Page 55 of The Wolves Come at Night
“Angel investor. I was approached by a fellow from Oxford who wants to invest. I’d been planning to pitch some VCs—that’s venture capital, the companies that invest in startups—but he came with a sweeter opportunity. He offered twenty million and only wanted a point in return. I couldn’t say no. He won’t touch me now. No one in their right mind would.” He sighed heavily, and she heard the edge of tears in his voice. “This app is finished.”
Taylor stared out the windows, thinking. “Before you pull the plug on your nascent entrepreneurship, Simeon, tell me about this ‘angel.’ Who is he, what access does he have to the app, and when did you talk to him last?”
“You can’t think…bollocks, the bloke has access to it all. I had to show him the code to explain the possibilities, how I wanted to scale up. It was on a secure call, but…surely not, Captain. I would feel a right git if someone had offered me a sweet deal and simply walked in my front door.”
“Sometimes the best criminals are the ones who screw you to your face, Simeon. Send me his details. Let me do some checking. And do not, under any circumstances, shut down the app. If someone is using it for their own purposes, we don’t want to scare him off. I still need to see the records for last Tuesday, when Carson and Izz hiked the hill. See if anyone else had the coordinates.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get everything to you straight away. The angel’s name is Gareth Maughan.”
“Is he well known in the industry? Someone easily tracked down?”
“No. Which is the only reason I haven’t agreed to the deal. I was still doing my due diligence on his background. I’m too cynical by half, I’m afraid.”
“Send me all you’ve done to track him, too. And thank you, Simeon. For being honest with me.”
“I want her found as much as you do, I reckon. Maybe more.”
“Maybe,” Taylor said and hung up the phone. She called Lincoln, who yawned a hello.
“Sleeping on the job?”
“Flynn caught a stomach flu. We were up all night. What’s happening?”
“I have data coming. Will you be able to run it?”
“Depends on what it is, but sure. What is it?”
“Simeon Chase’s app was hacked, he’s the source of the malware on Carson’s phone. And he was recently approached by an angel investor named Gareth Maughan, who claims to be from Oxford, England. He offered a twenty-million-dollar investment for one point in return. Simeon showed the man the base code for the app, so there’s a chance Maughan or his company have something to do with the hack. Also, Simeon is running the coordinates from Radnor to see if any of his players got the same ones. If we can find Georgia Wray’s burner phone, we can see if she got the same coordinates. It’s a big stretch, but with what Georgia’s parents told me, I have to look at every possibility.”
“Marcus told me you were running with the idea that the killer got the wrong girl. Do you think that’s the case? He was after Carson all along, and Georgia and Jason got in the way?”
“I don’t know. I feel like I’m grasping at straws. But something is hinky with the app, it’s definitely been compromised. And we know Carson was having issues with her phone, and we haven’t found the burner phone Georgia’s parents told me she was using to contact them, either. There’s something here.”
“I’ll start the second you get me the info.”
“Thanks, Linc. You’re the best.”
She could hear the grin in his voice. “Don’t you forget it.”
She paced until Simeon Chase sent her a text that he had the data ready. She sent him Lincoln’s way, knowing between the two of them, they’d find something worth looking at. Her gut was screaming at her. She was more than happy to listen.
That sorted, she pulled on her hiking boots and headed to Radnor Lake.
Maybe there was more to be found on the mountain.
Twenty-Seven
The intense rains had left behind perfectly crisp fall weather—deep blue skies, low humidity, a tiny chill in the midday breeze. Yellow leaves littered the path. It was Taylor’s absolute favorite time of year, the moment summer’s back was broken and autumn paraded in. Summer seemed to last longer here in Nashville than it used to, well into September. Soon enough there would be cozy nights under blankets—though this year, their home’s coziness was going to be manufactured: the fire was gas, not roaring, chuckling wood, and the view didn’t encompass woods and deer, but soaring falcons and twinkling lights.
Quit it, she said silently, while rebelliously reveling in the woods surrounding her, taking deep breaths of fresh air as she climbed. You chose to move downtown. But at heart she was a country mouse—always had been. She missed nature, missed getting lost in the trees. If this wasn’t such a somber errand, she’d damn well enjoy it.
The dogs were all business, a soft-eyed brown Labrador and a Bernese mountain beauty that came up to her waist, and she was a tall woman, nearly six feet in socks. The Bernese was a sweetie; the Lab, too. They had hard work to do, depressing, difficult, though rewarding in its morbid way. Their handler, Donna Christie, was also gentle and kind. Taylor knew she was a big reader, and respected her love for both her books and her dogs.
Together they hiked beside Taylor and Marcus, gamely trudging up the mountain. The path was steep enough that everyone was breathing heavily when they emerged into the small clearing by the graveyard.
“Will the graves throw them off?” Taylor asked, and Donna shook her head.
“Chances are they’ll alert, you know they can pick up scents of bodies that have long since crumbled into dust. Did you know there are archeologists using dogs to search for ancient Egyptian tombs? Pretty incredible, if you ask me. I’d like to see it in action. So would the girls. Wouldn’t you, babies?”
