Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
She casually dips the object in cocktail sauce and shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t have more info, Little One.” An open mouth bite is taken. “I told you what I could on the ship. I repeated myself in my jeep. And now at the table.” The smacking sound should be gross, but I find it oddly cute. Maybe because she’s the complete opposite of the man on the other side of her who typically drinks more than he eats. Like he has been all day. “Would you like me to draw you a picture in ketchup?”
Her attitude?
Very Maine Coon.
Very playful.
Generally fucking welcomed.
Right now?
Not so much.
I need her on some big tiger shit.
I need her fucking focused and territorial and ferocious.
Someone tried to. Fucking. Kill. Her.
Shit just got very survival of the fittest.
And I want her to survive.
Need her to.
“You probably do have more info than you realize,” I gingerly begin. “Happens all the time.”
“Eyewitness testimony is some of the most unreliable,” Garcia argues without bothering to look from his device. “Yes. The human brain is similar to a computer; however, it does not contain a flawless hard drive. It alters ‘files’ based on beliefs, new information, trauma, and even suggestibility.”
“Not. Helping,” leaves me in disapproving murmurs prompting her to snicker.
How?!
How is she fucking chill at a time like this?!
Is this shit just that norm for her?!
I mean…it is for me, but I didn’t think it would be for her.
What type of trouble has she gotten herself into in the past?
Is this person someone from her past or is it directly related to the hunt we’ve been sent on?
Why is my first Snap response telling me it’s that one?
“Repetir la misma pregunta tampoco ayuda,” Garcia grunts in return.
“Okay, whatever, at least my repeating the question is me trying to get some shit done,” I bite hard enough to collect a small glare. “How about a little more port support?”
“That sounds like a fucking speedo,” Salay sniggers between fry bites prior to shooting him a curious brow. “Have you ever worn a speedo?”
“No.”
“Would you ever wear a speedo?”
“No.”
“Would you ever-”
“Would you,” my voice harshens, sending her attention back to me, “please concentrate on me and recalling whatever we can about the person who legit tried to one-eight-seven you?”
Salay dramatically clutches her chest with her now fry free hand. “A Dr. Dre and Snoop ref?” Fake sniffles escape next. “You’re so young in the face and old in the heart.”
“I raised him right,” Garcia teasingly declares.
“You did not raise me,” escapes in an exasperated nature. “And I would appreciate everyone getting back on the same tab.”
“We are on the same tab,” Salay reminds at the same time she spins her finger in a circle around the table. “Garcia’s.”
“Generous of me,” he mirthfully mumbles.
“Forget what the lawyer said,” I command and lean a little closer. “The human brain is like a computer-”
“You said to forget what he said.”
“-which means it can be hacked.”
“Still in the territory of what he said.”
“We just need to collect the data that’s there, not alter it.”
Salay wordlessly picks up a piece of popcorn shrimp, indicating she’s listening.
“Could you see this person’s hair color?”
“No.”
“Eye color?”
“No.”
“Were they male or female?”
“What part of wetsuit is not computing for you?”
Frustration has me briefly squeezing my eyes shut before saying, “Think of their build. Body structure and composition from a purely average, scientific point, like you would if you were observing any other animal in the ocean.”
At that, her head curiously tilts to one side.
“Like a male orca’s dorsal fin differs from a female. Does shit happen? Sure. But the average distinction is what we are using for this analogy. It’s what I want you to use to transfer over the information to me.”
Seeing her brows pull tightly together pushes me to continue.
“You have been around swimmers and divers and mer people your whole fucking life.”
“Esto último no es cierto,” Garcia needlessly interjects.
“Of course, the latter isn’t true! Mer people aren’t real! I’m using it to make a point! Let me make my point!”
Our table attorney – reluctantly – concedes.
“Now, have you ever noticed variations between them?”
“Of course,” Salay quickly answers. “Natural buoyancy, tank usage, leading with your upper body versus lower. Men tend to rely more on the former. Same for rock climbers though.” She pauses midchew to add, “And parkour dudes.”
The information has me instantly using it to investigate, “The individual chasing you earlier they…?”
“Definite dick,” thoughtlessly escapes her, surprising us both. “Ohshit…Definite. Dick!”
“Stop screaming the word dick,” scolds Garcia as he glances up again.
“Stop being a pretentious one.”
“See!” I victoriously exclaim. “Your brain is an air gap system! We’ve just gotta physically tap into it.”
“Dirty talk,” she mockingly coos around more food gliding into her mouth. “Kinky.”
“Now, I have a starting point to feed into my algorithm…” my efforts hastily begin dancing across the keyboard. “Height estimate?”