Chapter 19 #2
How is Cash so calm? When I look at him, I realize that the question is immaterial. He isn’t calm. He’s beating himself up with a gigantic fucking emotional hammer, powerless to fight it.
“Remy was seen crossing the casino floor to reach the exit.” Terry is still speaking. “We have witnesses who corroborate the bartender’s statement. She was upset. She didn’t speak to anyone.”
“There are cameras in the foyer.” I’m risking Terry’s anger by stating the obvious, but I won’t forgive myself if I don’t ask. “You’ve checked them? Where was the rest of your team?”
“Bash,” Caleb intervenes. “I understand that you’re worried about Remy, but this isn’t as straightforward as it seems.”
“Remy is missing. The entire security team was dealing with what…? We all stepped in when Victoria and Sienna went missing.”
“There were multiple situations, and the cameras had been tampered with,” Kyle blurts out. “A minute after Cash and Remy arrived at the Titan, the cameras were frozen and replaced with old footage of the same areas to make it appear that they were fully operational.”
“How did that happen?” The accusation is unmistakable. “That’s movie-heist tampering from the last century.”
Cyber security is Kyle’s remit. We’ve had breaches before, it comes with the territory, but the situation has never been life threatening.
This is personal.
Someone entered the Titan, hacked into the computer system, and abducted Remy right under our noses.
“Why Remy?” I’m pacing again.
“I would say that’s obvious,” Kyle deadpans. “You’re both in love with her, and she’s carrying your babies. Two hits for the price of one.”
That lands like a killer punch to the gut, and I grip the back of my seat to keep me upright. “Have you interviewed the guests?”
“We’re on it,” Terry confirms. “Two witnesses claim that Remy stumbled into them. They assumed that she was drunk.”
“She’s pregnant!”
Terry raises both hands. “I’m giving you the facts to work through. Better for all concerned if our perp has no idea that she’s pregnant; we don’t want to give them any more ammunition than they already have.”
I glance at Cash who cricks his neck from side to side, slowly reviving himself from his bubble of guilt.
“What else?” I ask.
“No one followed her through to the foyer. No one saw her leave the building.”
“The concierge? He’s paid to be our eyes and ears.”
“He had a particularly difficult customer. His words, not mine.”
I lower my head and clasp my hands around the back of my neck. “It was a fucking set-up. They knew exactly what they were doing.”
“I’ve been researching George Quinn’s background,” Kyle says.
“Sure, he started a small tech company, funded by Daddy, when he graduated from college. It has since grown disproportionately thanks to the advancement of AI, and some perfectly timed investments which I assume Daddy threw his son’s way.
But unless he’s hiding some secret cypher punk connections, this is way beyond his capabilities. ”
“In plain fucking English, Kyle.” It’s harsh, but we’re wasting time dicking about here when we should be out there looking for Remy.
Kyle’s expression registers no offence. “I don’t think that Quinn is our man.”
“Got a better suggestion?”
Kyle shakes his head and exchanges glances with Caleb, looking for someone to back him up.
“We’re looking into Isabella Leone’s connections,” Caleb says.
“Well.” I stand up tall and meet their eyes in turn. “While you’re looking for connections, I’m going downstairs to speak to our friend Mr. Quinn.”
“Bash,” Terry says, standing between me and the door. “He has an alibi.”
I meet his gaze. “And you and I both know it doesn’t mean a fucking thing.”
“I’m coming with you.” Cash is already on his feet.
“Boys.” Terry blinks hard. “I should stop you. Your mom will have my fucking balls on a plate if I go home tonight and tell her that her youngest sons have both been arrested. But I’m trusting you not to blow it, alright?”
He stands aside and gestures to the door.
“You prove me wrong, and you’ll have me to deal with. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Isabella is the first to spot us when we enter the restaurant and make a beeline for their table.
I guess we’re hard to miss. Instead of alerting her fiancée and her other dinner companions, she presses a crisp white napkin to her lips, folds it neatly, and continues the conversation they were having before we appeared.
If I wasn’t so focused on the man sitting next to her with the mashed-up features, I might have paid a little more attention.
But some perverse part of me, the part that has already tried and convicted George Quinn of abducting the woman I love and holding her hostage in some dank basement in a rat-infested warehouse, takes immense pleasure in his reaction.
He blinks his good eye, pushes his seat backwards, and picks up a silver dinner knife, wielding it in front of him like a sword. “St-stay away from me,” he stutters. Peering around, he catches the eye of the ma?tre-d and beckons him to the table.
“What’s the problem, George?” I pull up a seat from a spare table and sit down. “Something wrong with the food?”
Cash copies me and drags a second chair closer. “We have a complaints procedure if you’re unhappy with the service.”
“Okay.” The man sitting across from Isabella places his cutlery across his unfinished plate.
Mr. Leone perhaps. He has the same slender nose as Isabella, the same strong jawline.
“Would you care to explain what’s going on here?
My wife and I are trying to enjoy a meal with our daughter and her fiancé. ”
“Please accept my apologies, sir.” Cash produces his most disarming smile, and I don’t interrupt. “But earlier this evening, your future son-in-law accused me of a crime that I didn’t commit.”
The man’s eyes flit between Cash and George. “You’re the man who tried to kill my future son-in-law.”
