Mona Hill was a girl. Didn’t mean she wasn’t keeping a guy—or a girl—but that would be unusual.
There were only minimal records on Mona Hill in Houston, and nothing before the age of eighteen. Ramona Jefferson was also difficult to track, and tracking juveniles was a lot harder—they usually didn’t have a paper trail, especially if they were on their own.
He considered the house in Houston. If he had the time, he would fly up there and check it out himself, but it would take all day, and he needed to finish his assignment with HWI and pick up Lucy later. Searching his contact file, he pulled the number for Renee Mackey, a longtime PI out of Houston. She was semiretired and Sean hoped she was around, because he didn’t have anyone else he could call locally.
“Yep,” Renee answered. Over the phone, Sean heard the long drag of a cigarette.
“Renee, it’s Sean Rogan.”
Renee barked out a laugh. Her rough, deep voice responded warmly. “How’s my favorite computer hacker doing these days? I heard you’d relocated to Texas. Following a girl. Way I remember it, the girls were always following you.”
“I’ve grown up.”
“She better be treatin’ you right.”
“More than right.”
“So I guess you’re not callin’ me to run a background check on the woman.” Another drag on the cigarette, or maybe it was Sean’s imagination. The woman was seventy and smoked a pack or three a day. Sean had met her years ago, while he was still in college at MIT, and his brother Duke had asked him to spend his summer setting up a complete security system—physical and computer—for a high tech company. Renee had been hired to do background checks. She was old school, Sean was new school, but they’d hit it off immediately.
“Though,” Renee continued, “I’m none too happy you’re livin’ a couple hours from Houston and you didn’t pop over to visit.”
“My loss.”
“It certainly is.”
He smiled. “You’ll never change.”
“God, I hope not. So this ain’t a social call. You want something.”
“I do.”
“I should be offended and hang up, but I love your voice.”
“At least I have something going for me.”
She laughed, a deep, genuine laugh. “You know I’m retired.”
“You’ll never retire.”
“Whadya want?”
“A house. Occupants. Anything you can dig up on them.”
“Sounds boring.”
“You know I pay well.”
“I don’t need the money.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I don’t need the money so bad I’m willin’ to take a boring job. Tell me why.”
“Will you take it if I do?”
“If you tell me the truth.”
“Always.”
She snorted out a laugh. “What’s so important about the house?”
“I don’t know. A known prostitute—a madam, I guess you’d call her—owns it free and clear. It’s worth half a million.”
“Shit, I went into the wrong business.”
“I want to know who lives there, how long, what they do, a full rectal exam—without letting anyone know you’re looking.”
“You could do it from your computer,” Renee said.
“I tried. Everything is in this woman’s name. Mona Hill. That’s not even her real name, it was Ramona Jefferson. Mona Hill has a different social, but I know they’re the same person.”
“I trust your instincts, Sean. You know I’d do anything for you, sugar.”
“Likewise.”
She laughed again, then started coughing.
“Are you sick?”
“Naw, just smokin’. Shouldn’t laugh when I’m puffin’ away.”
He wondered about that. Seventy years old, fifty plus of those years a smoker, her lungs were probably black as night. But one thing he’d learned about Renee was that she did what she wanted when she wanted and damned be anyone who didn’t like it.
“You’ll do it.”
“You know I will. Send me what you have. I’ll get back to you in a day or two.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll thank me by hauling your ass up here and introducing me to your girl.”
“Hell, no. One night with you telling stories about me and she might run away.”
“Any girl who runs from you is a fucking idiot.”
“Love ya, Renee.”
“Right back at you.” She hung up.
Sean sent off the information he had on the property, then turned his attention to Mona Hill’s current residence. She didn’t have a large digital footprint—she was smart, he’d give her that—but she had a small one. And all it took was basic information for him to get what he wanted. He found her email address through one of her creditors, then backtraced it to find her internet service provider.