Right now, the only thing that matters is taking down Thompson Farms.
I head back to Nikau Palms just before eight, and knock on Ada’s door. It swings open, bringing me face-to-face with Davis.
My stomach drops ten floors. “Ungh.”
Nice one, Cece.
“Hi.” He ducks his head. “Um, come in?”
I slide past him, trying and failing not to breathe in his delicious cologne. What the hell is he doing here? He should be in Auckland doing chin-ups while building his cat’s investment portfolio. Not in my best friend’s hotel room, wearing ripped black jeans and a khaki T-shirt like G.I. Joe come to life, looking young and hot and like I didn’t yell at him two days ago.
Ada grabs me and spins me into the bedroom as there’s another knock at the door.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she babbles, her voice low. “I forgot to tell you he’s here.”
“Whyishe here?”
“He drove down with Jake and stayed to help us because he was worried. He didn’t want you to know in case you thought he was here for you.”
He’s not here for me.A familiar discomfort pinches my heart. Of course he’s not. Why would he be?
“Oh.” I force a smile. “I’m glad we have as many people here as we can, helping.”
We head back into the main room as Betty, Mrs. Muldoon, and Colin troop in. The room wasn’t designed to hold seven adults easily, but we make it work, dragging the balcony chairs into a loose circle. Davis and I end up on the tiny couch together. He’s so big he has to lean back with one arm behind the cushions to give me space. Mrs. Muldoon is squeezed up on my other side.
I’m shocked by how much older she looks. The last time I saw her was at Rhys’s funeral more than a decade ago. I went to pay my respects, especially because Ada was cut up that she couldn’t make it back from New York. Mrs. Muldoon is younger than my parents, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at her. Grief takes its toll, and it’s hard to see its effect right in front of you. Still, Mrs. Muldoon smiles and asks after my mum and dad, and I do my best to pretend like everything’s fine.
“Okay.” Betty claps her hands. “Let’s cover what we’ve got. Ada?”
“Ah…?” Ada casts a quick look at Mrs. Muldoon, then glances away, cheeks blazing. “Once again, I’m not sure how to begin to explain everything…”
My heart gives another uncomfortable twist. If it’s hard for me to see how much Rhys’s mother has changed, I can only imagine what it’s like for Ada. But before I can jump in and rescue her, Jake pulls Ada onto his lap. Her shoulders drop, and she leans back against his chest, her whole body loosening.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “As it stands, Thompson Farms uses the government’s Recognised Seasonal Employer scheme to source labour. No harm, no foul. Except Thrasher’s getting the workers who are here legitimately to bring over family members on holiday visas, then paying them peanuts underthe table. After last night, we’ve got enough evidence to prove he’s holding passports and confiscating phones so they can’t leave. He’s also shipping the undocumented workers to other farms so they lose contact with their families and have basically no way to get out of the system or file a complaint. Is that about right, Betty?”
“Yeah,” she says grimly. “Some of the passports Jake filmed belong to people who’ve never had a payslip issued to them through Thrasher’s system. It’s modern-day slavery, and it’s illegal as shit. But what’s really fucking crazy is how many people know exactly what’s going on at that place.”
“Like who?” Colin asks uncomfortably. “I didn’t know anything.”
“I don’t mean everyone who’s ever worked for Thrasher is in on everything,” Betty says. “I mean, the farms in Tuakau and Waiuku taking the undocumented workers. The landlords putting them up in shitty apartments. Half the companies selling Thompson Farms machinery and shit. They all know exactly how the sausage gets made.”
She looks right at me, and my pulse skips.
“Cece recorded Will Sharpe last night,” Betty says. “He told her he’s been giving Thrasher personal vehicles to use as gifts for certain workers in exchange for permanent contracts and kickbacks.”
Hearing it laid out like that is so much worse than trying to piece together what was going on from Will’s drunken drivel. And despite my disgust, only a part of me is listening to Betty. Too much of my attention is focused on my right side, where my legs are pressed up against Davis, the warmth of his thigh heating me through our jeans. Every time I breathe, I get a whiff of dark vanilla and coffee, with something else underneath—that familiar Davis scent that’s so good I just want to bury my face in his chest and inhale like a fifteen-year-old huffing spray paint. He doesn’t move while Ada and Betty talk, holding perfectly still. I risk a glance up at him and find he’s doing the same to me.
Sparks burst inside my stomach, along with something like hope.Jesus.I yank my gaze away and try to wrangle my attention back to the conversation.
“…The undocumented workers aren’t just getting abused for labour…” Ada says, as my mind continues to run.
Local conspiracy. Fraud. Worker exploitation. Davis’s hands on my body…
C’mon, Cece, focus.
“Verbal trigger warning,” Ada says flatly. “There’s an uglier side to all of this, if you can even imagine.”
“What?” Colin asks nervously.
