But Ken and Will had a very different bit of news to share with us, and not any less exciting.
“We’ve been going over the recordings,” said Will. “There’s been an interesting development.” He glanced at Ken, and they shared a knowing and joyous smile.
“And, by recordings, you mean—” Christian started.
“From the microphones, we planted in the coats of our friendly neighborhood kidnappers,” said Will. He grinned from ear to ear but did not elaborate.
“And?” I said. I couldn’t bear the dramatic pause. “What did we get on the recording?”
Will wasn’t finished with his dramatic pause. He and Ken stood there with wide grins stretched across their glowing faces.
“Tell us,” said Landon.
“Come on, out with it,” said Christian.
Will and Ken couldn’t contain themselves any longer. They broke out laughing then Will waved us over. “You’re going to have to hear this for yourselves.”
“We couldn’t have scripted it any better,” Ken added.
We gathered in the studio. We huddle around the computer. Will brought up the file. He was about to hit play, but instead, he turned to us quickly. “Wait. Sasha needs to hear this.”
“She can hear it later,” I said. “Play it for us now.”
Will shook his head. He closed the computer, stood, and walked toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go find Sasha.”
Instead of finding Sasha, we found Dan, who told us Sasha was out and should be back for dinner in about an hour.
Will made us wait, despite all of us insisting he play us the recording now—all, except Ken, who grinned along with Will.
Dinner was served, and Sasha still hadn’t returned from her errand. “Go ahead and dig in while it’s hot,” said Seth. “Sasha won’t mind if we start without her.”
I was starved after spending a few days moping around and feeling sorry for myself, then having a sudden and extreme burst of optimism really awakened my appetite. I ate greedily, but I kept glancing back at the door, hoping to catch Sasha arriving.
“Jim tells me you guys got a great view of the Aurora Borealis,” said Dan.
“It was amazing,” said Landon.
“A game-changer,” said Christian.
I couldn’t contain myself. “We have big news to share with Sasha,” I blurted out.
“Yeah,” said Ben, “we’re itching for her to get back. Apparently, Will and Ken found something regarding your neighbors.”
As if on cue, Sasha came in. “Mmm smells delicious.”
We rose from our seats. Sasha had never been greeted with such enthusiasm—at least not by The Savage Seven. Though I suspect her harem might have given her a warmer greeting a time or two.
“I know I shouldn’t bring the laptop to the dinner table,” said Will. “But I think you’ll agree; this time, we can make an exception.” With that preamble, Will set the computer on the table, opened it, and hit play.
Unlike much of the audio we’d captured from the hidden microphones, with the sound of the wind whipping against the mics or the noise of traffic, this particular recording was crystal clear. The words and their meaning were as obvious as a whale: the names of judges they’d bribed, the dollar amounts, the decisions they’d wanted to be made in return.
Will beamed with pride as the audio played. We all looked at each other with mouths agape.
Sasha, too, beamed, though she hid her smile delicately with her napkin. She might have had too much class to gloat, but we weren’t above it. We clapped and cheered and raised our glasses.
“Well,” said Sasha, once the celebration had simmered down a bit, “not to sour the festivities, but I don’t think any of that is admissible in court.”
“But it will make one hell of an ending for Bonita’s documentary,” said Trevor. And our celebration began anew.
“To Bonita!” We toasted our victory. “To The Savage Seven. Long live the queen.”
Sasha and her men had only a vague idea of what our toasts meant, but they joined along with no less enthusiasm.
“You know,” Bash said to Sasha, “it may not be admissible in court, but we can still use it as leverage.”
“Get them to give up the New York contract,” said Harry.
“Or get them to give us the photos they took of our room,” said Graham.
Sasha smiled wryly and took a sip of her wine. “I’d say that recording is worth both of those things and then some.”
I raised my glass. “To Solar Snow.”
The others joined in. “To Sasha.”
“To victory.”
That night I lay awake, thinking of Bonita. I imagined we were talking in her room, and I was telling her about the recording and how Sasha had used it to get the picture back and get the New York contract back. I had it all planned out: what I would say, how she would react, our sexy celebration. However, as was often the case, things didn’t play out as I had imagined.
When we landed in New York, the news, Angelica Fay had settled out of court with Solar Snow and that the large energy contract with the state of New York had been taken from Fay Energy and given to Solar Snow, was on the front page of all the papers.