Page 28 of Talk to Me

Or monitors.

I checked the three different bedrooms.

Two were clearly unused for anything. Based on the dust, no one went in or out. Or touched anything.

The third bedroom was done up in purple, but also neat. A stack of books decorated the nightstand. A television occupied the wall opposite the bed and there were a couple of tablets just laying on the bed.

Tablets.

But no computers?

This was Patch’s house. It had to be.

That meant she had to have a computer room.

It wasn’t up here, on the ground floor or in the garage.

Basement was the next logical choice.

I was on the stairs when the backdoor opened.

Chapter

Nine

LOCKE

Denver, Colorado. Not a city I could recall spending much time in. If at all. I liked bigger cities, Manhattan, Los Angeles, even Miami. I liked the culture of Europe. Denver had—a really big horse statue. A blue one.

No doubt there was a story there. I filed that away for later. For now, I opened up a piece of gum, slid it in to chew then kept watch on the assassin heading for his own vehicle. Dumb luck hitched me to Michael Remington’s trail. Well, dumb luck and blowing a lot of capital.

I’d gotten nowhere reviewing all the old messages I’d stored on a private server. I’d also gone through a handful of information specialists—none of them the best because clearly that was Patch. Still, they didn’t get anywhere either. Finding her was like looking for the most perfect needle in an infinite haystack.

All I needed was a starting point. Acquiring difficult to find items was my speciality. I didn’t think I’d be able to snag an address. If I could narrow it down to a location, it would improve my odds. The only way I didn’t find her was if I gave up.

My mother didn’t raise a quitter.

She didn’t raise me either, but still—my point stood.

Derrick returned my call when I left him a message that it would wipe out his debt to me and I might even owe him a favor. It was a lot of capital. Derrick was plugged into most of the information networks in the country. The man loved to eavesdrop on everything, it gave him good leads and he could be a fount of information.

But he was also a hoarder and hated to part with any of it. The more secretive, the more he liked to hold onto it. He only owed me because someone had “stolen” a mint condition rocket-firing Boba Fett prototype. Only a couple of dozen were ever made and they were never on sale.

The “thief” had outbid him. So, Derrick reached out to me and offered me three times the value of the thing to get it for him—a toy. Not that I judged, but it was still just a toy. The scarcity of it increased its value, but he didn’t want it because it was so expensive—he wanted it because it was so rare.

And the only Star Wars rare toy he didn’t own.

I jokingly told him I’d get it for him for the fee plus three favors.

He agreed without argument.

I delivered the toy four days later.

Despite him owing me the favors, I’d never felt the need to cash in before. Patch changed everything.

“Give me ten minutes,” was all he said before he hung up. He didn’t keep me waiting longer than five.

“Can’t do it. Donnie’s been digging for this guy Michael Remington. Dude has a kill count like you wouldn’t believe. Sorry man. Not gonna happen. I’d rather keep my head and just owe you a different favor.”