Page 73 of Operation Annulment
Mike nods. “Yeah, I called him. He said he could hack the server and pinpoint the location. We’re going to need everyone working on this. I’m trying to keep you out of a jail cell.”
I peer down into the half-empty Styrofoam cup of coffee. “Is there alcohol in this?”
He gets up to pace. “No. Do you need some?”
“No. I’m just confused by everything right now…. I thought I might be drunk.”
Hoped for it, actually.
There’s a light knock on the door, and Mike pulls a gun from the back of his jeans before checking to see who it is. He throws the door open and ushers Zane in.
Who was he expecting to pop up in the middle of the police station?
ISIS?
Zane grabs an empty chair before firing up his laptop. “Jeremy said your pizza is in the oven as we speak.”
Pizza?
Incapable of reprieve, my brain immediately switches gears to something equally painful.
Men will say anything to get laid.
I walk over to the window, pressing my hand to my mouth to stifle the sound of my sobs.
“Hey. Kate, it’s going to be okay.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Jeremy’s making pizza?”
Mike scratches at his beard. “He didn’t tell you?”
My mouth opens and closes in confusion. “I—I’m sorry? What are you talking about? Oh my god.”
I grab a pen and write:
Jeremy’s a hacker?
He nods. “I thought you knew. Shit. Well, no taking it back now. God, I’m fucking starving—that pizza better be done soon.”
Zane rolls his eyes and continues typing.
I sigh. “So, what? He works in real estate and bakes pizzas in his spare time. How does ‘the pizzeria’ fit into all of that?”
“Getting this sorted sometime tonight would be wonderful. I’ve got a wife I’d like to get home to,” Mike complains while peering over Zane’s shoulder. “Please tell me Jarvis has something,”
Zane looks up long enough to flip him off. “You’re not the only one who’d rather be at home, asshole. The pizza wasn’t baking as fast as Jeremy wanted, so he scratched the order and started over.”
I clear my throat. “Again, how does ‘the pizzeria’ factor into this?”
Mike texts someone from his phone, not bothering to look up to answer. “The owner likes buying property—kinda like your sister’s house.”
“He owns Dakota’s house?” I exclaim before nodding. “That makesmore sense than anything I’ve heard over the last month. Okay, go. Bake the pizza or whatever.”
I lean forward in my chair and rest my head on my arms. I’ll just close my eyes for a minute and try to sort this out in my head.
“Pizza’s been delivered—eat up, boys.”
That sounds like Jeremy.
