“No, she’s not a dog.” This guy is really pissing me off. The only reason I haven’t hung up is that he’s the best at what he does.Allegedly.
Fina bursts into my office like a miniature tornado with Matteo on her heels. “What’s going on?”
I shush her and focus back on what Milo’s saying. He mutters about flight patterns and traffic cameras while I try my best not to say anything threatening. Kane’s gone into robot mode, like he always does when bad shit happens.
“A private jet took off from a small airport thirty kilometers from where you found the car. The flight plan says it was heading to the UK. The jet is owned by a trust registered in the Cook Islands. I can find out who the actual owner is, but it will take some time.”
“Where’s the jet due to land?” There is no guarantee the plane has anything to do with Chiara’s disappearance, but the note left does not seem the work of some random criminal hoping to score a payday at my expense. My gut tells me Chiara’s kidnapping is connected to the other events; in particular, the mysterious deposits that have triggered an FBI investigation.
“It’s due at a private airfield in Scotland in four hours and twenty-six minutes, give or take a minute or two.”
I pick up a glass paperweight on my desk and throw it at the wall. It shatters into a million pieces.
“Oh that’s interesting,” he continues, oblivious to the mess I just made.
“Ooh, Kyril won’t like that,” Thea exclaims. Neither of them bothers to explain what the fuck they’ve seen.
“Care to share with the class?” My jaw aches from all the teeth grinding I’m doing. “My wife could be in danger!”
“Hey, you still haven’t confirmed whether she’s left of her own accord,stronzo. I heard on the grapevine she ditched you at the altar last time.”
“Wow, that’s harsh,” a third voice pipes up. This fucker has a Scottish accent. I suspect it’s the whiskey guy, the one whose family owns a pretty decent distillery. I have a bottle of their aged single-malt in the living room.
Kane rakes his hair while throwing me a warning look, letting me know losing my temper won’t help.
“She wouldn’t have left voluntarily,” Kane confirms. “Her dog and cat are here.” Coco yaps and scratches my leg. I suspect she wants to pee, but I can’t focus on the dog’s needs. At least the fucking cat knows enough to stay out of my way.
“I’ll take her outside,” Fina whispers. She’s picked up enough from the conversation to figure out what’s going on. I nod and wrangle my thoughts.
“Tell me what you’ve discovered.” Kane’s right. I can’t lose my shit. Thea seems like the sort of woman to hang up and block our number if we piss her off.
“My facial-recognition software picked up an image at the airfield of the jet that flew out then. Oswald Barrington was on that flight.”
Barrington…?
“He’s the new face of the English mafia,” Milo continues. “He stepped in to fill the void left after Lucian Forsyth died in a fire.” Thea snorts in the background, and I wonder why she finds the man’s death funny. Is she some kind of psycho like Orliov? It wouldn’t surprise me. Like attracts like.
“I know very little about the guy, but I’m struggling to see why he’d target me. We have had no dealings.”
“Hmm, a puzzle,” murmurs Milo. “I like puzzles.”
“This is not a fucking game!” I yell as the last thread on my temper snaps under pressure. Kane snatches the phone from my desk.
“Excuse Angelo, he’s worried,” he apologizes while I punch a hole in the wall.
“Not surprised,” Thea chirps. “Losing a wife once is bad luck, but twice? Hmm… that’s kind of careless.” I would never hit a woman, but if I ever decide to break my rule, she’s first on my list.
Milo carries on tapping away at his keyboard, oblivious to the drama.
“I’ll monitor the airport to see who gets off the plane and where they go. If your woman is on that flight, we’ll know in…four hours and twelve minutes.”
“And if she’s not?”
“Then I’ll carry on searching. My facial-recognition program will find her.” He seems remarkably confident.
“You better fucking find her,” I mutter.
2
