“I doubt he was thinking about the long term.” I clicked the in-box tab, and Marc’s messages began filling the screen. On top was the e-mail Michael had sent from our father’s account. “I can’t even stomach the thought…” I clicked to open Michael’s e-mail, and there it was: an electronic invoice from the Seguridad Corporation, based in Mexico City, with Milo Mitchell listed as the buyer. The dumbass was stupid enough to use his real name.
But Calvin Malone’s name did not appear on the invoice. If he was involved—and I found it hard to believe he wasn’t—he hadn’t been dumb enough to leave evidence. He’d probably conned Mitchell into getting his paws sticky by promising him favors once Malone took over the council.
Of course, that wasn’t going to happen, and the invoice on Marc’s screen would help make sure of that.
Down the hall, the bathroom door creaked open, and I rose. But then footsteps clomped on the recently restored hardwood, and the door slammed shut. Scowling, I dropped into the chair again, and moments later Jace appeared in Marc’s bedroom doorway—a truly odd place to see him—smelling of hand soap and the Coke he’d had on the drive.
I waved him in, and Jace sat on the only remaining chair in the room, an old orange wing-back badly in need of new upholstery. “So, how far does the signal carry?”
“Nearly a hundred miles,” Michael said, then slurped a drink of something, right in my ear.
“How do you track the signal?” Jace asked, and my brother heard him easily in spite of his distance from the phone.
“There’s a handheld receiver with a small display. You type in the serial number from whichever chip you want to track, and it’ll locate the chip and give the location either with a street address, or longitude and latitude coordinates. It even shows a map.”
“Wow,” Dan said, and I glanced up to find him watching me from the doorway. “Too bad Marc was never implanted. If he hadda been, we could probably find him with no problem, huh?”
I had to admit that my bladder was screaming in that moment, and I was already on my feet, ready to kick Dr. Carver out of the restroom. But before I’d even tossed the phone to Jace, so he could continue the conversation in my absence, I froze as what Dan had said sank in.
“Son of a bitch!”
“What?” Dan’s forehead furrowed, and he arched his eyebrows expectantly.
“Marc does have a chip! We’re all a bunch of idiots!” I sank back into the desk chair and swiveled to face them both, the phone still pressed to my ear.
“Speak for yourself,” Michael said, following another gulp of whatever he was drinking. “I had no idea Marc was implanted.”
“He wasn’t.” I glanced at Jace to see if he was following, and he was right there with me.
“Marc has Eckard’s chip,” he said, a smile turning up both sides of his mouth. And finally his dimples peeked out at me for the first time during the longest, most hellish day of my life.
“Hell, I forgot about that,” Dan said, as Michael groaned over the phone. We’d all forgotten about that.
“So, if we had one of those signal readers, we could track him?” Dr. Carver asked, edging past Dan and into the room.
“Or anyone else with a functioning chip,” Michael said.
Jace stood, looking almost as excited as I was. “Assuming Marc didn’t destroy it.”
“He didn’t.” There was no doubt in my mind. “He’s trying to bring it to us as evidence, so he’d keep it intact.”
“I hope you’re right,” Michael said into my ear, and over the line springs squealed as he rose from the desk chair. “And I hope you know where to get your hands on a handheld tracker. Because they cost eight thousand dollars, and require six to eight weeks for shipping.”
I frowned, but Jace only grinned. “Surely Kevin Mitchell has one. If he’s the one implanting strays for his father, he’d need to be able to test the chips to make sure they’re working.”
“Let’s hope.” I spun around to face the desk again and powered on Marc’s printer, then poked the Print Screen button on the keyboard. The printer hummed to life, then scrolled a blank sheet of paper through the slot. “Thanks for the invoice, Michael. Hopefully it’ll be enough to make Ben Feldman talk. And I’m willing to bet he’s going to want a few words with the tom responsible for the illegal body-tapping.” I paused, already heading for the hall, and the bathroom. “Can you fill Daddy in? Tell him I’ll report after we talk to Feldman.”
Michael agreed, and I flipped my phone closed, then shoved it into my pocket.
“Jace, give Vic a call and catch him up. We’re leaving in five minutes.” With that, I jogged into the bathroom and kicked the door shut at my back.
“Well, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” Ben Feldman watched me through his screen door, his gaze flicking only momentarily to Jace and Dan over my shoulder. Dr. Carver had stayed behind to get everything set up to treat Marc, now that his return looked more probable.
I smiled and did my best to look affable. Which wasn’t hard, considering the miraculous lead we’d just stumbled upon. “What can I say? I’m stubborn.”
