Wilds moved closer to Esther. “I know he’s here. If he doesn’t show himself, I will return with an army of agents and a warrant to tear this place apart.”
“Sir, do not come any farther,” Esther implored.
Before Greg could move another step, Ian threw open his door. “What would I do without you, Esther?”
Esther smiled. “Ian, you’ve never had me.” Their repartee irritated the office’s blustering occupant.
* * *
“Good morning, Greg.” Wilds brushed past Esther into Ian’s office. “I heard you’re looking for me.” Ian enjoyed goading him.
“Where the hell is she? Johns Hopkins never heard of her. They have no new admissions fitting her injuries.”
Ian leaned against his desk, crossing his legs at his ankles. “She’s safe—especially from you.”
Wilds picked up a paperweight from his desk. “Chase, I have witnesses who say you kidnapped her from University Hospital. The nursing supervisor said she was in no condition to be moved. They planned on getting a court order. You drugged two federal agents with coffee, then two of your goons assaulted two other agents and vandalized her home.”
Ian tried to douse his smile, but the angrier Wilds got, the more Ian’s lips turned up. “Cassie was moved with the permission of her guardians. The proper parties know where she is, and you apparently are not one of them.” He saw the smoke rising and made a phone call before he lifted his tablet, turning the image to Wilds. “Here’s your bone. Proof of life.”
Wilds, with his harassing bravado, appeared taken aback by how ill Cassie looked. Kieran and Martin entered the office at what Ian assumed was Esther’s appeal. He held his hand up and delivered a command: “Mr. Wilds was just leaving.”
“I’ll be back with a warrant, Chase. I’m watching her family. I will find her.” Wilds bristled.
After the door closed, Ian said, “Call Luke Paulsen and tell him to expect the asshole.”
Martin gave a salute, smiled, and executed a tight military turn to leave and make the call. Navy men never saluted inside. Ian chuckled.
“I’ll notify Brock that Wilds is gonna make trouble,” Kieran advised.
“I know. We need to figure this out, fast. What do you think we should do?” Ian placed the blue baby hat on the desk.
“We need to treat this like any other job—no matter where it takes us. We need to get whatever background we can, including pushing her family. And, Ian, if you can’t keep a professional distance…” Kieran didn’t need to complete the sentence. Ian nodded in agreement.
The brothers stared at Ian’s computer screen. In front of them was Sebastian Ames’ preliminary background check. Yale graduate. Scholarship kid. Grew up poor in Kentucky. An aide to Senator Bynum. No regular girlfriend. Lots of friends on social media. Decent credit rating. No excessive or unusual financial transactions. Father deceased, Mother RN at a weight loss clinic, sister RN at Georgetown. Another sister was a teacher. Brother at Princeton. Kieran scrolled through his financials and employment records.
“Bogota. The bastard worked for the UN in Bogota. That’s where he got the scopolamine idea.”
Ian clicked the next file. Garett Whitman, age thirty. A graduate of Georgetown Law School. Admitted to the bar in Texas, Virginia and the District of Columbia. Married, Cheyenne Huntley, age twenty-three, two children—four and two—and one on the way. “She’s young.” Kieran pointed out the wedding date. “He married her right after his relationship ended with Cassie. She had to be seventeen. Employed by Whitman, Tyler, and Bates. Father’s company. Current legal address in Reston, Virginia. Financially secure. Credit good.”
“What did you do to Cassie?” Ian asked.
“Bradford Whitman, age sixty-four. Married to Adrienne Burns, age sixty-three. One son, Garett. CEO and managing partner of Whitman, Tyler, and Bates. Resides in Georgetown. Finances and credit good,” Kieran read from the screen.
Ian scrolled through the client list and pointed out Robert Bynum Sr. and Joseph Maddox, MD. “These people make me feel slimy. I can see Bynum, but why would Maddox need a lobbyist? We need to grab one of the other partners and hear their opinions on Bynum and the good doctor.” Kieran jotted a note. “Adrienne Burns Whitman, retired RN. Married thirty-nine years to Bradford.”
“We need to know Mrs. Whitman’s whereabouts and what kind of nurse she was,” Ian added.
Kieran pulled up his desktop on Ian’s system. Greg Wilds’ financials were pristine. Married and divorced four times.
“No shock there,” Ian’s tone was sarcastic.
It was a different story with Joe Maddox. “He is deep in debt, and he lives above his means. The morning after Cassie’s surgery, a wire transfer cleared his personal account for one hundred thousand dollars. The trace is in progress. He’s a doctor—damn it. The sponge was placed on purpose?” Kieran asked.
“There’s no such thing as a coincidence.” Ian spat.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Luke Paulsen sat at his kitchen table across from a very pissed off Greg Wilds. “I’m sure you believe what you’re doing is right, but Cassie is a sick girl and should be in the hospital.”
