“Four days ago. She came to the house with that twit of a fiancé. They got in a fight, and she left.”
“Was Deck with her?”
“No.”
“But he’s been around?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen Deck since then?”
“No.”
“What about Lawson?” Reese asked. “Have you seen him since their argument?”
Ronan shook his head. “He’s a fucking cunt.”
His Irish was thicker now. Rather than ‘uh,’ the u’s took on a longer ‘ooo’ sound.A fooking coont.
Brantley relaxed some. “Isn’t she getting married in a few days?”
Ronan shook his head. “That shit was never real. They did it for the publicity. My guess is she’s hiding out until it dies down.”
“So you do know where she is?” Reese prompted, growing tired of the runaround.
“I know she’s not in danger. I’m kept apprised of her whereabouts, and last I heard, she was at home.”
“Do you think Lawson’s behind Deck’s disappearance?” Reese asked.
“No. The little fucker doesn’t know his ass from a horseshoe.”
Reese had never heard that one before, but okay.
“We need somethin’ to go on,” Brantley told him. “Saoirse was the last person who was in contact with Deck. We’d like to talk to her.”
Ronan swung a hand up. “If I were you, I’d start at that bloody club she’s so fond of.”
Finally. Something they could go on.
“Which one is that?” Brantley asked, beating Reese to the question.
“Obsession.”
“I take it it’s here in Manhattan.”
Ronan nodded. “The owner’s a close family friend.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Kieran O’Rourke.”
Reese made a mental note while the conversation volleyed between Brantley and Ronan.
“Have you spoken to him since you last saw Saoirse?”
“No, but not for lack of trying. Like most of us, Kieran’s a busy man.”
Too busy to help a friend? Reese had to wonder.
