AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“People know how to beat them.” Charley eyed me while quirking her brow, letting me know I’d shown my hand during that icebreaker round.
“I’m sure Brant is involved,” Gray declared before I could speak up. “My guess is he sent someone he trusted to do his dirty work, though.”
“Right, of course.” Charley nodded in agreement, and Lucy gave Charley’s forearm a reassuring squeeze.
“So, what’s in Colombia?” I asked again, diverting my focus to Carter.
“The blackmail video Shannon secretly took during her first meeting with who hired her,” Carter shared. “We need his face so we can run it through our system. If he works for Brant Luther, we might get a hit through CCTV footage for his last whereabouts. And wherever he is, I’m betting Brant will be, too.”
“And hopefully the missing women,” Gwen said without looking up as she continued to type on the keyboard. She was probably still diligently trying to track down Brant while waiting for the video from Camila.
“So, did Shannon tell Camila what he looks like? Or maybe how this all happened?” Lucy asked, still holding her sister’s arm.
My eyes were drawn back to Charley. Although she didn’t get that great of sleep last night in the Jeep, the shower and sex seemed to have revived her a bit. She looked more alert and fresher now than when we’d arrived. Her hair was hanging wet over her black long-sleeved shirt, and I was just glad Carter had thought to have whoever shopped for us buy bras.
“Shannon said there were two men, but the second guy stood there like security while the one guy did the talking. According to her, the man in charge was about fifty but appears to take good care of his health, so he looks more like forty,” Mya answered, jerking my focus back to her. “Light brown hair. Green eyes. Beard. American accent.” Mya set aside the iPad and pushed away from the desk. “Shannon claims she had no clue any contestants went missing. She said the guy showed up before the start of the second season and offered her money to allow him input on who made it to the final three.”
“And did he have a say in how the women were selected?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“No. He gave her some preferences, but he never had a hand in choosing who was on the show,” Mya answered. “She said he never even asked for the contestants’ names ahead of filming.”
“You’d think he’d want more involvement.” Shannon has to be lying, and she managed to beat the polygraph test. “So, what happened when he made her the offer?”
“Shannon said she turned him down. He left her alone for a few weeks, only to reach out online with an interesting, and very illegal, incentive to change her mind,” Mya explained. At least that part sounded somewhat legit.
“Bribery and blackmail, the pillars of criminal activity,” Gwen tossed out with a shake of the head.
“At that point,” Carter picked up, “Shannon was all in. He also required her to email him all recorded footage at the end of each night to a specific address on the dark web,” he added, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. The man looked exhausted, and fatigue wasn’t a look I was used to seeing him sport.
“He probably gives the footage to Brant to watch,” Charley murmured, eyes trained on the burgundy carpet beneath her bare feet.
“I’m struggling to believe Shannon was ignorant to the fact women were going missing after taping each season,” I said, thinking back to his requests for “specifics” when it came to who he’d prefer selected.
“And we heard her voice on the call. Shannon was working with the cartel’s men. Gave them our locations from the tracker in our bag,” Gray pointed out.
“Yeah, but even then . . .” Gwen’s words trailed off. I looked her way, waiting for her to finish that sentence, but her attention was fixed on Carter. Guess that part wasn’t her story to tell.
Carter’s spine went stiff, and he rotated his neck. “Apparently, this guy ran our faces to get IDs and used some of our backgrounds to motivate her. I’m wanted by the government for . . . things. Charley for murder. Mya’s a former journalist.”
“Oh.” Charley raked her fingers through her wet hair, drawing in a deep breath.
“Our unknown suspect convinced her we were dangerous. Told her Mya would expose the truth in a story about her show,” Carter went on. “He cut a deal with some of the cartel’s men, and Shannon was their point of contact. He ordered the impromptu jungle adventure, so it’d look like an accident when we were captured. Just one of those things that could happen if you ventured into the cartel’s territory.”
“Regardless of how much Shannon did or didn’t know, she’s guilty in my book,” Gray said, securing his arms across his chest.
“Agreed. As soon as Camila goes to Shannon’s bank in Colombia and retrieves the video, she’ll send it our way. Then we can work on getting a hit on his identity, as well as his silent friend.” Carter turned his attention to Gwen. “In the meantime, Mya and Gwen are hunting for clues as to Brant’s whereabouts.”
“Can you trace the videos Shannon sent electronically to our mystery guy?” I asked Gwen.
“I need her laptop and a bit more to go on. I’m swimming in the dark using this piece of shit. I’d have more luck with a Nokia phone from the nineties,” Gwen remarked while flicking the screen of the cartel’s computer.
“Hopefully, we’ll get photos and names, and we won’t need her to do that,” Carter said.
I finally pushed away from the bookshelf and shoved my hands into my jean pockets, unsure what to do with myself. I felt freaking useless, and I hated it. But then an unexpected idea sailed through my mind seemingly out of nowhere, and I lifted my eyes to the ceiling, processing it. “Camila wanted us on this op, and it’s somehow connected to Cape Town, which means Brant must be connected to our job in South Africa. My guess is Camila didn’t know his name then. What if that stolen tech we stopped from being sold was stolen by Brant’s crew, and that’s—”
“What do you mean ‘Camila wanted us on this op’?” Carter cocked his head, staring me down. Damnit, I’d forgotten Camila explicitly told Gray that Carter couldn’t know this op wasn’t Gwen’s.
Time to start backpedaling. “I mean . . . it was fate I met Charley in Cape Town, and they’re friends, so—”
