The Red Roots Read Online Free

Dawes.” Martin paused. “Pierce called in?”
    Isla assumed he was on the phone, perhaps a secured landline for private conversations. She slid the volume higher.
    “First quarter numbers won’t be in his favor. The board will remove him.” Silence. “Let Reed watch the good news over eggs and toast.”
    She paused the recording.
    Lucas Dawes was CFO of Raeford Financial, Inc., President of Open Arms Halfway House, and a former cocaine addict. Martin’s steady tone worried her. His reference to Reed bit at her gut.
    Isla opened a new screen and typed in a numeric code. Symbols and jumbled words scrolled across the window. As fast as her fingers could tap the keys, Isla’s frustration grew. Martin’s accounts were cloaked. She couldn’t bypass the barrier.
    On the outside, all his financials were dormant, personal and business, and she knew that wasn’t possible. Isla slammed down on the keys. Her computer sounded off, not appreciating her tantrum. What was he up to? Did he find the device? Did he know she was listening and screwing with her? Maybe a call into Detroit was in order.
    Her cell phone chimed. Ironic. She tapped the speaker.
    “Crosby’s dad was arrested,” a panicked Carys said.
    “Shit. What happened?”
    “He was pulled over last night. Cops found drugs under his seat. It’s bad. We’re talking felony bad.”
    “Was Crosby with him?” Isla said.
    “No, thank goodness. She would’ve punched the cops out.”
    “That explains Martin.”
    “Martin?”
    Isla picked at the ends of her hair. “I listened to a piece of recording, and Martin was on the phone talking about him. He set this up.”
    “Because of Mia?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe.”
    “Does my dad know?”
    “I just listened to it right before you called. I assume so since the recording is delayed. Martin mentioned Pierce calling it in.” The house’s security alerted Isla of a visitor. “Damn. Someone is here, I’ll call you back.”
    She ended the call as the security system announced, “Isla, you have a guest at the front door.”
    “Identify, Mabel.”
    “One moment, please . . . Joseph Abbott,” the electronic voice responded.
    Isla tipped her head back. “Really?”
    She closed her laptop and slid it under the bed. In crumpled jeans and a t-shirt, her mess of tangled hair bounced around her while Isla darted down the stairs to the front door. Her lips stiffened when she saw a side-part of black hair and dark eyes searching through the strip of lattice glass. Isla input the code and flung the door open.
    “Joe Snake, I mean, Abbott.”
    He gave her a slight nod. “Always a pleasure, Mrs. Pierce. May I come in for a moment?”
    Isla sidestepped from the doorway and he brushed past her. Their conversation wasn’t going to end well.

JOE WAS MARTIN’S minion. His stench followed her from New York. She watched him walk around the living room, scanning the white walls, glancing down the sides of the furniture. He made her skin crawl. Interesting enough, he came from Detroit. Zagotta never took claim to Joe. Isla didn’t blame him—who would—but she didn’t trust what Zagotta said either.
    “What do I owe the displeasure of this visit?”
    “Have you watched the news this morning?” he asked in a bubbly tone.
    “I’ve been busy, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me all about it.”
    “Familiar with the phrase ‘an eye for an eye’?”
    “Philosophy this early gives me heartburn. Spit it out.”
    He stuck out his dimpled chin. “Get Mia out and Crosby gets her daddy back, simple and easy.”
    “No.”
    “Perf—what? No?”
    “No.” Isla crossed the living room and reached into a large ceramic vase. “I have a better idea.” As she pulled out a stacked and wrapped pile of cash, Joe’s close-set eyes widened. “Let’s play secret double agent.”
    Joe wasn’t any different from any other warm-blooded creature. He was a man; therefore, the majority of his thinking came from his dick brain.