Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I cleared my throat and scanned the registers. Nothing was out of place. Just people shopping, ringing up their purchases, everything exactly as it should have been.
We got to the front, and the clerk rang up the basket as efficiently as Sylvie had thrown things in the cart. Sylvie tapped the screen in front of her with her phone, and a second later the machine let out a low, aggravating beep.
“Sometimes the tap doesn’t work,” the clerk said with an apologetic shrug. “Do you have the card? The chip usually goes through.”
“Yeah, I’ve got the card,” Sylvie said. She slung her backpack off one shoulder and dug around in the front pocket until she pulled out her wallet and shoved in the card.
A circle spun on the screen, and a red X popped up, accompanied by the same low buzz.
“That one’s not working either,” the clerk said. She wrinkled her nose and smiled hopefully. “Do you have another?”
“I do,” Sylvie said, staring down at the card, “but that’s weird because I just paid… Never mind. Here, let’s try this one.”
She pulled out what I saw was a debit card from her bank, popped the chip side in, and three seconds later, we got the same low buzz and red X.
Slowly, she pulled the card out. “I don’t… Everything’s up to date. I did my banking the other day. The accounts aren’t empty.”
“Try another,” I said. “Do you have one?”
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “My backup credit card…” And she tried that.
Another low buzz and red X.
“Eli?” Sylvie asked, a questioning tone in her voice, her golden-hazel eyes sharp with worry.
“Yeah,” I said, beginning to see the full picture. People all around us weren’t having any trouble ringing up their purchases. This wasn’t a problem with the network or the store. This was a problem with Sylvie’s cards. And given the debit card, her bank.
This wasn’t random.
Not good. Blowing up her van was one thing, but messing with her credit cards and bank account was a whole other level of fuckery. I didn’t like what it said about the kind of people we might be dealing with.
Sylvie was digging in her wallet for another card. I raised my hand, wrapping it around hers and the wallet. “Put that away. We’ll deal with it later. I’ve got this.”
“Eli.” She shook her head. “You can’t. I mean, I have money.”
“Not at the moment, you don’t,” I said, realizing I was yet again coming off as kind of a dick, but we needed to keep moving. “You’ll pay me back later.”
“I will,” she said, her eyes showing a spark of panic.
“I know you will.” I pulled out my own wallet and shoved a card in the machine. Two seconds later, APPROVED flashed on the screen. I took back my card and the receipt from the clerk, handing the receipt to Sylvie. “There you go. We’ll figure this out when we get back.”
She nodded, pocketing the receipt. I nudged her forward out of the line, scooping up the bags as soon as we were clear of the registers and clamping a hand on her shoulder, half guiding, half pushing her in front of me. Those cards failing one after the other had sent ice creeping up my spine.
There was a subset of people out there who could put together a car bomb. Not a lot, but enough. There was another subset of people who could fuck with computers enough to shut down banking or credit cards. That was a much smaller group than the number of people who could build a bomb. And the intersection of those two groups? Even smaller. And much scarier.
Somehow, Sylvie, in investigating Emily Shaw, had put herself in their crosshairs. That was not good. And I was the guy tasked with keeping her alive.
This had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.
It was possible that they hadn’t known she’d survived the explosion. Maybe. Though anyone with access good enough to shut down her bank and her cards probably had an eye on the police investigation. Either way, the attempt to use those cards had put her on their radar. I wanted her in the safe house before we figured out what to do next.
Lunchtime traffic slowed us down. By the time we got back to Sinclair Security in Buckhead, both our stomachs were growling. I carried the bags in, saying as I let us in the safe house apartment, “Take your stuff. Go get a shower and get changed. I’ll figure out lunch. Anything you won’t eat?”
She shook her head. “I could use some protein. Other than that, I’ll eat anything.”
“Gotcha,” I said, loading her with her bags.
She took them and disappeared down the hall. As soon as I heard the bathroom door shut, I pulled out my phone and called Cooper, filling him in on the visit to the police station and the trip to the store.