CHAPTER 27 JESSALYN
JESSALYN
“Well, Florida was a bust.”
Justin had already said as much in a text message, but it was still harder to hear the words in person.
But he was back, and he was safe. I hadn’t been prepared for the way my heart flipped when he walked into the kitchen.
With Ridge, I used to feel the weight of dread as I waited for him to come home from the office, but when I heard the front door open this evening, relief overwhelmed me instead.
“Linus Sykes wouldn’t speak with you?”
“The opposite. He was quite chatty, in fact. But he wasn’t involved in Amie’s disappearance.”
“You’re certain of that?” Dawson asked. He’d stayed in the house all day while Ari travelled to Richmond to dig up dirt on Raelene Holtz. “What about the private investigator?”
“He said it’s nothing to do with him, and I don’t think he was lying.”
“The man’s a lobbyist. He talks bullshit for a living.”
“Was a lobbyist. Now he’s more or less retired. He lives on a yacht with his boyfriend, and they run a coffee bar as a sideline.”
Dawson’s jaw dropped. “His boyfriend?”
Brax ambled in, holding a beer. “Half of Congress is in the closet, so why not those in their orbit? But Justin’s right—Linus isn’t involved.
To paraphrase: he was focused on his job, he never wanted to be a father, and he couldn’t stand his wife.
But he stood to lose too much in the divorce, so he just screwed around on the side while she raised Levi. ”
Dawson gave a low whistle. “Damn.”
“He said the stress of the trial killed her,” Justin added.
“Which he seemed quite chipper over. He used the life insurance payout to buy the yacht. Anyhow, he said Sophy must be lying about the hundred bucks a month, and we need to work out why.”
“She wasn’t lying,” Alexa said from the doorway. “Is there any more chocolate cake?”
For someone so small, she sure did eat a lot, but I’d baked two cakes with Violet filming the whole time, so there was plenty left.
“Uh, yes, of course. I’ll cut you a slice.”
With Violet’s encouragement, I’d found myself loosening up as I baked, and the second time around, there had even been laughter.
There was one roughly edited “Dear Saylor” video ready to go, but Alexa had told me to hold off on uploading it while she made some tweaks to my new social media accounts.
“How do you know she wasn’t lying?” Justin asked.
“Because I checked Amie’s bank account. She hasn’t touched it since she disappeared, by the way.”
And Ari said she’d left her stash of cash behind. That didn’t sound good.
Justin raised his gaze to the ceiling. “I don’t want to know.”
“Good, because you probably wouldn’t understand the technicalities anyway.”
“Can you see where the money came from?” Dawson asked.
“Estonia.”
“What?”
“It’s a country in Northern Europe.”
“I know where Estonia is. But why would anyone be sending Amie money from there?”
“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it? Well, more like the eight-thousand-dollar question, but you get the picture.”
“Can you see who owns the account?”
“A company called Kahvel Peopesa Oü. Which doesn’t seem to trade in any meaningful way, and the name translates as ‘Fork Palm.’”
“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“It makes no sense at all, yet at the same time, it makes perfect sense.”
“Come again?”
“If somebody wants to start a company fast, not only in Estonia but in many other countries too, the easiest way to do that is to buy a shelf company. It comes pre-registered, often with a bank account and business licences, and you don’t have to be a resident in the country to start trading.
Those often have dumbass names that are just random words from the dictionary, and you change them later. ”
I was still sitting in the “makes no sense” camp, and so was Justin, judging by his puzzled expression.
“So you’re saying some random Estonian was paying Amie for information about me?” he asked.
“I’m saying that if I wanted to make a payment and hide its true origin, and I couldn’t use crypto, that’s how I’d do it.”
“But who’s behind it?”
“There are two people who might be able to tell us. One’s missing, and the other is in the shadows. Someone needs to speak with Sophy again.”
“Who? Ari?”
“Nope. Ari’s working on the Raelene Holtz angle, and there’s weirdness there too.”
We already knew a little about her, thanks to the internet.
She’d been a big-shot prosecutor in New York, going after criminals who considered themselves untouchable—wealthy businessmen, politicians, the Mafia.
Then she’d abruptly quit and switched sides.
In an interview with NewsFlash magazine, she’d cited burnout as the reason.
“Tell me her fees aren’t being paid by an Estonian shelf company?”
“The Justice Project is strictly not-for-profit. No, she seems to have a bodyguard. Two of them, actually—one covers mornings, and the other takes afternoons.”
Dawson sat up straighter. “A bodyguard? You think she has concerns about her safety?”
“We don’t know yet. But she didn’t call up Blackwood or Sentinel or any other reputable security company and ask them to send a guy over. The bodyguards are from the Diamondback Devils.”
“Isn’t that a motorcycle club?”
“Yup. They shadow her to work, they wait outside the office, and they follow her home again. Chances are, it’s unconnected to Levi’s case, but we can’t get close to her right now.”
“So who’s going to talk with Sophy? You?”
“Me?” Alexa snorted. “Of course not. Her.”
She pointed at me with a stylus, and I choked on the mouthful of coffee I’d just taken.
“What?” I asked at the same moment Justin said, “No way.”
“It’s just a few questions, and Ari said Sophy was opening up to you.” Alexa addressed me, ignoring Justin. “We think it’s unlikely Sophy’s involved, but she’s known Amie since the beginning.”
“Unlikely she’s involved?” Justin asked, and he didn’t sound happy.
“How did they end up sharing an apartment?”
“I don’t know.”
“Precisely. Jessalyn needs to find out.”
“This isn’t Jessalyn’s problem to solve,” Justin practically growled. “She’s not one of your minions.”
“Yes, but she’s not exactly busy, and the quicker we get to the bottom of this, the quicker we can all go home. Apart from you, obviously. You live here.”
“I’ll do it,” I said quickly. I wanted to help, although I couldn’t deny Justin’s lack of confidence in me stung.
“Attagirl. Don’t forget the cake.”
I was halfway off my stool when the doorbell rang. Shiro began barking as Alexa glanced at her screen.
“It’s the police. Guess Amie’s parents finally shot a rocket up their backsides, or maybe it was that attention-seeking sister of hers. If I were the cops, I’d investigate just to get her off my back.”
Chase had escorted the Carlson family to a hotel earlier, and Amie’s sister had complained about everything—the choice of seats on the airplane, the wait for their luggage, the walk to the car, the size of the room, the lack of choice in the minibar.
Everything. Chase seemed like an easygoing kind of guy, but when he got back to the house, he’d slammed the front door and said the asshole had kidnapped the wrong damn sister.
“Did you install cameras on my property?” Justin demanded.
“Someone had to. Dawson, can you get the door?”
“I’ll get it,” Justin said. “It’s my house.”
“Did you completely forget the past? You’re not talking to the cops without a lawyer present. Not this time.”
“But—”
“No buts. They had their chance, and they blew it. We’re doing this our way now.”