Page 17 of Haunting the Hunter
I snort into my mug.
Calli shoots him a death glare. “Touché.”
He leans on the counter, sipping with a smug grin. “So, what did I miss?”
Calli doesn’t even look at me. She just says flatly, “We’re gonna look into Rosa White.”
Jack blinks. “Really? Her?”
I sigh, finishing the last of my coffee. “Apparently.”
But the words taste wrong in my mouth. Like I already regret underestimating her.
Jack and I take our coffees and make our way to his office, Calli trailing behind us. The second we cross the threshold, I shoot her a stern look that she knows means I’m in no mood for her shit.
“I won’t touch anything,” she says quickly, hands up. “I’ll stay quiet.”
I give a clipped nod, pointing. “You stay over there, no breathing down our necks while we work.”
“I get it. I’ll stay on the back wall.”
Giving her my back, Jack drops into his chair and starts tapping away at the keyboard. The wall of monitors lights up like a command center.
“All right, let’s see if our fashion-obsessed widow is up to anything interesting,” Jack mutters to himself.
The next few minutes are a blur of code, surveillance footage, and low-level cyberstalking.
“Her socials are still active, but the posts are off. Inconsistent time stamps. Locations that don’t match. Either they’re scheduled or old shots. She’s not where she says she is.” Jack’s fingers fly over the keyboard. “There! A wire transfer from one of her shell companies hit a burner account out of New Mexico yesterday. Weird timing.”
I step forward, staring at the screen. “What’s the account tagged to?”
“Anonymous, but the routing path links back to a private defense firm with known off-record affiliations. The kind of group that launders secrets and builds tech for people who don’t officially exist. That screams Order.”
“But it’s not Allen?”
Jack shakes his head. “Nope. Tracked the signal through three proxies. He’s not with them. He’s alone.”
A smile slowly spreads across my face. “Perfect.”
Jack frowns. “Still doesn’t tell us where—”
Calli speaks for the first time since entering the room. “He’s probably holed up somewhere eating cold Chef Boyardee out of a can like a scared little rat.”
Jack freezes. “Say that again.”
Calli blinks and repeats slowly. “Chef… Boyardee?”
Jack spins back to the keyboard. “No—the hiding. He’s not in a facility. He’s off the grid. He’s being cheap, scared. That narrows the radius. Think motels. Cash-only rentals. No cameras.”
He clicks a few more times, scanning databases.
“Boom! Got him. Last-known credit card swipe was at a gas station half a mile from a rundown motel in Nevada. He’s not laying low with the Covenant. He’s hiding in plain sight, and he’s panicked. Amateur.”
Jack turns the screen, revealing a grainy still from a motel parking lot.
“Nice work, Cal.”
I stand up slowly, gaze fixed on the screen.
