Page 134 of Blue

The burn of bile crawled up my throat. My brows furrowed as I fought the emotion filling my eyes. She had a kid. I assumed the little boy holding her hand was her child. He was young, maybe three, and he wore a pair of Mickey Mouse ears.

“Blue?”

I turned at Cruz saying my name. “All I’m seeing are business spreadsheets, his calendar, and typical program fodder. Customer relationship management, email marketing, time management. Accounting. Boring stuff. And nothing that’s going to get us receipts on the sick shit he’s into.”

“What do you need?” Bullet leaned against the desk and lit a cigarette. Carl hated cigarette smoke. The former athlete professed to treat his body like a temple. He tried to convince me it should be worshipped as one, forcing me to my knees, shoving his cock—

“Blue.”

I snapped my gaze to Rogue. “You’re good, man. Dates. Names. Give Cruz something to search on.”

“I haven’t been around for six years.”

“This system isn’t that old,” Cruz said. “A year or two at the most.”

My heart pounded and sweat soaked my shirt. “Can I have a cigarette?”

Rogue arched a brow. I didn’t smoke cigarettes, just weed. Still, he tapped one out of his pack and handed it to me. I clamped it between my lips. The metal wheel of his zippo echoed through the quiet of the room. I inhaled. Cigarettes tasted like shit, but I drew the smoke into my lungs and exhaled, defiling his fucking office, defiling my temple of a body.

Cruz clicked a few more keys. “What a fucking douche? He uses a password manager. Anyone with a year of IT could access this shit.”

That left us three out. Good thing we had Cruz.

“He has some older files in here, but nothing we want. Although, I think the IRS might find this second set of numbers interesting.” He continued to open folders. “There’s a shortcut on his desktop. It has to be an external drive. I’m getting an error message when I try to access it.” Cruz started pulling open desk drawers. “Check the shelves. Look for a drive. It could be as small as a stick of gum, a pack of cigarettes or as big as a shoebox.”

I stabbed my cigarette into the dirt of the potted tree in the corner, twisted off the cherry and ash, and stuffed the butt into my pocket. Then I opened the bottom cabinets of the bookcase. Rogue stood on a chair and checked on top. Nothing.

The office double door handle turned. Rogue and Bullet moved to the rear of the room, out of the line of sight of whoever was coming in and pulled their weapons. Cruz leaned back in the chair and propped his feet on the desk, as if waiting for Carl to join the party.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. Inside, I quivered with the force of the big one, the earthquake capable of complete devastation.

The door swung open.

“Who the fuck are you?” The voice, the tone, the fear. “Get out of my office before I call the cops.”

Carl Douglas dropped a leather satchel next to the door and strode across the room, glaring at Cruz. Same thick dark hair, only now with more gray at the temples. Same fit body from swimming and lifting at the gym. Same fucking style. Suits with tapered legs, expensive fucking shoes, and suit coats that stretched across his broad shoulders.

Carl didn’t need to turn around for me to know the top button on his dress shirt would be undone and the pressed cotton would conform to the muscles of his chest.

A tsunami of emotions washed over me, stealing my breath, and nearly taking me to my knees. Instead, I slid my trembling hands into my pockets. “You don’t want to do that.”

Carl swung around, his gaze narrowing on me. “Brantley? What are you doing here?” His gaze focused behind me to Bullet and Rogue leaning against the bookcase. “What do you want?” His tone took on a more nervous edge. Not surprising. Rogue and Bullet made an impression, and it was one that begged a guy like Carl to fuck with them just so they could pound his head into a curb.

Cruz shifted his feet to the floor, drawing Carl’s attention again. “Where is your F drive?” Cruz twirled his knife in his gloved fingers, then stabbed the point into the desk and carved the tip of the blade into the dark wood.

“I’m calling the police.” Carl jerked his phone from his pocket. Face recognition unlocked the screen.

Bullet crossed the room, closed the door, and twisted the lock.

“You can call the police once we talk.” I took his phone from him and handed it to Rogue. “Check his history, his photos, his messages. Sit down,” I said to Carl, pointing to the chair next to him.

Rogue walked around the desk and gave the phone to Cruz.

“Why don’t we just back it up to your computer,” Cruz said. “We’ll want receipts for anything we find.”

“That’s my private business,” Carl stammered.

Cruz laughed. “Not for long.” He opened desk drawers and found a cord to attached the phone to the computer. “The F drive?” Cruz asked again.

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