“Social media accounts?”
“Dead ends.” Aimee knew how to keep a low profile. Vero and I had tried to find her through social media before, but she’d been a ghost online. And Theresa had shut down all of her own accounts after her arrest made national headlines.
Nick’s frown deepened. “If your heroine was really close with this missing person and she had access to his bank records, she could track his spending. Credit charges, gas cards, ATM withdrawals…”
I had no access to Theresa’s banking information. I seriously doubted she and Steven still shared any accounts. I shook my head and his worry lines softened.
“Look,” he said after a thoughtful pause, “I know you said your heroine doesn’t want any help, but if she knows anyone this missing person might feel close to, maybe she and her cop friend could try to stake them out.”
I laughed, reaching for the last shot of vodka as I pictured Theresa speeding off in Aimee’s SUV. “I’m pretty sure they ran off together.”
Nick took my wrist as I lifted the glass. “If you ask me, Finn, you’re better off without him.”
His touch lingered. We stared at each other across the table. Nick still thought we were talking about Julian. I opened my mouth to correct him when his gaze flicked to the door of the restaurant behind me. A muscle tensed in his cheek, and he let go of my hand. I turned in my seat to see what had stolen his attention so fully.
A statuesque brunette in a designer coat and perilously high heels strutted into the dining room, the long waves of her hair bouncing as she walked. She was stunning, polished in a way that reeked of money and power, with the same confident swagger I’d seen in Irina Borovkov. To Nick’s credit, his gaze never dropped below her face. With a smug smile, she signaled for the maître d’. He glanced at our table as she whispered in his ear.
“This should be interesting,” Nick muttered as the maître d’ retreated to his station and picked up a phone.
“Clearly, you two know each other.” I set down the last shot and slid it toward him.
He declined, pushing away his plate as if he’d suddenly lost his appetite. “You could say that.”
The woman stopped beside our table, tossing her Jaguar keys into her handbag. She pushed her tortoiseshell glasses in place with a stiff middle finger, and Nick barked out a laugh.
“Kat,” he greeted her, strangling the neck of his beer.
“Detective. I trust you’re enjoying your meal.” Her rich voice seemed to match the rest of her. Sophisticated and sharp, with the hint of an accent.
“I was until you got here.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Nick ran his tongue over the edges of his teeth. “Kat. Finn. Finn. Kat.”
She reached out with her left hand, forcing me to switch mine to match. Her heavy signet ring squeezed a little too hard. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said sweetly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Nick tensed.
“Oh?” I asked, looking between them. “How do you two know each other?”
“Work,” they answered in unison.
Nick’s eyes burned, that muscle in his cheek still twitching. He opened his mouth to speak when a buzzing sound came from the pocket of his coat. He reached inside it for his cell, his eyes lifting to mine as he pressed it to his ear. “Hey, Vero. Everything okay?… Yeah, she’s right here.” Nick passed me the phone. “There’s a hallway by the restrooms. I’ll order us some coffee and dessert. Take your time,” he said, cutting a sideways glance at Kat.
I felt the weight of several pairs of eyes on me as I carried the phone into the ladies’ room.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Vero, my heart already racing as I considered all the reasons she might have called. “Are the kids okay?”
“The kids are fine. They’ve been in bed for an hour, but we have a problem.”
“What problem?”
“Which part do you want first?”
“It’s a multipart problem?”
“I’ve been busy,” she said, her voice clipped.
