Chapter 2
Black
Our search quickly burned through half the stack of money Blue left us.
Green used the money to pay off a pricy private investigator in Seattle to run parallel searches while Red stayed chained to his laptop in the temporary apartment we snagged near the airport.
The rest of the haul, whatever Blue stole from Lamott, plus our own take from Cartwright was gone, scattered to the wind in her busted-up van.
We didn’t call the cops, and we certainly didn't call the owners of the house. Our world was silent, focused on one goal, finding our fourth.
The six and a half weeks since Halloween had been a blur of desperation and surveillance.
We took every picture from the walls of that rich prick’s office, every obituary, and fed it to Red’s custom search engine and kept digging until we had her real name.
Just as we suspected, our girl was a victim of that asshat.
It was her mom’s obituary mixed in with all the others on those walls.
The newspaper crinkles under my grip, the headline screaming about some “mystery gift giver” in Seattle.
Twelve more families have come forward stating that they received envelopes of $10,000 cash along with a note offering condolences for the loss of a loved one.
That brings the reported number to 68 families that received a whopping total of $680,000.
The one thing these families all have in common is the death of a loved one from not being able to financially access the medication needed to manage their condition.
Some are speculating these anonymous cash gifts are from disgraced Big Pharma CEO Chad Lamott, who was arrested last month for fraud and insider trading in a bid to garner sympathy with the jury pool before he heads to trial.
Mr. Lamott is best known for buying the patent of a…
I toss the paper onto the table with an amused scoff.
That money isn’t from that asshole Lamott.
It’s his money, sure…or it was until Blue cleaned out his safe.
The fact that she fucked us over? I was pissed as hell at first, ready to tear the world apart to find her.
But now? It makes my dick harder. She’s not just a thief; she’s a goddamn avenger, taking from pricks like Lamott and spreading the cash to families he screwed.
Those Seattle payouts? That’s her trying to find justice, her middle finger to the system that let them down.
We now know for sure it was more than just a con for her, it was personal.
Blue's mother was up on that wall just like so many others. Blue’s real name, Demi Barlow, was listed in the woman’s obituary as the sole surviving family member.
Her real name made it a little easier to start tracking her, mapping out where she’s been and where she was heading to.
A gust of cold December wind rattles the window as I stare out of it and whisper her name, “Demi.”
We’re chasing the ghost of a righteous woman, tracking her digital breadcrumbs across state lines.
The rusty sprinter van was surprisingly easy to spot on low-grade traffic and security cameras once we had her license plate and a clear color description.
She was good, but she was still a one-woman show. We were better. We were a system.
We had traced her movements south down the coast, mapping out where she’d been and where she was heading. We know she’s in California now but before we go after her, we want to know why she’s there and what we’ll be walking into.
“YES! I know what she’s doing!”
Red’s shout from the office snaps my head up, and a slow grin tugs at my lips as I head that way.
He’s hunched over his laptop, brown hair a mess from dragging his hands through it, the dimples flashing in his cheeks like he’s hit the jackpot.
Green’s leaning over his shoulder, muttering about IP addresses and the cost of the private investigator we hired.
“Where?” My voice is low, controlled, but my blood’s pumping, imagining that sassy smirk when we finally corner her.
Red spins the laptop toward me, his movements jerky with excitement.
The screen displays a grainy photo of a redheaded woman in a cream jumpsuit leaning against the sprinter van.
It’s her. The curves, the posture, the defiance, even with the new hair color, it’s impossible not to recognize the fire in her stance.
“Santa Monica, California. This was in a parking lot near Ocean Avenue, yesterday. She’s using an alias and posing as an event planner for some insurance asshole named Victor Hensley. He’s throwing a big Christmas gala in a few days and she’s planning it.”
Green nods, his emerald eyes glinting under the brim of his baseball cap.
“This can’t be legit. There’s no way Blue did what she did on Halloween and then decided to start a new life as a fucking party planner.
It’s got to be another con, right? So I dug a little deeper on this Victor Hensley and surprise, surprise…
his company was the one that denied Demi’s mom’s insurance claims.” He frowns at the computer screen with a hint of sadness for a moment before looking back up to meet my gaze. “She’s not done making them pay, yet.”
Anger flares under my skin thinking about how much pain she must have been in, how hopeless she would have felt knowing her mom was going to die because of rich picks like these. I get exactly why she’s doing what she’s doing but that doesn’t change what she did to us.
I flex my hands, picturing a bright red handprint on her ass. Not from the night we spent with her, but from the night we are going to have when we find her. She’ll pay for running, for stealing, for making us want her so bad it hurts. And she’ll beg us not to stop.
But more than that, I want her with us, not just for a night, but for good. She’s a match for our chaos, our hunger. That note she left, “Thanks for the treats, sorry about the trick.” That was a challenge, and I’m done playing nice.
The rage is gone now, replaced by a cold, surgical plan.
I point at the grainy photo. “Hensley is a healthcare insurance denier. He targets people just like her mother. This isn't just a random hit; this is personal for Demi. It’s her vengeance mission and we’re going to make sure it goes exactly as planned for her. ”
I look at Red and Green, knowing the silent order is already understood. We’re not going to stop her. We’re going to help her.
“Book the flight. We’re crashing her party. Time to show Blue what happens when you run from us. And time to show her what she can do when she’s running with us.”
Red’s grin widens, all trouble and charm. “Oh, it’s gonna be a merry fucking Christmas.”
Game fucking on, Blue.