I lift my chin, watching the reporter broadcasting from outside the American Museum of Natural History. It’s a repeat of the live program from last night. A host of celebrities and politicians attended the gala that acknowledges and honors companies and individuals for their environmental protection work. “It’s for a good cause,” I say, even if a lot of it is posturing. “And they raise lots of money for charity.”
“They’re still rich assholes.”
I don’t point out there are plenty of rich assholes within themafiosobecause I get the point he’s making. I’m about to tune it out and refocus on my work when something—someone—catches my attention on the screen.
“Turn that up,” I demand, rising to my feet and stalking closer to the wall-mounted TV. “Pause it.” I smooth a hand along my chin as I stare at Chelsea’s image.
“What is it?” Leo asks, coming to stand beside me. “You know Governor Davenport or something?”
“Not him. Her.” I point at Chelsea’s blonde head, and it registers that her smile looks forced.
“Don’t tell me you screwed his wife?”
I glare at my buddy. “Why would that be your first thought?”
He grins, and I want to punch him. “Something isn’t right.” I rush back to the table and sit down in front of my laptop, my fingers flying over the keypad as I put the name Chelsea Davenport into Google.
“Tell me what’s going on.” Leo pulls up a chair alongside me.
“That woman on the TV, the one they say is Governor Liam Davenport’s wife, is Rena’s friend Chelsea from NYU. Except Rena knows her as Chelsea Avara, and her husband’s name is Lucas.”
Images load on the screen, and I cuss under my breath. In all of them, Chelsea is hanging on the governor’s arm, looking loved up as she smiles for the camera. I scroll down the list quickly, and the pictures span years. In all of them, she has long dark-brown, wavy hair. I wonder if she purposely dyed her hair blonde and cut it short to disguise herself?
I knew there was something vaguely familiar about her when I met her. It’s a wonder no one recognized her on campus, but then again, how many young people would recognize their governor’s wife? Especially if she had changed her appearance. And Rena hasn’t lived in New York long. Unless it cropped up in conversation, there is no reason for her to know anything about Governor Davenport. “It’s definitely her, but I don’t understand what’s going on. She has clearly been married to the governor for years.”
“I’m on his official website.” Leo turns his laptop screen to face me. “It says he has been married to Texas native Chelsea for twelve years, and they have four kids.”
“Something is off, and I don’t like it.” I extract my cell and punch in Rena’s number. “Call Phillip. Get him to email me a copy of the background checks he ran on Chelsea and Lucas Avara.” Fear bubbles up my throat when Rena’s cell goes straight to voicemail. Rena never turns her cell off or forgets to charge it. Even during class, she has it on silent and set to vibrate, so if anything is up with the kids or there is some new danger, we can reach her ASAP. I call Fabrizio next, and when he doesn’t pick up, I seriously start panicking.
“No one is picking up,” I tell Leo as Edoardo’s cell rings out. “I’ve got a real bad feeling about this.”
“Check the tracking software. Find out where she is, and we’ll go get her,” he says as the door opens and Ben steps into his office.
He takes one look at our faces and knows something is up. “What’s happened?”
I point at the muted TV screen. “That woman is Rena’s best friend at NYU, and she’s been lying to her. Now I can’t get a hold of Rena or any of her bodyguards.”
“Serena has a locator chip.” Ben strides toward his desk.
“I’m on it,” I confirm, pulling up the software on my cell. Everyone in the Mazzonefamigliahas a detection chip embedded in their arm so we can locate them anytime and anywhere. Right now, I’m grateful for the technology and Ben’s smart thinking. “She’s at Kip’s Bay,” I say, frowning. “Why would she be there? She still has one more class.”
“The bodyguards are outside the professional studies building in NYU,” Leo says, jumping up. “They would never leave her unattended.”
“Let’s go.” Ben grabs his jacket from the back of his chair. “Something tells me we don’t have time to waste.”
* * *
“There is no answer from Chelsea’s phone either, and it’s also going straight to voice mail,” Leo says when we are in the car en route to Kip’s Bay. Ben already phoned the house to check Sierra and the kids are okay, and Nat’s bodyguards have escorted her home from NYU. We aren’t taking any chances until we know what’s going down.
Wherever Rena is, she hasn’t moved in the fifteen minutes since we left the office because the flashing red dot on my screen is stationary. I don’t want to think about all the implications of that because I’m liable to lose my fucking mind. I need to get there and hope we’re not too late.
It’s clear she hasn’t just wandered off by herself because she wouldn’t go anywhere in the city without her bodyguards. So, either Chelsea coaxed her off-site for a reason or she was taken. It’s killing me not knowing, and every second that passes only adds to my agony. If it wasn’t for rush-hour traffic, we’d be there already, and I wish I could bulldoze our way over all the cars blocking our path.
“I can’t find any mention of Lucas Avara being married,” Ben says. “Though it’s not unusual to exclude that kind of personal information in an official bio. His company seems legit, and he imports olive oil from Europe. Mainly Greece and Italy.”
“With a business like that and a name like Avara, he clearly has Italian roots or heritage,” Leo says, and the three of us exchange a worried look. It’s not inconceivable to assume this guy could have mafia connections, but he’s New York based, so what would any made man from New York want with my Rena? It makes me think of the guy who was following Serena. She said he had a strong New York accent, so I wonder if the boss he mentioned is Avara.
“Phillip’s reports were collected correctly,” I say, my eyes running over the information. “It all stacks up, but clearly someone created false reports and credentials.” My gaze roams the fake marriage cert and fake passport with growing trepidation. Serena was set up. But why? Who is this Avara guy, and what, if anything, does the governor have to do with it?
