Page 87 of Hunt Me
“You mean the files proving you murdered her parents?”
Silence stretches across the line.
Good.
Let the bastard know I’ve already connected the dots.
“I see she’s been sharing stories.” Morrison’s voice tightens. “Unfortunate. Makes this situation more complicated than necessary.”
“Complicated.” I switch my phone to speaker and start to trace the call. “That’s what you call assassination?”
“I call it damage control.” The papers stop rustling. “Her parents were assets who outlived their usefulness. Loose ends. You understand loose ends, don’t you, Mr. Ivanov?”
The trace completes—burner phone, routing through proxy servers. Smart.
Not smart enough.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Twenty million dollars. Unmarked, untraceable cryptocurrency. And I need Ms. Mitchell’s silence guaranteed in writing.”
“Or?”
“Or I deliver pieces of her to your doorstep.” He says it like discussing shipping options. “Starting with her talented fingers. She won’t need them where she’s going.”
White noise fills my head.
Morrison continues. “You have twelve hours to decide. I’ll send transfer instructions?—”
“Six million now.” The words come out steady despite the violence screaming through my veins. “Fourteen million when she walks out alive.” As clearly, Morrison is in too deep and considering running with our money—he won’t get far.
“You’re negotiating?”
“I’m buying time to find you.” I meet Nikolai’s eyes across the room. “And when I do, those fingers you mentioned? I’ll feed your own to you.”
Morrison laughs.
“I look forward to it, Mr. Ivanov. Truly. Twelve hours.”
He disconnects.
I’m already moving, pulling up the trace data, following digital breadcrumbs through proxy servers and VPN tunnels.
“Did you get it?” Erik asks.
My fingers blur across the keyboard.
“He made a mistake.”
The call bounced through seven proxies, but the final node?—
There.
Marginal Street.
Northwest quadrant.
Exactly where I predicted.
