Hell on Wheels (Four Horsemen MC Book 6) by Rayne Cynthia

Author:Rayne, Cynthia [Rayne, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Snippy and Snarky Ink
Published: 2015-10-31T07:00:00+00:00

***

It took Charlie another week to find an excuse to be in Beauregard’s office.

She’d emptied the mail from the box before the housekeeper got her mitts on it and carried it into Beauregard’s study. He hadn’t been around that morning, so it was the perfect time to poke around.

Charlie quickly texted Coyote and after getting a go-ahead message, tossed the mail on the desk and approached the vault.

She grabbed the list Coyote had given her of her possible numbers and began imputing the digits into the safe’s keypad. As it beeped at her, flashing Combination Failed, she crossed off the numbers one by one. She could enter ten at a time, according to the manual she’d found in Beauregard’s desk drawer. Any more than ten incorrect tries, the system locked down, and the owner had to call the company for a new code.

None of the combinations worked.

She texted Coyote: I’m done for the day.

Coyote: How’d it go?

Charlie sent him the poop emoji.

Coyote sent her back a vomiting one.

Charlie: Any luck finding evidence on the computer?

Coyote: Zilch. I’m hoping you literally find a smoking gun in the vault.

Charlie: Speaking of, why do the Horsemen want in that vault so bad? Axel never said.

Since Axel had been avoiding her and didn’t answer her questions, she was hoping Coyote might be a bit more cooperative.

Coyote: Yeah, you’re gonna have to ask Axel.

Charlie: Please?

Coyote: Hell, no. You need to ask Axel.

Then he sent her a hand emoji, as in “talk to the hand”. Dammit.

With a sigh, she gathered her cleaning supplies and went to the living room. Charlie had to dust and vacuum the place every other day, but she didn’t see why. It wasn’t even dirty. She doubted Beauregard even went in the room. She didn’t see any footprints on the carpet.

As she was wedged between a wingback chair and the wall, dusting the back of the chair, a voice startled her.

“Miss?”

Charlie turned to see a man in his sixties with thinning gray hair. He had heavy eyebrows and his dark brown eyes bulged slightly. The man was dapper, but his clothing was a bit too much. Like someone aping a style he’d seen others wear rather than putting it together himself. He sported a dark gray suit with a pink and gray bowtie, and a matching pocket square. Beneath the suit, he wore a white button-down shirt. Along with wing-tip shoes.

She suddenly remembered her role as maid. “Yes, sir. Can I help you?”

“Hello there.” He pressed a hand to his chest, the very picture of Southern charm and elegance. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Cotton Krug. What’s your name, sugar?”

“I’m Charlie,” she said slowly. She wasn’t sure what to make of him.

“Ms. Sinclair let me in earlier and gave me a cup of tea, but I’ve been waiting nearly forty-five minutes. I’m looking for Mr. Beauregard.” He hooked his steel cane on his forearm and checked his watch. “We had an appointment nearly thirty minutes ago.” His expression darkened. “And I don’t like to be kept waiting.

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