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“Meaning we have to scour through individual emails to build up a contact listandto gain as much intel as we can from the app?”
“Yes. I’m just relieved it didn’t depend on local storage.”
“Shit, you’re right. That would have screwed us over.”
“It would. Unless the cops have DeLaCroix’s actual phone, of course.”
“I’m sure they have one in evidence but that doesn’t mean it’s the right phone.”
“Yup. So, we’ve got plenty to work with is the good news and I can bring in some bots to start the collation process.
“You’re more integrated with their methods, so do you want to draw up a list of trigger words to feed the bots so they can get to trawling?”
“Sure. I’m just trying to find any information I can on Kuznetsov’s son. So far, no dice. But I’ll get the keyword list to you by tonight.”
“Speaking of tonight…”
She arched a brow at me. “Yes?”
“It’ll take a couple of hours for the protocol I’m running to complete.”
“And?”
“I wondered if you’d like to go on a date with me.”
She sat upright. “You want to go on a date with me.”
“Was there a question in there?”
“No,” was her wary response.
“I didn’t ask you to come on a murder spree with me, Star. Just wanted to know if you felt like eating pizza in Dubrovnik! Although,” I continued with a huff, “knowing you, you’d prefer the murder spree.”
Her grin was immediate. “You’d be right.”
“Thought as much. I don’t have anyone who needs to die yet so you’re shit out of luck.”
The twinkle was back in her eye though. That gave me some satisfaction. She’d been quiet since yesterday evening, going through the motions in a sense once she knew of the girl. We both could imagine what was being done to her, and though we were working to rescue her, it didn’t exactly put either of us in a good mood.
Only after she’d called Kat before bedtime in the US did she switch focus from the girl to working on this case. Around an hour later, I’d fallen asleep on the couch, my own computer humming away on my lap while she worked at the table. Earlier today, after a restful sleep, I’d woken up with her curled at my side again, my rig on the coffee table. Single-handedly, she’d graced me with the two best wakeups I’d ever had—I included Christmas Day among those memories.
Santa Claus had nothing on Star Sullivan.
“What would we do on a date?” was her next wary question.
“Eat.” I paused. “Drink, if you want.”
“Water or alcohol?”
“I can afford both. But if you’re worried about my net worth, by all means,” I mocked, “order still water.”
Her grin peeped out again. “Sassy. What would we discuss?”
“Life?Game of Thrones?Halo? Whatever the hell you want.”
“If we stayed here, we could talk about the case.”
“All the more reason to head out. We’re letting our code do the work for us, Star, so we can go and play. It’s for one night. I think you deserve to let your hair down.”
