Page 14 of Keeping Kasey
Uncovering all of this was hardly a chore, but the connection between the families remains a mystery.
Step two: spying.
I have no qualms about digitally invading privacy, but I try to refrain from hacking live video or audio.
It’s less about morality and more about convenience.
The odds of hacking the right device at the right time to hear the right information are small. Besides, people lie. It’s easier and more reliable to trace their digital activity and get hard facts than it is to trust the word of the type of scummy people I tend to work with.
But messaging with Logan has fascinated me enough to break the pattern.
Knowing he was the one messaging me was a well-educated guess. The clipped and demanding responses mirrored all the emails I’ve scanned over the last few hours.
Getting the visual and audio running from Ford’s desktop takes about ten minutes, which is longer than it should be—a testament to their current security measures, which are good.
But I’m better.
I relax into my chair as the video comes through with perfect clarity, showing the bland decor of Ford’s office. The walls are a shade of beige that matches the stained couch pushed against the far wall.
Four men fill the office, and it takes a moment to process what I’m seeing.
I knew that the Consoli and Moreno families were working together, but that doesn’t make me any less surprised to see Joshua Moreno staring intently at the screen as he plays the game. He has dark, sharp features that give him an effortlessly menacing edge, even though all he does is stare at the game. He wears a dark green T-shirt, contrary to the pristine suits of the other three men.
I can barely see past Moreno’s head to where Jace Ford is lying on the couch with an openly hateful expression. He has a large frame that makes him look better suited to be a bodyguard than a cybersecurity capo, and thin blond hair cropped short on his head. His suit is wrinkled, and I can’t imagine how that attire is practical for sitting in that dingy office all day long.
It makes me grateful for the soft leggings and sweatshirt I wear now.
The man to Moreno’s left is undoubtedly James Consoli. While the twins may be identical, the differences between them easily set them apart—even to someone like me, who’s only seen them via a handful of pictures. His relaxed posture and somewhat unruly hair, which falls just below his ears, give him acharming look. He has pleasant features—a lightness about him—even if he’s currently glaring at the screen.
Then, there’s Logan.
His hair matches his brother’s in color, but it’s shorter, just barely showing the natural curl that gives him a sharp, professional appearance. Even leaning back in his chair, tired and frustrated, he holds his shoulders back with sure confidence. There’s a scowl glued to his face, drawing his brows together and emphasizing the tick in his tightly gritted jaw.
Someone doesn’t like losing control of things.
But it isn’t his hair, posture, or expression that makes it difficult to pull my eyes from the Consoli boss.
It’s his eyes.
They’re green, with hints of gold and a blue hue lining the iris in the dim lighting of the office. Right now—thinly slitted and burning with anger—I wonder how many have run screaming from that very stare. The eyes of a man capable of inflicting torment without flinching. The eyes of a killer.
And yet, they’re magnetic.
“It’s not going to work,” James says through a sigh, dropping his head back and rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes.
Moreno throws his hands up. “What doyousuggest?”
“Anything but the traditional way. It’s time to think outside the box.”
Moreno shoves the keyboard in front of James. “By all means, be my guest.”
Logan ignores them both, pushing away from the desk with a huff to pace back and forth.
A few seconds later, James nods to himself and plays the game with resolve visible in his concentration. When Moreno watches the screen with an annoyed curiosity, I look at my second monitor, which displays the game as James plays it.
He’s running into every ghost on purpose.
I laugh so hard that Kane wakes up from his nap just to glower at me.
