23
STERLING
“Give me an update.”
I stare out of the car window at the Upper East side buildings as we drive, my cell pressed to my ear.
“He went to the deli on the corner. Got a pastrami sub, then went back to his hotel room,” Denver replies.
I grind my teeth as I picture Rory, relaxed enough to eat when it took me half an hour to calm Hallie down after what she told me.
I knew that bastard was up to something the second I answered her phone and he demanded she send him ‘thirty’ something. Now I know he meant thirty grand. He’s a prick that’s never going to get the chance to look at her again if I get my way. No more coffees with her while Denver sits outside, keeping an eye on him.
Rory’s lost all chances for me to be civil.
“What else did you find?” I run my pointer finger over my lips.
Mal clears his throat from the seat next to me and arches a brow. I’ve already filled him in on Rory’s surprise arrival.
“Denver, I’m putting you on speaker. Mal’s here with me.”
“Mal,” Denver clips as I hold my phone out so we can both hear. “So I checked his finances. Seems Rory is in debt to the grand total of four hundred and eighty thousand. A mix of bad investments and horse racing bets.”
“Idiot.” Mal snorts.
I clench and unclench my free hand, easing out the tension in my fingers.
“He fell behind on his mortgage and the bank repossessed his house two months ago. He’s been couch-surfing since,” Denver says.
“The parents?” I ask.
“They don’t appear to be aware. He’s still holding on to his job as an accountant. But that’s about all he has left right now.”
“Thanks, Denver. Stay where you are, keep an eye on him, and keep digging. I want to know everything there is to know about this guy. Especially what you can find out about what happened in Vegas. I’m going to pay him a visit myself, but I need to do something first.”
“Yes, Boss,” he replies.
“How are Killian and Jenson getting on?” Mal asks.
Rory’s so in debt he’ll be coming after Hallie for months if he thinks he can. I don’t believe he’ll tell her parents like he’s threatened to, at least not yet. He needs the money too badly.
Mal knocks my arm with the back of his hand and gestures to my phone to make sure I’m listening. But I know Denver’s got nothing new to report. If the boys had made a huge breakthrough in Cape Town, then he’d have already told me.
“They’re still going through the CCTV footage, trying to identify the people present at the marina that week. Some are staff or regular visitors, so have been straightforward. But there are a lot of tourists, not all with good facial shots. And none of the cameras show the yacht, only the end of the jetty leading to it.”
“Along with the other sixty vessels that were there at the same time,” I mutter.
“So they’re no closer to figuring out if there’s even anything to follow up.” Mal sighs and sinks back into his seat. The deep lines caused by grief and too many sleepless nights that have appeared over his face since losing his sister and nephew look like they’re worked their way even deeper into his skin.
None of us came out of it without scars of some kind. Physical, mental, they’re all there just the same.
“They’re working hard,” Denver says. “If there’s something to find, they’ll find it.”
“They are,” I agree, looking out of the window and seeing we’re only a few blocks from where I need to be. “I’ll send them something extra for their time later. You too,” I add to Denver.
“Thanks, Boss,” he replies.
“And thank you for taking care of Sinclair while her car was getting fixed. I know she doesn’t go easy on you when you have to drive her around.”
