52. Ethan
Smith might look like a Wall Street bro, but he drives like a seasoned rally car champion. I’m not the only one holding onto the grab handle as he drifts around corners and roars through intersections—whether or not the lights are in his favor.
“Would someone mind getting me up to speed?” I ask, and quite fucking calmly in the circumstances.
The Balmont Boys didn’t even give me a choice. They herded me out of their Den and into Smith’s grey Bentley Bentayga like it was a fucking hostage situation.
Except for Troy.
As we left, Myles barked out, “Check his house,” and Troy jumped into a Range Rover and shot off with squealing tires.
“Saw Cordelia a few weeks ago,” Rich says, his voice louder than usual to drown out all the horns blaring at us as Smith completely ignores the fact that there are other drivers on the same road as us. “She’d just come back from honeymoon. Switzerland, of all places.”
“Stay on track, Rich,” Myles warns.
Cordelia had been my first regular. A wealthy, spoiled heiress who’d grown bored with her socialite lifestyle when she was still in her teens, it didn’t take her long to sniff out an invitation to the Devil’s Den, where she quickly became one of my most frequent clients.
I still remember our first scene together. I’d barely gotten started before she bleated out the Den’s signature phrase to end the scene, and ran away with tears streaming down her face.
The Devil made me do it.
She’d seemed so terrified, I thought I’d never see her again. But she kept coming back for more.
After I met Becks, I stopped working at the Devil’s Den. By then, Cordelia and Rich had begun an on-again off-again relationship, hooking up a few times a month when they had nothing—or no one—better to do.
“For God’s sake, Smith, try not to kill anyone!” Myles mutters as the Bentley weaves in and out of traffic.
Smith says nothing, which is fine with me, because I’d rather he concentrate on not colliding with anyone.
“So Cordelia shows up at the Den with a pair of black opal earrings,” Rich continues, despite the interruptions and squeal of tires. “Absolutely gorgeous.” He taps my leg. “The earrings, not Cordelia. Well, she looked hot as shit too, but those earrings, man?—”
“Rich,” Myles snaps.
“Yeah, yeah, fuck. So I’m checking out her earrings, and she tells me they’re a gift from Barrett—that’s her new husband. So I ask Barrett where the hell he found them, because man, they’re fucking beautiful. I mean, you’ve seen the necklace.”
I stare at Myles in the rear-view mirror. He pointedly rolls his eyes and then cringes as Smith veers around a plumbing van.
“And Barrett said Angelo had sold him the earrings? Earrings you think belonged to Cassidy’s mother because they match her necklace?”
Rich stabs a finger into my thigh. “Exactly!” He holds up that same finger. “Which you would have known if Angelo had told you about the sale!”
There’s a beat of silence in the car until Smith slams on the Bentley’s brakes and curses under his breath as a dump truck slowly crosses the intersection in front of us.
“You’re all blowing this out of proportion.”
“Are we?” Smith turns in his seat, giving me a hard stare. “When he took over your clients, I assume he was still supposed to report back to you? Keep records of all his deals? That kind of thing?”
“Yes, but?—”
“So why the hell didn’t you know about those earrings?” Rich asks. “That’s not something you’d easily forget. They would have cost Barrett a fortune.”
My mouth opens and closes until I manage a pathetic, “So he hid a deal from me.”
“Real question is, what else has he been hiding from you?” Myles says quietly from the passenger seat as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He checks the screen, clicks his tongue. “Troy just arrived at his house. Angelo’s not there.”
I’m pressed back into my seat as Smith speeds through the intersection. The Bentayga’s engine growls, and I’m not sure if it’s just the powerful machine vibrating through my body, or if it’s rage.
Deals have slipped through the cracks before. I never thought much of it, because I was more passionate about matching gems with buyers than the actual sale itself, especially after I started working at the Devil’s Den.
Angelo was always about the money. He’d cost us deals before because he wouldn’t negotiate between the parties. Did Angelo meet with Rebecca? If he did, then he should have notified me, especially if it resulted in a sale.
But that just proves he cut me out of a deal. Which doesn’t explain why the hell Smith is driving like a fucking lunatic.
Unless…
“Wait a minute. You think he had something to do with Rebecca’s disappearance?” I address the question to everyone in the car.
“Possible,” Myles says. “Never liked him. Shifty eyes.”
“You think he kidnapped her?” The last thing I want to do is accuse my friend of being a criminal. It shouldn’t matter, not when I’m in a car surrounded by fucking criminals, but somehow it does.
Smith shakes his head. “There was no mention of a ransom demand in the police file. I don’t think she was kidnapped.”
“So what are you saying?”
Smith decelerates, then comes to a gentle stop. The engine ticks as it cools, a hush filling the cab.
“We’re here.”
We all turn to look up at the office block.
Me and Angelo moved our offices here three years ago, after our lease expired. I met Donald Parker, my realtor, when he leased our old office for his budding real estate company.
Despite the late hour, several of the offices still have their lights on.
“Lot of people around,” Myles says. “She’d feel safe here, maybe even let her guard down.”
“I told her not to come here alone.” Smith sighs. “It’s too easy to isolate someone in a big office block like this.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure you’ve never met a more obedient woman in your life.”
Smith gives me a long-suffering stare as he hands me a Glock. “We’re coming in with you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“The gun, or the backup?”
“Angelo wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
Myles claps a hand over my shoulder. “You know everyone has a dark side.”
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
Myles pats my shoulder. “Rich, Smith, you two go with Ethan. I’ll keep an eye on the entrance.”
We all get out of Smith’s Bentley and cross the street. I tuck Smith’s Glock into the small of my back as I walk into the office lobby with Smith and Rich. The reception area is still lit up, but there’s no one behind the desk to greet me.
Luckily, I know where to go.
“Top floor, last door on the left.”
Smith and Rich take the stairs, disappearing without another word.
I take the elevator, heading straight for Angelo’s office. The elevator stops on one of the floors, but the person waiting outside is so busy texting they don’t even notice the doors opening.
Angelo’s office is at the end of the hall, and all the doors I pass to reach his are closed.
Thankfully I still have keys to the office, and I always carry them on the same set as my car keys. The last thing I want to do is kick down a door only to find out there is, after all, a rational explanation for all of this.
Dear God, I hope there is.
Because the alternative is that Cassidy’s life is in danger, and even the thought makes me want to commit grievous bodily harm.
The office light is on. I can see it shining through the small gap at the bottom of the door. Making as little sound as possible, I carefully ease the key into the lock and open the door.
There’s a small reception area with four doors leading off a short hallway. Two offices, a kitchen area we also used as a workshop, and the bathroom.
Empty.
My heart is in my fucking throat as I aim the Glock down the hall and make my way deeper into the office. I never realized something as innocent as an office could be this fucking sinister.
I ease open the kitchen door, then the bathroom. Angelo’s office, then mine.
As Smith and Richmond walk into the office, I turn to them and let out a frustrated sigh.
“He’s not here.”