“Italy was a bust.” Remington sat across from Hunter in a bistro in Hollywood. “The owners of the vineyards surrounding the property that still belongs to your wife had nothing to say about the property owners. Other than nasty things that I couldn’t completely translate, the general feel was one of disdain. As for Picano’s family . . . there is a mother who refuses to acknowledge that she had a son and a grandfather who was just as mortified that anyone asked about him. A younger sister, however, seemed to know she had a brother once . . . a rich one. But from what I could tell, she knew nothing about money in any account.”
“How could you tell they didn’t know about the money?” Hunter asked.
“No connections. Picano cut family ties early on. The only one who even cared I was asking around was the sister. If I had to guess, Picano still had a relationship with her at his death. But she was a college student when he died. She’s in debt to the tune of forty grand . . . a drop in the hat of what is in her brother’s account. If she had access, my guess is she wouldn’t have the debt.”
Hunter agreed. “So no family involvement.”
“Exactly.”
“Which leaves those he was dealing drugs with.”
Remington shook his head. “Dealing . . . no . . . smuggling. Different ball game. The amount of drugs this douche bag was shoveling proved he was working directly with the main guy. Whoever this guy is.”
“I need a name,” Hunter told him.
“Don’t we all. The guy they caught alive, Steven Leger, slipped and fell on a knife in prison before he made trial. Picano’s onboard staff were just as lucky with their short lives. Whomever Picano was smuggling with didn’t take prisoners.”
The chill in the room dropped to subtemperatures. No prisoners . . . he had arms that reached into the prison system and took out his enemies. How easy a target would Gabi be if this man wanted her dead?
“I need to step up Gabi’s security,” he muttered to himself.
“What’s that?” Remington asked.
“Nothing . . . listen, we need to find this man from a different angle. Drug smugglers from this part of the world are rich, right? Most of them are part of known cartels. We look into the players and reference those who dealt with people like Picano—”
Remington lifted both hands in the air and shook his head. “You don’t pay me enough, Blackwell. As it was, I felt eyes on me the entire time I traversed that forsaken country. I don’t need a target on my back by peeking into a multitude of drug runners. I’d tap into all those politicians you’re becoming so chummy with. Chances are someone in your circle knows a name or two.”
“Isn’t that what I pay you for?”
He shrugged. “Your friends won’t talk to me. I can tap into security files, but that wouldn’t be legal.” Remington lifted a mocking brow. “You’re not suggesting I do that, are you?”
Hunter wouldn’t direct the man to an illegal act . . . not with his words, in any event. “Would I ask that of you?”
Remington’s smirk said it all.
Even if Remington had a name, Hunter would need to use his connections to keep the drug smuggler away from his home. The thought of reversing the passwords that locked him out crossed Hunter’s mind. Chances were, however, Mr. Smuggler would avoid touching the money to prevent a trace. Or worse, look for deeper pockets and silence money. The last thing Hunter’s reputation needed right now was that of a man who gave in to blackmail.
Hunter pushed from his desk and stood. “I need dirt on Sheila Watson.” He pulled a notepad off his desk and scribbled the address he had for the mother of Noah’s son. “I have someone working on current habits, what I need is her past. And keep an ear out for Picano’s partners.”
Remington tucked the note in his pocket and offered a mock salute. “You’re the boss.”
Once Hunter was alone in his office, he lifted the phone and called his new security.
“MacBain.” Neil answered the phone with his name.
“It’s Blackwell. I want another set of eyes on Gabi.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Did you hear me?”
“Why?”
“I think she needs it.”
“You know, Blackwell. I’ve been doing this a long time. I’m sure you have enemies, but if you think there is one in particular we should be looking out for, I need to know who they are.”
Hunter felt a headache coming on. “I don’t have a name, Neil.”
“Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
“It’s not about me.”
More silence.
“It’s Gabi’s ex.”
“He’s dead.”
“Yeah, but whoever he worked with isn’t.”
“Wait . . . is there an actual threat? What aren’t you telling me?” Neil asked.