When he checked again, Cass hadn’t shifted and Graham hadn’t either. That was what he wanted. He opened his notes and went back to the list he’d already started, reading through it once before adding two more lines.
No phone out in building.
Don’t pause near cameras.
He locked the screen and tried to work. The laptop sat open in front of him, the document still blank, so he closed his laptop and picked up his old phone. Putting Elliot’s name in the search bar, Rick waited for the results to load. When they did, Rick opened the studio site first.
The page was polished, highlighting artists who had worked there and some testimonials. Photos of rooms, equipment, and people smiling beside consoles. A short bio that made Elliot sound patient and generous, about how he’d built a career out of helping artists find themselves. Rick scrolled until he found the address and copied it into his notes.
Los Angeles. Of course.
The contact page came next. Booking email and a phone number. Office hours in small text at the bottom. He copied that too, then clicked through the rest of the site, looking for anything useful. There was a list of services and a page of credits. He moved to social media accounts after that.
The Instagram was public. Elliot had posted studio shots and tagged artists. He’d used short captions with nothing personal. Rick scrolled back through the last month and paid attention to the things Elliot didn’t think about when he posted. The same corner of a room. The same hallway light. The same wall with framed records. The way certain names showed up again andagain, clustered as if Elliot had been working with them over a span of days.
A tagged video caught more than Elliot’s posts did. Someone had filmed a quick clip from a studio couch, panning across the room while people talked off-camera. Rick paused it and watched it again. A door. A keypad beside it. A camera dome in the corner of the ceiling, almost cropped out. The numbers weren’t clear enough to read, but the setup was, so he wrote it down.
Keypad on interior door.
Camera dome in the live room.
He kept going through tagged posts, jumping from Elliot’s page to other accounts and back again. Artists posted behind-the-scenes clips; someone had filmed in a hallway, and someone else had filmed near the front entrance. Rick watched for the same details every time. Doors. Corners. Signs. Anything that confirmed the layout and routine.
When he’d taken enough notes, he put the old phone down and checked the news again on his real one.
Cass. Still the same.
Graham. Still quiet.
Clicking the Cass article again, Rick read the comments. People argued about hotel security. Someone blamed the city, and others blamed Cass. Rick looked at the hooded figure and felt a small satisfaction that no one knew it was him. He closed the comments and opened his messages.
Allen was at the top, so Rick sent him a message.How’s work?
People are insane.
Ignore them.Rick smiled as he imagined the look on Allen’s face.
Bossy.
Rick stared at the word for a second, then sent the line he knew would hit.You like it.
The pause was longer this time.Maybe.
Rick didn’t answer. He put the phone down and went back to the old one. He pulled up the studio site again and looked at the exterior photos. They weren’t close enough to be helpful, but he could still see a camera mounted above the main door if he zoomed in. He added it to the notes and went back to the tagged clips, looking for anything that showed the back lot or a service entrance. He didn’t find much, but he didn’t need everything today. He needed enough to start building a plan that didn’t depend on him getting lucky.
He sat back and thought about everything he’d discovered. Elliot was routines and schedules and people coming and going. Cameras and keypads. Rick opened his notes and started a second list under Elliot’s name, keeping it plain.
Daylight recon.
Watch arrivals.
Find schedule.
Choose window of opportunity.
Rick read it, then stood up and washed his mug. He had a plan and the time to follow it through.
Chapter Sixteen
