Read 0.5 One Wilde Night for Free Online

sure enough, a bright blue dot appeared dead center on the map. Excellent.
    I squinted at the screen, triangulating the amulet first in relation to Galeão International Airport. It was nowhere near there, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Wherever they were taking the thing, it wasn’t out of country. According to the system, the dot had continued moving slowly for over an hour, so slowly that the runner must have been on foot. I fixated on the flickering pixel, mesmerized by its little flare. “Where are they taking you, buddy?”
    I wouldn’t know anytime soon, I suspected, but I didn’t mind that so much. The security program I’d traded for a very select set of services rendered would do its job and record the amulet’s location unless and until the tiny, almost transparent wafer seal was detected on the piece and removed. Given the number of hands the thing was probably passing through, not to mention its questionable position in Nigel’s briefs, I didn’t think anyone would pay too much attention to it for the next few hours.
    Nigel. I scowled as I munched on my apple. Was he working for Mr. Silhouette, or was there another party interested in the jadestone? And who was behind the shoot-’em-up at the hotel? The Russian woman? Fernanda and Company? I hadn’t stuck around to play count the bodies. Fleeing up the street and hiding out in the nearest bar I could find, I’d laid low until I heard the sirens start to wail. By then the shooters were long gone, and I’d split for points south.
    It had been a long night, and it wasn’t over yet. I needed to catch a few hours of shut-eye.
    But first…
    I pulled out the new burner phone from my duffel. I’d brought three of them with me on this trip and was already down to two, so I didn’t have high hopes for how long this one would last. Might as well get my minutes in when I could.
    Swiping the phone on, I dialed the digits from memory. Thanks to another serendipitous relationship with some enthusiastic gearheads in Duluth, my calling plan was configured to bounce off several different satellites, ensuring my calls wouldn’t be tracked.
    Because nothing said “Call me sometime” like an untraceable number.
    The phone connected on the third ring. “Bonjour, Sainte-Germain-des-”
    “Father Jerome!” I spoke louder than I needed to, somehow convinced that the thousands of miles of ocean separating us required enhanced vocalizing skills. “How are you? How is Michel?”
    “Sara, it’s so good to hear your voice. Your trip is going well?”
    Instantly, I was on my guard. He didn’t answer the question, and Father Jerome, like most Parisians, was a master at the nuances of communication. “Tell me he’s not dead, Father.”
    The priest’s long sigh made my gut twist. “He’s not dead, Sara. He is a strong little boy. But he is in significant pain.” A pause. “He misses you. I don’t know why you are where you are, but you should come back. Perhaps sooner rather than later.”
    I forced myself to keep my voice steady. “The morphine isn’t helping?”
    “It is, when he allows us to use it. But he doesn’t want to lose his sight, he says. He’s afraid if he goes to sleep, he will wake up blind.”
    My heart shriveled a little in my chest. Michel was a Parisian boy I’d met the first time I’d visited Father Jerome. I’d gone to the priest because he was an acknowledged expert in antiquities, familiar with the object I was being asked to “reclaim” at the time. But the good father hadn’t been alone that day. He’d been shepherding a ward of young Connected children to a social outing at the zoo, and he’d commandeered me to help as chaperone. Over the course of the day, he’d told me each of their stories—stories I’d never thought possible. Stories I certainly couldn’t forget.
    Back then, Michel hadn’t truly understood his abilities. Nor had he learned to use them. Back then, he hadn’t yet seen what hunters would do to the