“As am I.” Feldman scowled. “My answer hasn’t changed. I won’t hand Kevin Mitchell over to you without proof he’s involved in the microchips.”
But Calvin Malone’s name did not appear on the invoice. If he was involved—and I found it hard to believe he wasn’t—he hadn’t been dumb enough to leave evidence. He’d probably conned Mitchell into getting his paws sticky by promising him favors once Malone took over the council.
Of course, that wasn’t going to happen, and the invoice on Marc’s screen would help make sure of that.
Down the hall, the bathroom door creaked open, and I rose. But then footsteps clomped on the recently restored hardwood, and the door slammed shut. Scowling, I dropped into the chair again, and moments later Jace appeared in Marc’s bedroom doorway—a truly odd place to see him—smelling of hand soap and the Coke he’d had on the drive.
I waved him in, and Jace sat on the only remaining chair in the room, an old orange wing-back badly in need of new upholstery. “So, how far does the signal carry?”
“Nearly a hundred miles,” Michael said, then slurped a drink of something, right in my ear.
“How do you track the signal?” Jace asked, and my brother heard him easily in spite of his distance from the phone.
“There’s a handheld receiver with a small display. You type in the serial number from whichever chip you want to track, and it’ll locate the chip and give the location either with a street address, or longitude and latitude coordinates. It even shows a map.”
“Wow,” Dan said, and I glanced up to find him watching me from the doorway. “Too bad Marc was never implanted. If he hadda been, we could probably find him with no problem, huh?”
I had to admit that my bladder was screaming in that moment, and I was already on my feet, ready to kick Dr. Carver out of the restroom. But before I’d even tossed the phone to Jace, so he could continue the conversation in my absence, I froze as what Dan had said sank in.
“Son of a bitch!”
“What?” Dan’s forehead furrowed, and he arched his eyebrows expectantly.
“Marc does have a chip! We’re all a bunch of idiots!” I sank back into the desk chair and swiveled to face them both, the phone still pressed to my ear.
“Speak for yourself,” Michael said, following another gulp of whatever he was drinking. “I had no idea Marc was implanted.”
“He wasn’t.” I glanced at Jace to see if he was following, and he was right there with me.
“Marc has Eckard’s chip,” he said, a smile turning up both sides of his mouth. And finally his dimples peeked out at me for the first time during the longest, most hellish day of my life.
“Hell, I forgot about that,” Dan said, as Michael groaned over the phone. We’d all forgotten about that.
“So, if we had one of those signal readers, we could track him?” Dr. Carver asked, edging past Dan and into the room.
“Or anyone else with a functioning chip,” Michael said.
Jace stood, looking almost as excited as I was. “Assuming Marc didn’t destroy it.”
“He didn’t.” There was no doubt in my mind. “He’s trying to bring it to us as evidence, so he’d keep it intact.”
“I hope you’re right,” Michael said into my ear, and over the line springs squealed as he rose from the desk chair. “And I hope you know where to get your hands on a handheld tracker. Because they cost eight thousand dollars, and require six to eight weeks for shipping.”
I frowned, but Jace only grinned. “Surely Kevin Mitchell has one. If he’s the one implanting strays for his father, he’d need to be able to test the chips to make sure they’re working.”
“Let’s hope.” I spun around to face the desk again and powered on Marc’s printer, then poked the Print Screen button on the keyboard. The printer hummed to life, then scrolled a blank sheet of paper through the slot. “Thanks for the invoice, Michael. Hopefully it’ll be enough to make Ben Feldman talk. And I’m willing to bet he’s going to want a few words with the tom responsible for the illegal body-tapping.” I paused, already heading for the hall, and the bathroom. “Can you fill Daddy in? Tell him I’ll report after we talk to Feldman.”
Michael agreed, and I flipped my phone closed, then shoved it into my pocket.
“Jace, give Vic a call and catch him up. We’re leaving in five minutes.” With that, I jogged into the bathroom and kicked the door shut at my back.
“Well, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” Ben Feldman watched me through his screen door, his gaze flicking only momentarily to Jace and Dan over my shoulder. Dr. Carver had stayed behind to get everything set up to treat Marc, now that his return looked more probable.
I smiled and did my best to look affable. Which wasn’t hard, considering the miraculous lead we’d just stumbled upon. “What can I say? I’m stubborn.”
“As am I.” Feldman scowled. “My answer hasn’t changed. I won’t hand Kevin Mitchell over to you without proof he’s involved in the microchips.”
