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My laptop pings and I sit forward to analyze the data on my screen. I enter in more code and let it run. Hopefully, it doesn’t take too long. There’s nothing I can do until my program finishes, so I hop in the shower, shave my legs since it’s been a couple days, as well as my bikini line, and throw on a thermal shirt and my favorite pair of black jeans. The hardwood floor is cold under my feet, so I grab an old pair of wool socks Mum bought me for Christmas one year and sit on the edge of my bed to put them on.
Tears come to my eyes as I stroke the slightly scratchy material. Grief is weird. I’m still angry at her for keeping secrets from me, but I miss her so much. She’d been all I had, my best friend. Swiping away the tears, I put the socks on and head back into the bathroom to comb through my hair. I stare at myself in the mirror picking apart my features. Annoyed that I still look like myself, I go out to the kitchenette and boil some water for tea. Just as the timer goes off on my electric kettle, my computer pings.
I pour myself a cup, grab a couple biscuits off the counter, and head over to my small table and computer. Taking a seat, I start typing, and within seconds, I’ve got bank accounts loaded onto the screen. I scan the transactions, trying to locate the ones of interest. I run a search, but nothing comes up. Still, I keep searching. Fifteen minutes later, I’ve got nothing. I key in a couple more queries. It takes me far longer than it should, but finally, I get a hit.
“Gotcha.”
Grabbing my work phone, I call Padraig back.
“Your friend has an off-shore account where there is a long list of transfers from a bank in Poland. Each deposit is for the same amount and arrives in regular intervals. I’m still waiting on confirmation of the owner of the Polish account, but the money is definitely being transferred in.”
“Thanks,” he says. “Let me know when you have an identity.”
Another ping comes from my laptop. “Looks like it’s all coming from a corporation called Grupa Polska.”
Not very imaginative of them.
“Got it, thanks.”
“I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.” I end the call and set the phone on the table beside my cup of tea that has, no doubt, gone cold. Damn it.
I snatch up one of the biscuits and shove it in my mouth while I go and reheat my drink. Once it’s hot again, I waste no time drinking it down, savoring the slight citrus flavor. There are only two things I splurge on when it comes to purchases. Tech and tea. Probably because they’re the two things I can’t live without.
After I finish off another cup and the second biscuit, I throw my sweatshirt on over my thermal, shove my laptop back in my bag as well as my cell phones, and walk out the door. Once the security alarm is set, I head downstairs. I spend more time out of my flat than I do in it. Probably because I want that space to be my sanctuary away from work. That call from Padraig wasn’t usual. It’s still barely dawn in the States. I’ve usually made it to my workroom before any calls come in.
The cold wind hits me the second I step outside. I pull my hood up over my head and tuck my hands inside my sleeves and front pocket as I make my way down the walkway toward the internet cafe I start my day at before spending the rest of it at my main base. Mum was always disappointed that I don’t have some fancy corporate job, but instead choose to do freelance work. The pay is less, sure, but I more than make up for it with my hacking skills and off the books jobs I’m hired for by people who aren’t always stand-up citizens. I’m choosy about who I work for, though, even if half of them are criminals. I do my research before accepting a job from just anyone. The nice thing is, most of my new clients come my way through a referral from an existing one. Being my own boss is a definite perk. Granted, the hours suck, but it’s something I can live with.
I cut through the narrow passageway between two buildings. The scent of cooked meat wafts around me as well as rubbish as I pass a few bins. It’s usually pretty empty this time of day and it’s the quickest route to the cafe. I hop over a puddle of water gathered beneath a rainspout. The wind is still blistering cold and blowing straight into me. I keep my head tucked down to try and ward some of it off. I’m so focused on the ground, I miss the massive barrier in front of me and collide with it.
“Shit, sorry.” I tip my head up and freeze.
A suit-clad man with a large, mottled scar across one whole side of his face stands there. Trying to bluff my way passed, I apologize again and force my feet to move and walk around him, but he sidesteps and blocks my path. “Mr. Campbell would like you to come with us.”
Mr. Campbell what? And who’s us? Walking the streets alone at crazy hours of the night, I’ve learned not to act intimidated, so I stand as tall as I can, which isn’t much considering I barely come up to his chest. “You can tell Mr. Campbell to go fuck himself. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Is this what he meant this morning by seeing me again? That he was going to send one of his goons after me? The question is, why?
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He takes a step forward—closer—and I turn to run.
Except I don’t make it far. I slam into another brick wall. On instinct, I open my mouth to scream, but a hand claps over it, muffling the sound, and an arm wraps around my waist lifting me off my feet. I’m held against a hard chest. I kick and flail, reaching back to try and punch the guy holding me. His hand is so big, not only is my mouth covered, but so is my nose. I can’t breathe. Still, I try everything to get away until my strength flags and my vision turns black.
CHAPTER FOUR
Liam
My phone buzzes and I check the message. I’ve waited impatiently for the last hour while Darragh and Craig went to retrieve my package. Finally, they’re back. I make my way through my estate until I reach the front door and open it for the new arrivals. First Craig steps past carrying a black messenger bag, his expression blank. Next is Darragh. Slung over his shoulder is a body. I’m guessing she gave them some trouble. Why am I not surprised?
“I’m going to assume she’s merely drugged and not dead?” I ask drily.
“Yes, sir.”
“Place her in the bedroom attached to mine and lock the door on your way out.” He walks away. “And Darragh, I’d take care with her if I were you.”
He nods and disappears down the hallway. I hold my hand out to Craig who passes the bag to me. “Anything of interest?”
He follows me to the kitchen. “Just a laptop, keys, and a couple phones.”
Why does my lovely guest need two phones? I reach inside for the laptop first, set it on the counter, and open it. Without a fingerprint, this is as far as I’m getting it would appear. I shut the top and bring out the cell phones. Both locked with facial recognition. Clearly someone has trust issues. Not that I blame her. I don’t trust anyone either. Something we have in common. Darragh returns as I place the items back in the bag.
