Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“It’s somewhere people aren’t regularly traveling to!”
“Like Annabelle’s property where Jolene crashes when she doesn’t feel like drivin’ back to Crystal Waters!” The epiphany has me practically shouting at Garcia. “Call up Zero!” Slamming the mug on the table barely precedes me repeating the demand. “Call him up now!”
There’s no argument or hesitation from Garcia to do exactly that.
No more than a few swipes later, he’s holding the device out in front of him, all of us waiting for a response. When the first round of calling doesn’t get answered, he tries again.
And again.
And again.
And again, between sips of coffee refusing to be ignored.
Anxiety continues to build until Zero’s soaking wet face finally appears in the frame. “Am I not allowed to fucking shower?!”
Garcia lowers his mouth to retort, although words don’t escape so much as a long, low, rumble.
I know that sound.
Fuck, I make that sound.
In fact, I made that sound not too long ago while Kid came all over my face.
“Is this piece of shit frozen again?” Zero grumps, dramatically moving his lissome figure around, gifting us a shot of his towel bearing status.
“Oh,” airily leaves my fiancé in such a manner that it snaps the phone holder back into gear. “Um…yeah…okay…”
“Don’t okay.” Placing my palm in front of his eyes, I playfully bite, “No okay.”
Light laughs get lost behind possessive puffs out of Garcia, “Maybe don’t flash us your George of the Jungle?”
The reference is clearly lost on the computer wizard given his furrowed brow.
Which I expect.
He’s sitting at the same after school gen lunch table as Kid.
They’ve gotta be around the same age.
“Pretty close to showing us your gears,” calls out the man trying to push my hand down.
“Huh?”
“Your twig and berries, Skynet,” I loudly clarify.
“You know some bears actually eat both twigs and berries?” Zero counters at the same time he focuses the phone back onto his face. “Black bears are probably my favorite of the bunch, which for the save file are not always black.” The information drop is attached to him plopping back into what I assume is his computer chair. “What’d you need?”
“A cold shower,” mindlessly murmurs Garcia under his breath.
After my hand falls back to Kid’s leg, I ask, “Can you trace a call?”
The blank brown eyed stare I’m given is worrisome.
“You can…” cautiously creeps out, “can’t you?”
“Oh, I thought that dumb shit was a rhetorical question.” He places his phone on a stand that gives us a profile shot of his face and runs both hands through his slightly shaggy, chestnut hair. “You know considering how I hacked into Pentagon level security to find out who and how your girl was taken.”
“Very fucking snarky for someone who just learned to ride their bike,” Garcia teasingly scolds on another sip of coffee.
“You just learned how to ride a bike?” Kid curiously asks, voice riddled with excitement. “Type?”
“Ducati Superleggera V4.” Zero energetically waggles his eyebrows. “The Lambo of bikes.”
“I appreciate the comparison, although I don’t appreciate that Ducati isn’t directly owned by Lamborghini.”
“That paperwork is messssyyyyy,” croons the hacker in glee. “You should see their-”
“Can you two pause your fucking playdate for a moment, so you can trace where a call came from?”
Zero smirks, wets his lips, and says to Kid. “TBC.”
My fiancé happily nods. “TBC.”
Between Garcia’s glaring and mine, that shit’s about to stand for “To Be Cockblocked”.
“Number?” is asked alongside clacking of the keys.
Not recalling it by heart leads to me grabbing my phone.
Bringing it back up.
Scooting a bit closer to Kid as I read them out loud.
“Call originated from these coordinates,” he murmurs prior to reading out the address. “Property owned by Annabelle Steel. Hosts weddings. Parties. A pony convention last year.” A couple more clicks bring up information we can’t even see a glimpse of due to being on a separate screen. “The sex kind, not the actual animal.”
In spite of my curiosity pleading with me to investigate that, I stay in my lane. “Can you get like a current aerial shot or view of the property or like a heat detection map or something?”
“What? You think I can just hack into some private company’s secure system,” mocks Zero during quicker and louder typing, “highjack one or two of their thermal imagining satellites,” things flashing on and off the screen we can somewhat see make it difficult to indicate if shit’s going right or wrong, “reprogram them to read that particular piece of land,” more seemingly frantic clattering, “and tell you there are nine active thermal signatures of a human variety spread out across the main property with several smaller ones surrounding the space – most likely wildlife?” He tosses us an overly cocky grin. “Idono, my guy. Seems hard.”
Garcia hides his chortle behind a sip of his coffee.
Oh yeah.
These two fuckers are made for each other.
“That much heat – on a typically empty property – means that’s where they’re held up,” I firmly declare.