“The place is coming along just fine,” I informed him. “Just reinforcing some beams in the—”
A puff of drywall dust shot through the open living room doorway, followed by a muffled curse. “My bad!” Jericho called.
“—ceiling.” I bit back a curse. “Look, I’m late for an important meeting, Vince,” I lied, moving past him to the front door. “I don’t have time for… whatever the fuck this is.”
Vince’s whole vibe reminded me of what a condescending fuck he could be and why it was a good thing we weren’t a thing anymore. Something about him screamed manipulative and deceptive, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it would be this long after our relationship had ended.
And, weirdly, I couldn’t help but recall my conversation with Quinn that morning. No matter how much the man infuriated me—and even though I could swear he did it on purpose—there wasn’t a truly mean or secretive bone in his body. He was only a casual hookup, but from the first minute, I’d trusted him far more than I trusted Vince.
I folded my arms over my chest. “Talk about something that doesn’t nauseate me,” I clarified.
Vince sighed again. “I’m here working that case I called you about back in November. You remember the one where sensitive information about Cartel de la Luna was stolen from Gustavo Santiago’s compound and smuggled into the United States on your private plane?”
Shit.
I fought to keep my face impassive as my heartbeat kicked up several notches. “I remember telling you to get fucked,” I said easily. “Champion Security’s mission in Venezuela was a hostage rescue situation. No stolen information, no smuggling. The DEA has my report.”
He smirked. “Sure. Thrilling read. But I feel like you left out some details.”
The back of my neck prickled.
That report had been almost entirely fiction with more holes than swiss cheese. But I was surprised Vince cared enough about this case to still be searching for leads nearly two months later. He’d never been great at follow-through, which meant there must be more at stake than I realized…
And that was very bad news for Champion Security.
“For example,” Vince said, watching me carefully, “your report never mentioned that the tourist you rescued was a disgruntled former employee of your biggest client. Or that he was suspected to have sold the cartel backdoor access to the Horn of Glory game system so they could use the game’s in-app purchases to launder money. Or that he left the cartel’s compound carrying a handheld Horn of Glory gaming device that he stole from Gustavo Santiago. Or that he disappeared the minute you touched down on American soil.”
I set my jaw and stuck my sweaty hands in my pockets. I had no idea how Vince had put all of that information together. Hell, my team had barely put all that together, and we had inside information.
“Talk about a thrilling tale,” I said mildly. “Those are some pretty wild claims. Where’s your proof?”
“Funny you should ask, because it’s closer than you might think.” He laughed lightly. “Literally. See, Buck Nutter’s ex-girlfriend found the stolen Horn device in his storage unit and sold it, along with some other items, to a dealer at a nearby flea market… though she can’t remember which one. Still, shouldn’t be too hard to find. That’s why I’m here.”
“Good luck with that,” I said in a strangled voice. “Finding one particular Horn in the Thicket is like finding a needle in a haystack. It’s the most popular game in the world, and it all started right here in town. Every man, woman, child, and bovine in Tennessee has at least one—”
“It’s a sparkly, peach, first-generation Horn.” Vince studied his nails. “There are only three in existence. So.”
Fucking fuck.
Vince officially knew too much.
And the way he’d laid out the facts for me explained exactly why this was a nightmare scenario.
HOG’s former lead developer was suspected of working with a drug cartel.
A HOG device containing sensitive information had been stolen.
And, most damning of all, HOG’s viral video game was being used to launder money.
If any of this came to light, Horn of Glory would be embroiled in a PR nightmare bigger than anything I could remember. Not only would I lose my biggest client and the reputation I’d worked so hard to build, but there was also a chance Champion Security could be implicated in a cover-up.
I wanted the DEA to have the info hidden on that Horn—of course I did. I wanted the cartel stopped.
I just needed to make that happen in a way that didn’t involve HOG Corporate, or a Horn, or Buck Nutter. An anonymous tip, maybe. Or an untraceable email. Whatever Jasper Huxley, my tech guy, decided to cook up.
But first, I needed to get that Horn before Vince did.
My mind scrambled to put together a plan. Most flea markets near here sold rusty radio parts and half-used tubes of toothpaste. There was only one vendor I knew of that would deal with a rare, valuable Horn. And the good news for me was that Trixie Peppers would rather be dropped in boiling oil than voluntarily share information with “the damn government.”