Skye settled back in the deep black leather seat. “I love it,” she said, snapping her belt in place.
Edge found himself smiling. He’d been working with one of the salesmen to close the deal. The transaction was complete, the keys in the ignition. “Let’s go for a ride.”
Not the kind he had been thinking about all morning. He’d slow things down, save that for another day. The last thing he wanted was to cause Skye physical pain.
Edge fired the engine.
* * *
Skye had repeated the address on 16thStreet she had given Edge earlier, but when they took the elevator up to what turned out to be a small interior office, the door was locked, no one there.
“I’m betting this is just a front for a company that doesn’t actually exist,” Edge said. “Let’s go back and see if we can find any other properties Sunstar or one of its subsidiaries owns.”
“You think this guy, Petrov, might be part of Sunstar?”
“If he is, his name is not going to show up on any corporate filings.”
“Probably not.” But they would take a look, just to be sure.
Edge headed for the Nighthawk office instead of returning to his apartment. Skye figured he wanted to check with Zoe, see if she might have come up with something. Skye told herself she wasn’t disappointed he didn’t want to spend part of the afternoon in bed.
The good news was, when they knocked on Zoe’s glass office door and she invited them in, she did have news.
“So what have you got?” Edge asked.
“According to what Skye’s sister, Callie, said, Riley Beeker and Harley Purcell were two of Henson’s top men. I figured they should be our first priority.” Zoe ran a finger under the neck of the black turtleneck sweater she wore with black yoga pants. She had tamed her short blond hair into a smooth, Peter Pan style befitting her Tinkerbelle nickname.
“You found them?” Skye asked hopefully.
“I found Beeker. I played around with the name a while, looking for a possible alias. It turns out that’s exactly what it is. Riley Beeker, aka Richie Becker, also known as Riley Becker. Real name’s Rolland Beekman. As a kid, they called him Rollie.”
“That’s good work, Zoe,” Edge said.
“What can you tell us about Rollie?” Skye asked.
Zoe turned back to the computer screen and pulled up a mug shot. Shaggy dark hair, thick dark eyebrows, a tattoo of a skull and crossbones on the side of his neck.
“Born in Oroville, California,” Zoe said. “Thirty-eight years old. Dad died in prison while Rolland was doing time for grand larceny. Raised in foster care, in and out of juvey half a dozen times before he turned eighteen. Cleaned up his act for a while after that and got married.”
“I’m betting that didn’t last long.”
“My guess is Rollie couldn’t handle the money pressure of having a wife, and that’s when he started dealing drugs. Wife divorced him while he was in prison. She’s living in Tulsa, Oklahoma, is married a lawyer, and they have a couple of kids.”
“Good for her,” Skye said.
“Rollie served his time and got out of prison five years ago. No record of arrests after that.”
“Probably when he went to work for Henson,” Edge said.
“That would be my guess,” Zoe said.
“He’s got a woman with him now,” Edge said. “Goes by the name Stella Beeker. Can you look for a record of their marriage?”
“Skye mentioned her. No record of marriages between any of the men and women on the list.”
“Fake marriages to men with fake names,” Edge said darkly. “Henson’s a real piece of work.”
“No record of their marriage, but I found a photo of him with a woman named Stella Walker. Middle name is Marie. She was born in New York City, arrested for shoplifting when she was twelve years old, lived on the streets for a while, and eventually just disappeared.”
