Tabby laughed.
“I’ll send you a couple of photos, Vladimir Petrov and Harley Graves. Graves has an Aryan gang tat on his neck. Might get lucky, turn up a connection to Weaver.”
“All right, I’ll see what I can find out. If that’s it, I need to get to work. Stay out of trouble, you two.” The line went dead.
“I wonder how you get someone to give you five million dollars in exchange for weapons you don’t have,” Jessie said.
“Good question. Might not be that hard if you have something the buyer really wants.”
“Like a truckload of chemical weapons.”
“Yeah.” Bran rose from his chair. “I’m going to shower. If you need the internet, now would be a good time.”
She just nodded and watched him walk away, all broad shoulders, long legs, and a sexy male behind. She couldn’t help wishing last night had gone differently.
She sighed as she sat down at his software-protected computer to check her email. Knowing her best friend in Denver would be worried, she dropped her a note. She and Hallie Martinez had been best friends since college, both students at the U of Denver. They had met when they dated two men who were close friends, discovered they had a lot in common, and stayed close over the years. They hadn’t seen each other since Jessie had left for Dallas in search of Brandon Garrett.
Jessie told Hallie she was back in Colorado, still working to prove her father’s innocence, now with Bran’s help.
When she finished updating her friend, she worked on her article for Kegan’s Korner, the blog she wrote for the digital website, Factfinders.com. Several other sites also usually picked up her work, which was how she made her living.
The article she’d been writing before her father had died concerned a small Colorado town with an aging water system similar to the one in Flint, Michigan. Many of Drover City’s health problems were the same. Her research was completed. She just needed to write the last few pages and summarize her conclusions. With everything that had happened, she had put it off far too long.
At least money wasn’t a major factor. Her dad had left her a small inheritance, giving her the freedom to work at her own pace. It also gave her the time she needed to find the men who had murdered him and stolen twenty-five million dollars’ worth of chemical weapons.
She needed to finish the article and send it off so that she could get back to the urgent job of trying to save lives—hers and Brandon’s included.
Jessie put her head down and went to work.
