Page 109 of My Beautiful Sin

Seventeen minutes and fifteen seconds later, I’m impatiently tapping my finger as I wait for Corbin to return. The file is downloaded and installed, and I’m staring at a screen that says Welcome, Elsa. Patience is a virtue.

And beneath that, an animated wagging finger while the sound blurts out “Ah-ah-ah” in a scolding tone.

I swear if this software is a bust, I’m going to make it my mission to bring Corbin down a peg. Or five.

“So we’re good to go?” His voice slithers into my ear.

“Have been for over ten minutes,” I say. “Did you get lost on the way back from the lobby? I know it can be complicated. There are so many buttons in an elevator to choose from.”

“Not your best zinger,” he says, and despite myself, I have to silently agree. “Okay, it’s easy enough once you get the hang of it. You have the file you’re trying to clean up saved on your hard drive somewhere?”

“Yes. Are you going to be able to see what I see on your end?”

“No.”

I lick my lips. “How do I know for sure?”

“You don’t,” he says. “But in case you forgot, I’m a reporter, too. I won’t fuck with your information or your sources, Ellie. You, absolutely. But not the job.”

“Right. Sorry. I know you won’t.” I rest my fingers on the keys. “So what do I do?”

He walks me through uploading into the program, then takes me through the various controls that direct the process.

“Basically, the computer is looking for information in the pixels, and you’re guiding it. So this only works if you have some idea of what the image is supposed to be. This is that bank building with the two rappellers, right? So you’ll expect a building and human forms. Possibly cars in the parking lot depending on the angle. Maybe the building equipment on the roof. It was a drone shot, right?”

“Right.”

“All right. Let’s try this.” He guides me through some commands so that the program will focus on the building and the men and not the background. Then he tells me how to isolate the figures and give the computer instructions for clarifying their features.

“It’ll take a few hours at least. Might even take a few days. But give it time before you start making adjustments. If you think you know who one of the images is, then you can upload their photo and let the computer decide if there’s a match. But if you’re flying blind, you just tell the program it should be a person. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. And call me if you need help.”

“Really?”

“It’s not like I’m inviting you to call and chat with me about your day. But if you get hung up, then, yeah. I want my software to work as much as you do. And it’s not like either one of us keeps regular hours, right?”

“Thanks,” I say, reluctantly admitting that while Corbin might be a prick, he may not actually be the biggest prick in the universe.

He wishes me luck, and as soon we’ve ended the call, I call Roger to tell him I’m set up and the program is working, and I’ll let him know as soon as I do.

Then I sit there, watching pixels rearrange themselves on my screen. At first it’s fascinating, but it soon becomes tedious. After ten minutes, I decide to clean the house. Not only will it keep my mind off the computer’s progress, but it’s a good way to say thanks to Brandy for letting me stay here, even though we’re bending her landlord’s rules.

I spend a few mindless hours cleaning the bathrooms and folding laundry, followed by vacuuming and mopping the tiled areas. I check in with my computer between tasks, and though the image isn’t yet discernable, the progress bar indicates that it’s moving toward something. I can only hope that something will be a recognizable image.

I tackle the kitchen next, and since I can see the television over the island, I turn on a classic movie channel as I work. I smile when I realize the current program is All About Eve, one of my favorite Bette Davis movies, and I’ve only missed the first ten minutes or so of the film.

My attention is split between the movie and putting away the dishes. I’d been thinking about Bette Davis the other day, realizing that’s who Reggie reminds me of. But there was someone else, too, who’d reminded me of the actress. Someone else with deep set eyes.

I shake my head, frowning as I try to grasp the thread of a memory. That frustrating feeling when you’re trying to hold onto a thought that keeps slipping through your fingers like smoke. It’s right there, but it’s completely impossible to—

The prostitute.

That was it. The prostitute in Vegas. The one whose picture I’d seen in the paper. She’d had deep set, Bette Davis eyes, too. And she’s the one who’d been hidden in the back of my mind when I first met Reggie.

The prostitute who’d been with Lorenzo Bell when he’d been assassinated. The known kingpin of an established human trafficking ring who someone had taken out with a close range bullet when I’d been in Vegas with Devlin.