His wife’s hands disappear beneath the table, and she sits back, taking shelter behind her husband.
“With all due respect.” Cash inclines his head. “If I wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”
“If Isabella hadn’t interrupted you,” George whines but doesn’t finish what he started.
Cash turns his attention to Isabella Leone. Her expression is neutral. Her body language suggests that this unexpected turn of events is adding to her evening’s enjoyment, as she half-turns to face my brother, hands folded demurely in her lap, eyes glittering.
“Strange,” Cash says. “I didn’t see you in the gym. I’m certain I would’ve remembered.”
“Ha!” George exclaims, jabbing the dinner knife in Cash’s direction. “So, you’re not denying it.”
Cash ignores him. “Where were you hiding?”
Isabella shrugs. “I was refilling my water bottle. I heard a commotion, and when I came back through, George was on the floor.”
“This is preposterous!” Mr. Leone stands up and tosses his napkin onto the table as if throwing down a gauntlet. “I will not have my family intimidated by a couple of thugs masquerading as businessmen.”
“I completely agree, sir.” Cash’s expression is unreadable. “Here at the Titan, ensuring the safety and well-being of our guests is our priority. Please accept my sincere apology.” He retrieves his cell from his pocket and hits redial. “Terry, your assistance is required in the restaurant.”
“Terry?” Mr. Leone’s eyes have hardened.
A glance at George, and he wipes the smirk from his face. He’s enjoying this too. He’s fidgety though, his good eye twitching as though he just remembered who he is confronting. The man who allegedly tried to murder him.
Isabella still hasn’t moved.
Terry arrives within moments. He may be our stepfather, but when he’s working, he is our enforcer, and nothing passes between us to suggest otherwise.
“Terry,” Cash says, “please escort Mr. Leone and his family from the premises. It seems they’re unhappy with the service this evening.”
Terry gestures to the exit then settles his hand on his holster.
“I… We…” Mr. Leone’s mouth works hard with no reward. Finally, he manages, “We’re guests. We’re not the ones who need to be escorted from the building. We’re still eating.”
“Sir,” Terry says amiably, “I’ve already arranged for you to continue your meal at another Murray establishment. The Wraith.”
Mr. Leone touches his jacket pocket. A warning perhaps. He lowers his voice, keeping the conversation close. “Lay one finger on my family, and you will live to regret it.”
“A family man.” Terry smiles. “We have that in common, so perhaps you’ll understand my predicament. A young lady has gone missing from the Titan this evening. Shortly before your party arrived to be precise.”
Mrs. Leone raises a hand to her mouth; it’s her first reaction to the conversation since Bash and I arrived.
“What does that have to do with me?” Mr. Leone asks without acknowledging his wife.
“We have reason to believe that your future son-in-law is responsible. So, my question to you, Mr. Leone,” Terry doesn’t give him a chance to interject, “is what would you do in my situation?”
“That is a serious allegation, and you clearly have no evidence to back it up or you wouldn’t be standing here now. George was with my daughter all evening. He has an alibi.”
Terry’s expression doesn’t falter. “Answer the question, Mr. Leone.”
Mr. Leone’s eyes shrink further, retreating within the pouchy flesh surrounding them. “I would find the perpetrator and make them pay. But that does not give you the right to—”
“Thank you.” Terry cuts him off and turns to me and Bash. “You have Mr. Leone’s full support to go ahead and make the perpetrator pay.”
I stand up, replacing the chair I borrowed from the next table. Cash follows suit.
We both converge on George Quinn, who is backing away towards the exit, still holding the knife in his hand.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Mr. Leone raises his voice. The other guests have no doubt been trying to follow the conversation, but now he is demanding all eyes on him.
“Are you threatening my sons?” Terry doesn’t raise his voice to match the guest.
“No, sir. I’m simply reminding you that you and your family will not win if you persist in falsely accusing my daughter’s fiancé.”
“Mistake number one, Mr. Leone. Assuming that my accusations are false.” Terry isn’t backing down. It’ll take a whole lot more than a visit from the NYPD to frighten our stepdad.
“We shall see about that.” Mr. Leone produces a cell phone from his jacket pocket and raises it to his ear.
“Stop, Dad.” Isabella speaks for the first time. She rises slowly, her movements calm and measured. “I can handle this.”
Her dad shakes his head, the movement so brief that I almost miss it. “I think you’ve done enough, Isabella.”
A flash of emotion, anger maybe, sparks behind her eyes, but she doesn’t look away or lower her head. “Trust me, I haven’t even gotten started yet.”
“Isabella.” Her mom’s voice distracts Isabella momentarily. “Have some respect for your father,” the older woman hisses.
A faint smile twitches her lips upwards and immediately vanishes. She turns to me and Cash. “With all due respect to my father,” she begins, “I think I have what you are looking for.”
My pulse spikes, adrenaline pumping the blood around my veins. Quinn is temporarily forgotten.
“Go on,” Cash speaks for us both.
“I know where Remy is.”
Mr. Leone steps around the table and grabs his daughter’s arm. “Enough, Isabella. Not another word.”
Isabella stares at her father’s hand until he releases her. She raises dark eyes to meet his. “You wanted me to take an interest in the family business, and that is what I have done. If you undermine me now—”
I don’t hear what else she has to say.
George Quinn is gone.