The millionaire returns to his computer and shouts at the Jason app. “Dammit. Try insurance dashcams.”
Rubbing his face, he meets my stare. “Someone erased every fucking video in the area. How is that possible?” Clearly, he cares more for our new employee than he’s letting on.
My little woman wakes, kisses me, and after stealing a sip of my coffee, raises a shade to view the pitch black below.
Taking a few deep breaths, she places a hand on his shoulder. “Unlike Oliver wanted us to believe, the cloud is not impervious to hackers.”
Patel hands her a mug, then she sits in the empty chair next to our client. “You shouldn’t worry about her. You’ve seen her resume. I’m sure she’s holding her own.”
Eyes shining, he swallows hard, and looks away until an alarm sounds, breaking the awkward silence.
Sam leans over. “It’s Jason, he found something.”
Wearing thick glasses, the meme peers forward. “I have found an image of Landy. Would you like to see it?”
“Fuck yes.” As the jet makes it’s descent, our client holds his laptop so all three of us can see.
He rewinds and pauses at a moment in time. “Stop. There.”
With their backs to the street, two men grab the forearms of a woman and force her into a blue van.
Well-versed in the AI program’s operation, my partner reacts first. “Jason, can you identify these men?”
Dash growls. “I’d recognize those red, skinny jeans anywhere. I’m certain the taller one was playing foosball at CloudTekToys.”
“Excellent. That’s a start.” My wife moves the mouse back and forth but the license plate stays hidden from view.
“Jason, can you find this vehicle?” As we wait, our wheels touch down and the loud whooshing prevents more discussions.
A few seconds later a picture pops up of the Chevy, abandoned on the side of the road.
“Fuck!” The frustrated bounty hunter punches the screen and as the expensive device flies across the floor, he puts his head in his hands.
Stooping, I pick up the computer and hand it to Sam. “Keep working the case. I’ll deal with him.”
We’re standing in line for a rental car when Jason finds another clue. Apparently, Mr. Red Pants used a credit card in a town near the Canadian border.
Delighted, my partner squeals as she types an address into my phone. “We can be there in less than an hour.”
Chapter Twenty
Sam
While my husband struggles to keep the BMW on the road, Dash fidgets, constantly checking his phone. “Can’t you go any faster?”
Suds grips the wheel. “I suppose so, but we might arrive in body bags.”
With wet flakes falling, the temperature hanging around freezing, and the morning fog thick, I’d say eighty miles per hour is more than adequate.
Perhaps our benefactor needs a distraction. I swivel around to face behind. “So, how long have you been a bounty hunter?”
The handsome millionaire does a double take. “Who said I was?”
“Super Special DEA Agent Young.” I use my superior tone, the one made famous by my seventh-grade science teacher, Sister Marian McGee.
Unruffled, the backseat driver scoffs. “That man has an overactive imagination.”
“Can you honestly say you’ve never collected a large sum of money for locating an international criminal?” My eyes narrow as I purse my lips.Time to fess up, dude.
