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Including UR Fantasies and other sensitive clients.
Grant’s the type to talk big, but when push comes to shove, he’s more the face of it all. And I don’t particularly like him either.
He’s more concerned with money and reputation and stopping the threats than doing much about getting his kid back. He told me to find the list—and I’m to fucking blame if anything happens to the girl.
The main office has been picked over by the Knights and then by me. I’m tempted to go back there, but the fact that Grant Hanlon armed me with the alarm code for the Sugar Hill place tells me it might be there.
It doesn’t take long for the car to get me there against the morning traffic. I use the key I stole from Scarlett and punch in the alarm code to turn it off.
I start my search right after I turn my phone back on. There’s a wild energy in my veins, and I normally love shit like this, but for some reason, not today.
Maybe it’s because my fucking target is MIA. I stick one AirPod in my ear and call Smith, working my way through the house. “Anything yet on Amelia or Dale Hanlon?”
“Not a fucking thing on Dale. He just… disappeared. Hasn’t used his card, so whatever the trip is, he’s off the grid, old style, using cash,” says Smith.
I frown as I crack the safe in the bedroom. It’s a keypad, so it’s easy with the special UV black light I keep attached to my key chain. The main buttons touched show up, and the numbers coincide with the date and month of Scarlett’s birth, so it’s easy to unlock. It opens and I rifle through it.
“Shit.” I grit my teeth.
“What is it?”
“Just money and his passport in the safe and some jewelry I bet belonged to Scarlett’s mother.” I lock it up again and take a long look around.
With a frustrated sigh, I head down to the office with the locked drawer. There’s no time for more than the letter opener to jimmy the lock.
“Why the fuck,” I say, “would anyone keep an empty drawer?”
“To hide in plain sight,” Smith mutters. “You know this thing is weird, right. It’s a hell of a coincidence that someone else wants the list, along with Jones and the client.”
“The client wants to see the list, not have it,” I say. “And yes, it is. Makes me think of fucking fishing.”
“For red herrings?”
“A whole fucking bunch.” I pause. “We’ve got the uncle who’s seemingly content not to include the police in the search for his kid, a kidnapper who has yet to set up a time and a date to make an exchange, and a suddenly popular and elusive client list.”
“What’s Grant got to say about that?” Smith asks.
“He doesn’t have the list.”
“But you found something…”
“I found something, but we still haven’t cracked it, if it’s something to be cracked. And I get the feeling it’s about the fucking older brother.”
“Scarlett’s dad.” He pauses. “What’s your problem with him?”
“Not your fucking business.” I switch the subject because I can’t think about the blood I’m going to spill. I’m betting the prick’s okay; men like him always land on their feet. And he’s taken himself away for… I don’t know.
That’s the thing.
I don’t fucking know.
“I don’t really buy that Grant Hanlon doesn’t know where his brother is. And he’s either lying about the list, or he really doesn’t know anything about it. I’m betting it’s the latter.”
“Why?” Smith asks.
I feel around for a secret bottom to the drawer, but it’s solid. Maybe he did just lock it empty? I start to pull it out, intending to look at the bottom underside when the crunch of paper hits me.
“Because he seems more pissed at his brother than worried about his daughter.”
