“Seems pointless.”
I roll my eyes. “Just tell me.”
“I already did. We got even more than we expected, and now it’s with Betty. She’s popped an extra Ritalin, and said she should have something we can use by morning.”
“Yes,” I say testily. “But what happened, Jake? Start to finish,what happened?”
He sighs heavily. “You know, if you were really grateful to have me back inside you, you’d just take my word for it.”
I whack him on the shoulder. “I’m not. I’m nervous and underinformed. Now. Tell me. What. Happened.”
Jake props himself against the headboard, his hair all mussed from what we’ve been doing. “Fine, but I’ll do you one better.” Hepicks up his phone and starts thumbing through it, his Playboy grin infuriatingly wide. “Wanna see?”
I hold my breath as he offers me his phone. The sound of an engine roars through the speakers, and Jake’s face fills the frame, grinning like he’s hosting some trashy reality TV show.
“Hey there,” he says, leaning back in the passenger seat of Davis’s car. “Name’s Jake Graves-Holland. In the car with me, we’ve got Mrs. Muldoon?—”
He tips the camera toward the backseat, and Betty’s mum waves awkwardly.
“—and Colin Wintergreen.”
Colin throws up two fingers then ducks his head, looking bashful.
“Mrs. Muldoon and Colin are both current employees of Thompson Farms,” Jake says. “And they are legally able to sign visitors onto the premises as long as they accompany them inside and supervise them while they’re there.”
He tilts the camera back to Colin and Mrs Muldoon, who nod.
“Great. Oh, I almost forgot our driver-slash-emergency-sniper over here, Davis Sanderson.”
The lens swings to Davis, who’s hunched over the wheel, his eyes on the road.
“You’re having way too much fun with this,” I mutter to Jake.
“Ah, you sound like Davis. Can’t either of you just let a man enjoy a secret spy mission?”
The camera swerves back to Jake’s face. “For the record, we’re attempting to gain footage of illegal activity taking place at Thompson Farms. If you’re watching this and I’ve been killed in action?—”
“Christ,” Davis cuts in. “Quit showing off for Ada.”
Jake turns the phone back to himself and winks. “Love you, babe. This is all for you. Alright, Operation Kiwifruit Freedom starts… now.”
The image cuts to black. I give him an exasperated look and a quick kiss on the cheek before the screen lights up again.
The shaky footageshows Colin Wintergreen’s broad back, and Mrs. Muldoon striding ahead in her floral blouse, swinging a ring of keys big enough to unlock all of Pukekohe.
Colin presses a palm to the pad beside the double glass door. It flashes green, and the panes flick open.
“Bit intense for a fruit farm,” Video Jake mutters.
“Recent development,” Colin says, and Mrs. Muldoon nods.
They step into the main foyer, where an empty reception desk sits under buzzing fluorescents.
“This way.” Colin leads them down a corridor and into a narrow hallway.
From off-camera, Jake’s voice is warm and easy. “Feels weird walking into this place again. Last time I was here, I was still getting my head bashed in at high school scrum practice.”
They pass a couple of workers in high-vis vests, who look up, do a double-take, and grin.
