A few minutes later, my security lead enters. Tall, sharp-eyed, and annoyingly blank-faced.
“Well?” I ask, swirling the glass in my hand.
“We’ve traced Douglass’s last movements to Huntington-Russell Estate. After that, nothing. No prints, no traffic cameras, no trail. Either he’s excellent at disappearing, or there’s a property we don’t know about. He very well could be at the estate.”
I let that settle. The vodka in my glass warms in my hands as I take a third full measure down my throat.
“Meaning you’ve come up with nothing.”
A nod. “For now.”
My jaw tightens.
And then I hear it—soft as breath, the creak of a floorboard just outside the study door. I turn my head slightly, catching the faintest blur of movement.
Two little heads shoot away quickly from the crack in the door, revealing a caught and curious little wife and her friend reflected in the mirror in the hall.
Of course, she couldn’t help herself.
I rise slowly, letting the silence thicken. The money I pay these men. An undigestible amount of fucking cash, and they have nothing.Nothing.
I’m furious.
“Gentlemen,” I say, loud enough for the eavesdroppers to hear. “Would you excuse me a moment? Seems I have something else to take care of.”
I turn to leave with a nod, as the men continue to draft our next moves.
The security lead shifts his weight, pulling a folded sheet of paper from the inner pocket of his blazer.
I’m nearly to the door when I turn around to listen again, realizing Martine may be of help after all.
“We’ve begun cross-referencing all properties under Douglass’s name and shell corporations we’ve tied to him over the years. There's the townhouse, the vineyard, and an offshore account connected to a private airstrip in Palermo. A cabin in Oregon. An apartment in Geneva. Nothing’s been touched in weeks.”
I lean back, unimpressed at his inability to find the slithering slug of a man.
Hudson clicks his tongue, arms folded. “What about vehicles?”
“Two SUVs. One’s been parked at the cabin since winter. The other’s gone dark. His jet’s still grounded, but we’re keeping an eye on the pilot. No movement on any of the usual channels.”
He pauses, scanning his list once more.
“The last I heard, Douglass was short on cash, so it wouldn’t make a whole lot of sense chartering a jet right now,” Archie mumbles, helping himself to more vodka.
Then—
A loud gasp, followed by the sharp clatter of footsteps.
Martine bursts through the door, barefoot, breathless, cheeks flushed.
“You forgot about the yacht,” she snaps, voice high with urgency. “The one moored at the river dock!”
Everyone turns.
My eyes find hers, slow and steady. “And how exactly do you know about the yacht, darling?”
She swallows, defiant even in the silence.
I rise, the air in the room shifting with me. “Gentlemen,” I say, voice low, dangerous. “Give us a moment.”
