“Gage,” the man replied, pushing the screen open.
The husband, Simon recalled from the information he’d pulled up. Jason Gage Matthews-Walker, born June 24, 1980. Married to Travis Walker and Kylie Marie Prescott Walker. A former police officer who’d done some undercover work in Dallas and now worked security at Alluring Indulgence Resort.
Simon had thought someone had gotten the story wrong when they mentioned both Gage and Travis as Kylie Walker’s husbands. Based on the documents he’d procured during his initial review, Travis and Kylie’s marriage on June 8, 2002, preceded the ceremony on December 10, 2013, when the couple formally brought Gage into their marriage. Yes, Travis was her husband in the eyes of the courts, but previous articles in theCoyote Ridge Gazettehad clarified that they were, in fact, a polyamorous throuple.
Or they had been prior to Kylie’s death. Since then, Travis and Gage had formalized their nuptials and were now legally wed.
When the screen door opened wide enough, Simon held out his hand. “Simon Jennings.”
Gage shook it but put little effort into the gesture before stepping back and motioning for Simon to come inside.
“Travis is in his office.”
Simon had little time to scope the place as he followed Gage through the dark-wood-paneled foyer toward a set of French doors.
Proving he was irritated by Simon’s presence, Gage took one step into the room and stopped. “Travis, Simon,” Gage grumbled. “Simon, Travis.”
Travis Walker stood up from where he sat at a desk positioned in the center of the room. The man was a giant. At six-foot-five, he had a good five inches on Simon. But it was his presence that consumed all the oxygen in the room. There was something larger than life about him, and it was recognizable within seconds.
Travis gestured toward a chair opposite his desk. “Sit.”
Confused by what felt very cloak-and-daggerish, Simon decided to indulge the guy for a minute. As his own father was quick to say, this wasn’t his first rodeo. He’d talked to many victims, families, and even the accused over the years in order to get to the meat of a story. Some were eager to talk; others wanted him to stay out of their business. He got the feeling Travis actually straddled the fence, which meant one wrong move, and he could fall either way.
“I’ve gotta go pick up the kids from your mom and dad’s,” Gage said, talking to Travis. “We’ll be back in an hour or so.”
Simon heard the words hewasn’tsaying:Have this guy gone before I get back.
A moment later, the door closed behind him.
“If now isn’t a good time,” Simon began.
“It’s never a good time to talk about my dead wife,” Travis grumbled, his tone lacking an ounce of life. “But I take it Holt told you the same thing he told me?”
Simon assumed Travis was referring to Holt’s belief that Kylie’s mother, Meredith Prescott, was the sole witness of whatcould only be described as a mafia-style killing at the hands of Maximillian Adorite. If that were the case, Meredith’s testimony would be a big deal. There was some speculation in the articles he’d uncovered that it had the power to bring down the Southern Boy Mafia once and for all now that Max was at the helm. That was what the FBI believed, anyway.
“He gave me the gist,” Simon admitted.
“So you agree with his delusion that my wife’s mother is somehow mixed up with the mob?”
Holt had warned him that Travis hadn’t seen value in the information he’d provided. Simon understood to some degree. He hadn’t yet given this the attention it would deserve if he decided to investigate because he was still trying to determine which angle to pursue. Considering the vast number of cases people sent his way, some asking for his help, some merely for input, and others simply wanting him to do a segment on it, he didn’t jump into new things quickly like he had when he started. Having gone down the rabbit hole a few times, he’d learned to be more selective with what he wanted to pursue.
“Delusion or not,” Simon said, “it’s got merit.”
“Enough that you’re gonna look into it?”
Simon frowned. “You understand I’m a journalist, not an investigator. I don’t take on cases that need to be solved. I generally look at current or closed cases and attempt to debunk or prove the facts as they’re written.”
Travis stared at him. “Then why are you here?”
That was a damn good question. Simon had been wondering the same thing for the past couple of days. He’d come at Holt’s request because, yes, the information Holt had providedintrigued him. Specifically the fact that it involved the Southern Boy Mafia. He had an unresolved curiosity when it came to the Dallas-based mafia family. More so now that Maximillian Adorite was restructuring as though he was looking to start a war. In turn, Simon was curious about the disappearance of Meredith Prescott, but he wasn’t sold on the idea that it was a crime. The woman could very well be in hiding, and by looking into the matter, Simon could do far more harm than good.
“I’m curious,” he admitted. “I think Holt uncovered something interesting. If I tug on the string a little, there might be a story. As for how it pertains to you or your family…”
Simon let the sentence trail because he honestly didn’t know that it did. Aside from it pertaining to his dead wife’s mother, anyway. Travis’s wife was murdered. She was run down in the street. There were witnesses, and only one person was responsible. There was nothing to debunk there. He honestly wasn’t sure why Holt felt the need to drag Travis into it in the first place.
Travis leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “I want information.”
“On...?”
