Page 91 of Son of a Witch

Ben huffed. “Edwardo’s team.”

“Ding, ding!” I stabbed a finger in the air, earning a short, sharp stab of pain.

Dammit. I rubbed my shoulder, reminding myself to take it slow. My body was still in the adjustment phase after a major trauma. It wasn’t like it used to be and might never be even with the exoskeleton.

Ben’s forehead creased. “You okay, Tor?”

“Just moved too quick.” I grit my teeth and buried myself in the task, conscious of the ticking clock.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminded me, tapping his watch for the next interval.

Lost in concentration, I blinked and scrubbed my eyes with the heels of my palm. Computer work burned. The screens were too bright. That or I was allergic to using them.

“What’d you find?” Ben activated the timer.

“Lots of payments into bank accounts from a company called Meetleval Incorporated.”

Ben scratched his chin. “Never heard of it.”

“Me either.” I pulled up a web browser and typed in the name. “Absolutely nothing. Not even a company registered with the Australian Security and Investment Commission. How is that?”

“Strange. The Guardian has a shell company to pay wages.” Ben moved to the kitchenette in the corner of the room supplied to the teams to make tea and coffee. “Want me to make you something?”

I leaned my forehead on my palm and kept digging through the expansive documents. “Coffee, please.”

Ben grabbed two mugs and poured the brewing brown mixture into them.

I voiced a question brewing in my mind. “Do you think Edwardo and Devon’s aunt is using her position to erase their records and have their sentences overturned?”

Ben tossed in two sugars and cream for me when he went black. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”

I gave a derisive laugh. “What a piece of work she is.”

I’ll get you, lady.

I nodded my thanks and sipped the coffee and cream supplied to me.

I didn’t get very far by the forty-minute mark. Too many transactions to trace. Endless video footage. Not enough time to review it all.

Ben checked his watch again and reset the timer. “Last fifteen minutes, mate. Better wrap it up.”

Fuck. My fingers danced over the keyboard like they were on fire. The ache in my forehead intensified as I rushed to get every last document printed to run through with the team upon return from their mission. By the end of the cloaking session, I was a sweaty, trembling mess. I massaged my stiff fingers and my aching temples.

“Damn, talk about pressure.” I grinned at Ben as he closed the cloaking window and removed the USB.

Ben made me another coffee as I stood and stretched my achy back and legs. “Get what you need?”

“Enough for now.” I pinched my forehead, tight from concentration and tension to beat the countdown.

Ben delivered the drinks and studied the stack of printed documents.

I tapped the pages. “Serial numbers for the missing weapons to check them out on the inventory. Rosters of the guards on duty for those dates to cross-check.”

Ben’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

“You better not be on there,” I teased.

He chuckled, blew on his steaming drink, and took a sip. “I can guarantee you I’m not. Unless I’ve been set up.”

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