“What do we do?” Mirabelle barely whispered the million-dollar question as she paced up and down her office, twisting her hands together.
The crease in Morris’s forehead deepened. He studied the small black square still attached to the tape Lucinda had used to stick it to her back. Really, he had to commend the woman for her creativity, even though what she had done was very stupid.
The device didn’t look too sophisticated, from what Morris could tell. It was all black and had a USB port, a record button, and a thin slot for a memory card. Morris breathed a sigh of relief. They’d feared that the device was transmitting and someone else was listening in on the other end, but it seemed that it wasn’t that sort of device.
“Okay, we can talk,” he told Mirabelle in a raised voice.
Mirabelle
