Page 109 of Beautiful Revenge
“You can, and you will. Maybe this will be incentive not to fuck up the next job.”
“But—"
The line goes dead.
“It can’t be,” I mutterinto the phone after Turner ends the call.
Ozzy isn’t fazed and powers through like this is a normal job for Crew Vega, when it fucking isn’t.
This is so much more.
This is life changing.
“I’m creating a file now to run that voice against every database I have access to. We’ll see if it hits. But before that, we need to get with your Chief and let him know Turner is listening to his calls.”
I drag a hand down my face and stare unseeing across the waiting room that looks like it’s from three decades ago. I can’t form words. That war between my gut and brain is raging.
And my gut is winning.
Because everything my brain is trying to rationalize flies out the damn window with what I just heard.
The voice.
“I need a second,” I say through a gravelly tone.
“We don’t have a second,” Ozzy argues. “We need a roundabout way to get hold of the Chief. Who can you call on the side that can get in contact with him?”
“Oz—”
He interrupts me. “This is just the break we needed. He may still be faceless, but not for long. I can find a needle in a haystack with a voice recording?—”
“Ozzy!” I bite out for no reason other than to shut him up. I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut. I need to say it out loud. If anything, Ozzy can prove that I’ve officially lost my mind. “Before you spin your wheels, I need you to do me a favor.”
The sarcasm bleeds through the line. “Of course. Anything for you, Donnelly. Let me add it to the long list of favors I’m checking offyour list.”
I slam my laptop shut and lean back in my chair. “I want you to run that voice against one name.”
Genuine curiosity replaces sarcasm. “You know who that is?”
I shake my head and will myself to be wrong. “I don’t know. There’s so much going on right now, I may be wrong. Hell, I’d better be bloody wrong, because if I’m not?—”
A voice hits me from behind. “What do you hope to be wrong about?”
I turn to find Harlow standing at the hall that leads to her father’s room.
Her long blonde hair frames her face and falls down her shoulders in loose waves. She’s makeup free and wearing loose sweatpants and a T-shirt that professes her love for Pilates.
“Devon, did I lose you?” Ozzy asks.
“I’m here,” I say without looking away from Harlow.
“What name do you want me to run that voice against?”
“Something is wrong.” Harlow stares at me through her worried dark eyes. “What happened?”
I’ve got shit coming at me from all directions. Shit that used to plague me to the point I lost sleep and my sanity—like losing a mate and a career, both of which I loved to my core—suddenly feels inconsequential.
I speak to Harlow and Ozzy at the same time. “Bancroft.”
