No drugs, no weapons, no smuggling.
Money laundering made sure he kept the profit margins high, but cyber solutions for criminals to try and work around new regulations and treaties seem to have taken center stage of his revised business model. It’s what made Harlow the criminal powerhouse he is today.
His MO also changed vastly over the last decade—from hits on rivals with zero regard to collateral damage, Harlow moved to ruthless and efficient killings of some of the most dangerous and violent criminals out there, including from his own organization, but near to zero civilian casualties.
In less than ten years, Harlow went from run-of-the-mill crime lord to stationing himself as both a merciless predator to the cruelly sadistic and bringer of the digital revolution to the world of organized crime.
Profilersstilldon’t know what to make of it, according to the files. One docket went as far as suggesting a split personality.
There’s also a theory that Harlow has a child or younger lover that’s been whispering in his ear, telling him he can control the future of organized crime by controlling the codes that allow free flow of cash. It makes more sense, considering how long Harlow’s been around.
I wonder if that’s what Maddie found in the bank’s system, one of Harlow’s get-arounds, and if so, why haven’t the Feds put their own people on the case, or why hasn’t the CIA stepped in, considering this is an international issue?
It strikes me as bizarre that, considering the substantial interest in Harlow, Maddie is out here working the case alone.
I make a mental note to ask her and get all the info, so I can assess her situation and protect her to the best of my ability.
An incoming message grabs my attention. It took her over five minutes, but Maddie said yes.
“Showtime, Abernathy.”
* * *
Maddie
Five minutes. That’s how long I’ve been staring at the message from Sawyer.
“Beer?”
It’s a simple yes or no question and I know the intentions behind it—that there’s nothing more than the call of duty and a sense of responsibility for me because of my family connection to Andy. But I still can’t bring myself to answer.
“Get over yourself, Maddie. He’s just a guy,” I huff, still staring at my phone. “Just a guy that’s getting under your skin for no apparent reason.”
Well, that’s a load of crap, I laugh then cringe at the bitterness of the sound echoing back at me through my empty apartment.
I’m not this person. I don’t tend to hold grudges, and I don’t avoid my problems. Though, why Sawyer presents such an issue after a year is still a conundrum to me. We made out, we shared moonlit confessions, we barely scratched the surface of what we could have been before he went and threw it all to hell for some random piece of ass.
Whoa!That was over the top bitchy, and I decide it’s high time I eliminate this ridiculous line of thought by doing what I always do–face it head on, prove to myself that my reaction to Sawyer was more out of shock than genuine. I text Sawyer back a “When and where?” before going to my room and glaring at my closet.
“I’ll pick you up in thirty.”
I’m about to answer that I don’t need him to pick me up when I remember why we’re even meeting. With a sigh, I skip the cute dress I was considering, the one that pushes my boobs up and out just a hint. The one that yells, “look what you missed cause you’re an asshole!”
Instead, I pull on a pair of skinny jeans and a periwinkle blue wraparound sweater over a black top. I pull the top around a bit, adjusting it to make sure I eliminate any prospect of too much cleavage. Then I apply my casual makeup look and choose a sensible pair of heeled boots in gray.
I look myself over in the mirror. “Maybe a burlap,” I mutter, readjusting the top again and surmising that if this is what I’d wear to grab a beer with my brother-in-law, it’s as close to an outfit that says ‘friendly mid-week pint at the neighborhood pub’ as I’ll get, which is totally what I want to convey to Sawyer. Friendly.
Not “screw you, you gorgeous hunk of a man,” or “you can’t touch this, you sexy mountain of muscles, you”.
My phone chimes with a message informing me of Sawyer’s arrival. I slide my bracelets over my wrist and pull on my coat, slinging my purse over my shoulder before locking up and taking the secure private elevator down to the lobby.
My high-pitched shriek fills the small space when the doors open to reveal Sawyer unexpectedly standing on the other side. The sound is not something I’m proud of. He raises an eyebrow as he glares at me, glued to the mirror in the farthest corner of the elevator and clutching my heaving chest.
“Wow, Techy, great survival instincts.” Sawyer sighs with a shake of his head. My anger flares at once again being treated like some pampered, clueless little girl who is nothing more than an inconvenient nuisance to his otherwise perfect life. “You’d think a top-tier asset like yourself would have aminimallevel of self-defense training.”
“I took some Krav Maga,” I retort angrily, pushing myself off the elevator wall and snatching up my fallen purse before marching past Sawyer. At least, I try to without much success, as his large body is blocking my exit.
“Move.” Nothing. “I said, move!” I plant my palms on his chest and push. He doesn’t budge, just nods in satisfaction.