocks, she called Tull.
“How’s it going, Lisa?” the author asked.
“Solid foundational work, T,” she replied. “The surveillance site on the Pans is good. And I’ve got pictures of their house, front and back, as well as copies of their recent renovation blueprints. I think they are a go if there’s ginning to be done.”
“Excellent,” he said. “And the Allisons?”
“I’m heading in their direction now,” Moore said. “You shouldn’t wait up.”
“I will anyway,” Tull said. “I want to see those pictures and the blueprints.”
CHAPTER 32
AROUND ELEVEN SATURDAY EVENING, I was alone in the front room watching the local news when my cell phone buzzed with a text.
Bravo, Cross, you must be one happy pappy now that Jannie has shown the world her true mettle. A stunning achievement. Congrats to all. Your faithful servant—M
My stomach turned at the text’s end and that single letterM. I had been getting these kinds of texts and messages on and off for years, and I was still no closer to identifying M or Maestro, the group of ruthless vigilantes M controlled.
Before that evening’s text, M had been silent for nearly seven months, ever since the explosion that took the life of Emmanuella Alejandro, last of that drug cartel’s leaders. I stared at this latest message, frustrated all over again at my inability to nail M. I wanted to reply to the text, but M always useddark web filters and routing systems to scrub all identifying information, making it impossible to answer.
I had tried changing my phone number several times, to no avail. If M wanted to message me, he always found a way.
Before my irritation could turn to anger, my phone rang. Bree.
“How was your grand evening?” I asked.
“Grand until my cover got blown,” Bree said.
“Ouch.”
“Big ouch and my own fault,” she replied. “I was buying a dress and watching Jannie’s race with Marjorie, the clerk who was helping me.”
“I remember her.”
“She’s related to the target and knew my real name from the credit cards.”
“What happened?”
“I got tossed from the gala.”
“Escorted out?”
“To my town car, and they watched as I was driven away.”
“You tell Elena Martin yet?”
Bree sighed. “She’s my next phone call.”
“Did you find anything useful before you got the heave-ho? Any positives you can report to her?”
After a long pause, she said, “I believe the target is having serious cash-flow problems.”
“Is that the motive to sexually exploit?”
