Page 48 of Splintered Security
“Thank you. Ren was so handsome. Not that he’s not all the time—” I shut up, realizing I have diarrhea of the mouth and don’t need to give her any more fodder.
A smile quirks his lips, and he gives me a wink, getting me all flustered.
“Want me to send these to you?”
“Please.”
I ask for her number and send the pics, saying mostly to myself but still aloud, “Save as Diana Heidelberg.”
Ren smiles in appreciation and announces, “Dinner is served.”
21
pop off
Ren
Ma has left, and Anni is soaking in the bathtub with a glass of red and enough bubbles for three lifetimes.
Me: Matt Morris gave me your number. He said you can help with research on assets I need backgrounds on. I need the info in less than forty-eight hours. I’m willing to pay. Can you help?
Marissa: Sure, but your money’s no good here. Matt’s referral is enough. Simply return the favor when needed.
Me: Done.
Marissa: Names?
Me: Heath Giltenhouse, Troy Smith, and Jerry “Junior” Conyers. All in Pueblo, Colorado. They should all be between twenty-nine and thirty-five years old. I can get more if you need it.
Marissa: I should be fine. I’ll let you know if I need more.
I set my phone down and let my hands drop to my sides in exhaustion.
The one thing I can’t wrap my mind around is the Rosen-Smith connection. More specifically, why, with his history, Rosen would accept anything from Smith. His family’s comment about trying to outrun a ghost seems eerily spot on. I’d think it was dumb luck that he just happened to be in my bar on my watch, but I don’t believe in luck, so there’s more to it than meets the eye.
The same could be said of Anni being in my bar. Yeah, she came looking for me, but on the same night two people affiliated with the Lost Mountain Rebels were there as well.
The same night a bomb went off.
It’s way too fucking convenient. It makes me itchy. It’s the same feeling I had in the Middle East when shit was about to pop off.
Rosen can’t answer my questions.
Smith surely won’t.
But my wife… she might.
Besides, she’s mere feet away.
I shut down the house, grab the wine bottle, and head for the woman who’s wet and naked in my bathroom.
“Ren?” Her surprise is evident when I plant myself on the edge of the tub and lift the bottle in invitation.
She extends her glass with one hand while readjusting bubbles with the other. “Just a little, please. It’s delicious.”
“How’s your bath?”
“Best thing I’ve done all day and exactly what I needed. Your mom thawed a bit, but I don’t think she was happy.”
