Page 17 of Final Sins

Alex’s fingers hovered over her keyboard, poised to input whatever choice the group finally landed on. The sooner they decided, the sooner she could start weaving the intricate web of digital breadcrumbs that would support the man’s new life. And more importantly, the sooner she could get Jason Reilly out of her underground sanctuary, and out of her life.

She breathed deep, trying to center herself amidst the cacophony of voices. “Alright, let’s try this again. Mr. Munsinger?—”

“Gravy,” the guy interrupted, right on cue.

Alex bit back a sigh. It was going to be a long afternoon.

She rubbed her temples, the tension kindling a dull ache behind her eyes. “Mr. Munsinger, what about?—”

“Gravy,” the man insisted for the umpteenth time. “Call me Gravy.”

Alex shot a look at Jason, who merely shrugged, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

The computer blinked, offering its latest suggestion: “Retired lighthouse keeper in Nova Scotia.”

Gravy’s face scrunched up. “Do I look like a lighthouse kind of guy?”

“You could learn,” Mac offered helpfully.

“How about somewhere warm?” Jason chimed in. “Gravy’s always talking about beaches.”

“What about a surf instructor in Bali?” Gabriel suggested.

Gravy perked up. “Now we’re talking!”

“Can you even surf?” Liv asked skeptically.

“I can learn,” Gravy replied, undeterred.

Alex pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is why we let the computer do this.” The program she’d created was a masterpiece that she tweaked after every new client. Input aptitudes, personality traits, likes and dislikes and let the software come up with ideas. Her program was tuned to finding workable—and enjoyable—new lives that clients could actually maintain for as long as necessary.

Jason’s brow furrowed. “I’m surprised you didn’t have all this ready to go.”

“The people we work with don’t plan their disappearances. Typically, people deny they’re in danger until the very last second. Then it’s all ‘help me disappear NOW.’” She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. This is what we do. Our usual procedure is to get the client out of danger and drop them on one of the off-grid luxury resorts we’ve vetted while we take a couple weeks to work our magic.”

“So we’re stuck here for weeks?” Jason’s tone held a hint of challenge.

“Not here. And not you. Mr. Mun—I mean Gravy, will need to vacation while we attend to all the details, but you’re free to go. Now would be good.”

She turned back to the screens, determined to find a solution that would satisfy everyone—and more importantly, get Jason Reilly out of her hair.

Bali was not happening. The last place she’d put a guy with Gravy’s apparent lack of sense was a mega-popular tourist area. He liked beaches. And mountains. She keyed the info into the program and waited.

Jason’s voice, low and intense, caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder, watching as he paced, phone pressed to his ear.

“What do you mean, Seven-Five?” The edge in his voice chilled her.

She tried to focus on her work, but found herself straining to hear every word.

“How can you be sure?” he asked, his free hand clenching into a fist. “So they could have been after Gravy. Or me.”

He paused, clearly listening. “Copy that. I agree. It doesn’t much matter which of us they’re after. They’ll take both.”

Alex swiveled in her chair, abandoning all pretense of not listening. Her eyes narrowed as Jason continued.

“No, absolutely not. You’re not coming here,” he ordered, his voice sharp. “I want Jane and Kellen, Tenaya and Avery, all of you, as far away from this as possible.”

The protective streak in his voice was unmistakable, and despite her growing anger, Alex felt a twinge of something she couldn’t name. Respect? Admiration? She quickly squashed the feeling.

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