Page 62 of High Reward

“I know, boss. But it seemed like child’s play. Mysterious flower deliveries to her apartment, that sort of thing. This is a massive escalation that we weren’t expecting.”

“Do you really think he has a bomb?”

Tyson shakes his head. “No way to tell. I’m getting Samuel on the phone now.”

Hunter nods. “He’ll have other contacts if you need them. Use whatever resources you have to.”

The next few minutes are chaos as everyone barks orders into phones and continues to peer out the front door at the car in question.

As I’m talking to our man at the gas station, I realize that I never gave Sabrina’s phone to Owen.

“She told us it was glitching when she was on her way over here. Check into it.” I pass him the phone. “And… don’t fucking blow anything up if you can help it.”

Owen chuckles, but it’s a nervous laugh. Not something I hear from him very often.

In his office, he plugs the phone into a computer, and his fingers fly across the keyboard.

“It’s definitely been tampered with. Get Tyson in here.”

When Tyson looks at Owen’s screen, he nods. “Sloppy bastards. I can disarm this.”

“So, it is connected to a bomb?”

Tyson doesn’t answer as he shoves Owen out of the way and takes over typing. I’m surprised Owen lets him get away with it. No one touches his machines without fear of losing a hand.

But the situation is exceptional, so I suppose that’s why he’s not pulling out his knife.

Tyson pulls out his own phone and dials a number. “Carter, never mind. Stay with your wife. I’ve got this. Could use a hand from Boomer, though. Tell him to call me.”

A minute later, Tyson’s phone rings. He taps a button and sets the phone on the desk next to him.

“You’re on speaker. I’ve got a piece of software on Sabrina’s phone that has some malware in it that will trigger an explosive in her car. Can I hook you in and have you help me disarm it in the next three minutes?”

“Jesus Christ, Ty. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

“It’s not me. It’s my friends dragging me into their shit.”

“Open a socket for me and I’ll see what I can do.”

I step closer to the phone. “Victor Serrano, try and isolate who these fuckers are if you can.”

“You can listen to him,” Tyson says when I’m met with silence.

“Serrano, as in the Serrano Cartel?” Boomer asks.

I close my eyes, kicking myself for using my last name. “Something like that. But I’m largely out of the family business.”

“I know who you are. I’ve followed you and your friends in Las Vegas for a few years. Mother fucker,” he swore, and Tyson’s fingers sped up on the keyboard.

“What’s going on?”

“They’re trying to kick us out. Whoever this is may be sloppy, but they’ve got at least some knowledge.”

I stand helpless as Tyson and Boomer mutter to themselves for the next two minutes and thirty seconds.

“Next time don’t sign your work, fuckface. But no, hackers always have to sign their work,” The man on the phone mutters.

“Did you identify them?”