I nodded. “Yeah, sorry,” I stammered. “Was someone talking to me?”
“I was asking if you might be able to come to Jonas’s birthday party tomorrow night at our house in the Hamptons. We’re celebrating a week early because we’re leaving for Ireland on Friday,” Casey said, her voice thick with concern.
“Yeah, sure – I’d love to,” I rattled off.
I tuned out again after that and automatically began gathering my tools. I needed to get the hell out of there and call Mav. I needed some fucking answers. I needed to know that I hadn’t nearly done the unthinkable.
“You sure you’re okay?” Jonas asked when he reappeared by himself in the studio.
“Yeah, just a little tired,” I said. “I’m going to head out if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” Jonas quickly said. “About the party, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. And it’s not really a party, more of a dinner. She wrangled Cole into coming too so…”
I wasn’t sure if he was telling me that because he could sense the tension between me and Cole, or if he just didn’t want me there. In truth, I was too shaken to even worry about it so I didn’t answer him.
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jonas asked awkwardly.
I nodded but as Jonas passed me on his way towards the stairs that led to his apartment, I said, “Casey’s really nice. Have you guys been friends for a while?”
Jonas smiled. “Almost eight years. She saved my life,” he said softly. “Night, Mace.”
“Good night.”
I was already dialing Mav’s number by the time I reached the van and he picked up just as I slammed the door shut.
“Hey-”
“I need you to look up the name of the man who tried to kill Casey Prescott,” I barked before Mav could even get another word in. Mav must have sensed my mood because he didn’t ask any questions and I could hear him typing.
“Mateo Santero.”
“What was the name of the girl he killed in Chicago?”
More typing, then, “She was a Jane Doe.”
“That’s not good enough, Mav,” I snapped. “I need a name!”
Mav didn’t answer me but since I could hear him typing, I tried to rein in my frustration.
“Fuck,” I heard Mav breathe. “Carrie Bridgerton.”
I closed my eyes as a wave of heat flooded through me. What the hell had I done?
“Mace-”
“No!” I snapped. “Not over the phone. Meet me at our place. One hour!” I hung up the phone without giving Mav a chance to respond and then I slammed my hands down on the steering wheel over and over again until I felt some of the initial rage ease from my system. I knew I needed to get a grip since Jonas could easily see me either from his apartment window or if he came down to the gallery for any reason, so I started the van and went through the motions of parking it in the garage. It took me another ten minutes to get to my car and then I was heading out of the city.
I beat Mav to the nearest motel in the cheap hotel chain we typically used for debriefs, and got a room. I didn’t bother texting him which room it was because he knew which one I’d go for. The one farthest from the street and on the corner. I left the door slightly ajar and paced back and forth as I waited. My mind was racing as I tried to finish piecing together what I knew and what I didn’t. By the time the door swung open, I was in a complete fury and I didn’t even slow down as I strode up to Mav, grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed him against the back of the door, effectively closing it.
“Tell me what you know right fucking now!” I snarled.
“I swear, Mace, I don’t have a clue what’s going on,” he said as he held his hands up in supplication.
Of all the men in the group that I’d worked with, Mav had been the easiest to read. And the fact that he wasn’t fighting back told me he knew we’d fucked up.
I shoved away from him and began pacing again. “How the hell did we miss this?” I asked.
“The mark’s-”
