“What’s this?”
A smug grin tugs at his lips. “Take a look for yourself.”
Placing my poker chip aside, I open the passport, clutching the document tight when realizing it belongs to Quentin Ferguson. “How did you get this?”
“I’ve kept quiet until having solid information to share with you. Me and the boys located Ferguson’s home. We’ve been monitoring it for days. When there was no activity, we broke in, finding the place abandoned. Food was rotting. The trash hadn’t been taken out in so long it was crawling with worms. We cracked into his safe and found the cash and passport. A bunch of medical documents were on his desk. Letters from doctors. Prescriptions. Oncologist appointments.” Theo places both handson my desk and leans in for emphasis. “Ferguson had stage four lymphoma. His condition was terminal.”
I sit with the information for a moment. Now that Theo mentions it, Fergusondidlook sick during our meeting. His illness wasn’t obvious until I started analyzing the hollowing of his eyes and cheeks, along with his sallow skin.
I rub my jaw, piecing everything together. “What you’re saying is if Ferguson wasn’t in his car during the explosion, the cancer will have him on his deathbed soon.”
“Exactly. But there’s more. Ferguson had three oncologist appointments over the last two weeks. I paid a visit to the clinic during those appointments and sat in the waiting room. The doctor called his name multiple times. He never showed up. I heard receptionists saying they haven’t been able to contact him. Seems unusual for a patient with such a severe condition to skip important appointments. Make of that what you will.”
I lean back in my chair, weighing up all the information.
I was almost certain Ferguson died in the explosion. Now his home is abandoned and he’s missing oncology appointments.
The manhasto be dead.
I laugh, folding my legs on the edge of the desk. “This is why you’re my number one, Theo. Well done.”
His smug expression from a moment ago returns. “I don’t know, Blackwood. As I hear, a new number one has been reinstated.”
I suppose Theo heard me, Harper, and Tyler through the walls last night. None of us were attempting to be quiet.
Theo digs both hands into his pockets and nods. “You worked out your shit with Tyler? I’m glad to hear it. I love you, man, but there were times when you were hard fucking work without Tyler.”
“He’ll be running The Scarlet Mirage with me from now on. For whatever it’s worth, you were right—I should have brought Tyler in long ago instead of trying to outsource my business.”
“Whatever you and your brother do with this place will be great. More business for you means more business for me and eclipse. Everyone wins.”
Our attention flicks to the door as Tyler joins us. His hair is messy from sleep and he wears nothing more than a pair of boxers.
“My exit cue,” Theo says.
A moment later, I’m alone in my office with Tyler.
“Quentin Ferguson is dead.” I spend the next five minutes rehashing the information Theo shared. “Because Harper’s safety is the most important thing to me, I’ll be keeping bodyguards in place for a while—for the family too, if they choose so. But their presence will be less intense. We can all start to breathe again.”
“Good plan.” Tyler’s voice is quiet. He rubs the back of his neck.
“You all right?”
“It’s strange hearing you say Ferguson is dead. That family has caused so much stress in my life. I’llfinally be able to sleep in peace, not needing to keep one eye open. I won’t know myself.”
“They’re behind us now.” I place Theo’s duffel bag beneath the desk and grab the red poker chip once more, weaving it through my fingers as I nod at Tyler’s bandage. “No pulled stitches after last night?”
He laughs at the memory. “I’m fine. You and Harper did all the work. She’s still asleep.” He pauses with astonishment, seeing the poker chip in my hand. “You kept it.”
“Of course I did.”
“Remember the night we stole the chip and lighter? We were so fucking drunk.”
“I won’t ever forget.” I toss the poker chip at Tyler. His reflexes are slow, due to his injury, but he manages to catch it, smiling with nostalgia. “I have a vision to expand The Scarlet Mirage. I want to extend this place into a gambling den. Then I want to add another section to be a luxury sex club.”
“I like the plan.”
“Theo told me you’d be the perfect man to bring this vision to life. I didn’t want to hear it, so I sought outside help. Quentin Ferguson. What a fucking disaster. I needyou, bro.”
