Page 38 of Sinister Secrets

The pleasure centers in my brain light up a moment later as the barista hands me a steaming mug emitting the heavenly scent of chocolate and a dinner plate completely filled with a single pastry. Settling in my seat, I take a bite, eyes fluttering shut as I’m overwhelmed with sensation. I haven’t encountered much in this world that could compete with Jake, but this right here? He should consider the gauntlet thrown.

Wiping my fingers, I do my best to keep the papers clean as I remove them from the box and start thumbing through them, sorting them into two stacks—contracts I’ll return and other. Unfortunately, almost all of them belong in the first pile.

Tearing off a big chunk of cinnamon bun, I fill my mouth, self-medicating my growing disappointment. Suddenly, my mouth goes so dry I can barely swallow, making me choke as the baked good gets stuck in my throat. A sugar rush floods my system as I take a large sip of mochaccino to wash it down, my eyes never leaving the page in front of me.

My heart kicks into overdrive as I skim the bank statement for a man by the name of Greg Moore. GM—the same initials as Gordon Massey. There’s no address on the paper—the report has been printed from an online banking app—but that doesn’t matter. Somehow, I know this bank account belongs to Gordon.

Pulling out my phone, I comb over the information as I dial. The statement covers six months of activity, revealing single deposits ranging from $30,000 to $60,000 made each of those months, leaving the account with a balance of over a quarter million dollars. The date range matches the half a year prior to when I returned home. The same time frame when an entire neighborhood of houses in Gator Glade was bought and emptied in preparation for the plans I ruined.

“Hey, girl. What’s up?”

Comfort spreads through my system as surely as the sugar had at the sound of Mallory’s voice.

“I didn’t retire.”

“What? But I thought you had plans to be a full-time sex goddess—”

My snort sends her into a fit of giggles.

“If by sex goddess you mean pygmy goat slave, then yes.”

“Well, that’s a different kind of slave than I was imagining, but fine, ruin my vicarious hopes and dreams. What happened?”

“Someone dumped a body in my pond, and the local sheriff told me to deal with it.”

“For real?”

“More or less.”

“What can I do to help?”

This right here is just one of the many reasons why I love this girl. That, and her uncanny ability to make me smile, no matter what I’m dealing with.

“Help me to not look like an idiot in front of my new DIC.”

“You’re not asking much, are you?”

“Remind me to send you some stone crab claws in appreciation.”

“Oh, that’s evil. You must really need my help. Well, you’ve got it—as long as you never mention stone crabs again.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Then which of my many talents and superpowers do you need?”

“I have a bank statement that was printed from the internet. What are my options for trying to prove where it was printed?”

“Do you have a suspected location?”

Figuring Gordon printed the document at either his home or office, I say, “Yes, a couple.”

“Well then, first, you can look at the print history if you know what computer was used. And if the printer is networked, there should be a log of which computer sent the job, and when.”

“You’re awesome, Mal. Thanks.”

“I know, but I’m not done yet. Is the printout in color? And how sharp is it?”

“Yes, and crystal clear.”