A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(93)

But this had to be dealt with. Gabrielle needed to understand time was running out. If Nathan died, it wouldn’t be on him. Not after everything he’d done for the kid. Everything he’d done for her.

There were other ways to send a message.

He returned to the boy’s room and took a picture. He then went to the kitchen and turned on the laptop, opening Tor Browser. They’d planned this part as well, of course, and he’d learned the basics of the dark web long ago. He logged into ProtonMail using the temporary email address he’d created. A burner email account, easily discarded, untraceable.

His jaw was clenched as he typed the short email, each keystroke an angry punch. Attaching the image was a hassle, since it was on the phone, but he managed. A single click and the email was sent. He exhaled, his body trembling from the effort. He imagined his words, bits of information, zipping through the cloud of computers in the dark web, finally emerging from a random computer somewhere in the world. Japan, Switzerland, Iran, anywhere at all. And then ending up in Gabrielle’s inbox. Waiting to be read.

She needed to know. He was doing it for her.





CHAPTER 64


Abby had pajamas she kept for special occasions. Not the sexy kind of special occasions. No, these pajamas were for nights in which she needed something soft and fluffy to hug her body. She wore them sparingly so that their softness would not dissipate due to frequent laundering. They were light blue with a drawing of a sheep chewing a flower on the shirt. The pants were loose fitting so that her legs felt free but warm.

She decided that tonight was one of those special nights with a need for fluffiness. So when she got out of the shower, she slipped into her sheep pajamas.

There should be a word to define the pleasure of wearing really comfortable pajamas. Just the act of putting them on made some of the day’s weight lift off her shoulders.

Her phone rang, and she cringed. She was about to lie down, draw the blanket over her body, and sleep well for once.

It was Carver. She answered the call. “Hey.”

“Hey, Abby. I was about to grab some dinner and wondered if you want to meet up and discuss the case.”

“No, not tonight. I’m already at home.”

“Oh.” There was a slight pause. “Did you eat dinner?”

“I . . . had yogurt.”

“That’s not dinner. Tell you what. I’ll grab us both some Chinese food and come over to your place. There are some developments I want to talk about.”

Abby wanted to explain she couldn’t. That she was in her light-blue sheep pajamas already, and that meant she was done. But she wasn’t sure Carver would understand their significance. He seemed like a man who didn’t have a special pair of pajamas at home.

“Sure,” she found herself saying. “Come over.”

“Brilliant.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Text me the address. What do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know. Not rice, get me something with noodles.”

“On it.” He hung up.

She debated with herself if she should stay in the pajamas. But no. She couldn’t eat with these pajamas on. A sauce stain would be catastrophic. And she wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Carver seeing her in this attire either.

Sighing, she opened the wardrobe and grudgingly stared at the shelves, trying to decide what to wear. She could wear one of her office suits, but the idea was appalling. She ended up dressing in her blue yoga pants and a tight black shirt she hadn’t worn in a couple of months. She debated with herself if she should bother with makeup and contact lenses, got annoyed with Carver for putting her in this situation, and decided he would get her with glasses and no makeup. He would deal with it.

She ended up putting in contact lenses after all. And adding some eye shadow.

By the time Carver showed up on her doorstep, she was starving.

“So, I got you some beef noodles—”

“Perfect.” She snatched the bag from his hand and led him to the kitchen.

“But I guess if you’re full from your yogurt, you don’t have to eat it.” Carver grinned.

“Don’t mess with me. Do you want a beer?”

“Sure.”

She got one for him and one for herself.

“You look good,” Carver said, sounding slightly astonished.

“That surprised tone is uncalled for.” She pried her box open, the smell making her mouth water.

“It’s just that you sounded kind of tired when I called, and you’ve been working really hard on this case—”

“You’re not helping the situation.” She fished out a piece of beef with her chopsticks and put it in her mouth. It tasted amazing. “Where did you buy this?”

“Local place in our precinct,” he said, pleased with her expression. “I’ll take you there one of these days.”

Abby eyed him, surprised. Carver, intent on his own food, didn’t seem to notice her watching him.

“Where are your kids?” Carver asked.

“At their dad’s. It’s his day.”

“His day, huh?”

“When you’re divorced with kids, everything is either his day or your day. Or his weekend or your weekend. Life becomes binary.”

“And which do you prefer? Your days or his days?”