“We thought it best not to discuss our professions. Plausible deniability and all that.”
“But you would have looked out for him. You would have had an idea of the company he was keeping,” I pressed. Maureen was a caretaker at heart and a guard dog when necessary.
“Why are you focusing on Felix and not Hugo? Lord knows that man has broken enough laws to earn a few lifetime sentences in prison.”
“Someone who wasn’t Hugo put my friend’s name on that list for reasons I want to know. That person needs to pay.”
“Sounds like someone had a vendetta against your friend.”
“I need to know who.” Even if Anthony Hugo finally went down for his crimes, there was still someone out there who thought of Nash Morgan as a threat. And I wouldn’t rest until I had them.
Maureen studied her pale-pink nails. “As I said, we didn’t discuss business.”
“That’s never stopped you from acquiring information before.”
She inhaled deeply. “Fine. Not all of Felix’s friends were on the wrong side of the law. Some of them at least worked on the right side.”
“A cop?” I asked.
“There was a gentleman—and I use that term loosely.” She glanced at her discreet Cartier timepiece. “He showed up at a family backyard cookout this summer. I wasn’t there, of course. My aunt mentioned that Felix’s cop acquaintance made quite the little show of introducing himself around as Felix’s ‘old friend.’ It rattled my cousin, which was not an easy thing to accomplish.”
“So you looked into him?”
“Someone gets that close to my family, and I will do what’s necessary.”
“Name,” I demanded.
She lifted her slim shoulders. “It won’t do you any good in this case. Seeing as the man was shot and killed after an abduction gone wrong last year.”
I swore under my breath. “Tate Dilton.”
“Very good,” Maureen said, impressed.
I shoved a hand through my hair. Did it really all lead back to him? Did all these loose ends tie up with Dilton’s corpse?
The man had a grudge against Nash for taking Ogden’s position as chief of police. But Dilton had been the triggerman the night Nash was shot. Why would he have put Nash on an elimination list—a coward’s move—if he was going to be the one to shoot him anyway?
“According to my digging, he wasn’t the brightest crooked cop on the payroll,” Maureen said. “I warned Felix to stay away from him. But he obviously didn’t listen.”
If this was true, I’d wasted the last weeks chasing down a fucking ghost.
“I see this news isn’t exactly welcome,” she noted. “But I’m afraid I don’t have time to stick around to find out why. I have a previous engagement.”
“I’m sorry for cutting your trip short,” I said gruffly, walking her to the door.
She gave me a peck on the cheek. “Time spent with you is never wasted, Lucian. But you do owe me a very nice gift. I’m thinking something from Hermès.”
My lips twitched. Maureen had a maternal fondness for me.
We said our goodbyes, and Maureen left through the private elevator to the parking garage.
I thanked the manager for allowing me to commandeer her office, then headed for the marble lobby.
It was the Saturday before Valentine’s Day, and the self-important murmur of DC’s young and elite nearly drowned out the live piano music in the bar. I’d been one of them once. Now I was something wholly different.
Everyone was either a pawn or a king. The pawns wanted to grow up to be kings, and the kings missed the innocence of being a pawn.
He ruined you. He ruined us.
Sloane’s words from the previous weekend echoed in my head.
She didn’t know what she was talking about. She didn’t know me. She certainly wasn’t in any position to judge me. I’d meant what I said. Happiness wasn’t for everyone. I preferred security. I’d built a life that was impervious to any threats.
“How did it go, boss?”
Nolan leaned casually against the concierge desk, his fingers in the bowl of mints.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
A raucous burst of male laughter rang out from the bar.
Nolan straightened from the desk. “A little bird of prey named Petula told me you had an important, after-hours meeting. And after that tail you had to shake and Holly’s trouble, I figured you might want some backup. At least until I saw Maureen Fitzgerald walk out of here on a security monitor a minute ago.”
“Spying on your employer isn’t generally a smart business move,” I pointed out.
“Eh. You say spying, I say having your back.” He unwrapped a mint and popped it into his mouth. “Did the lovely madam have any information on our deceased pal Felix?”
I scanned the lobby. It was crowded with well-dressed, well-funded people certain of their importance. Men and women who spent their days chasing power or catering to it. I nodded in the direction of the bar.
“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Nolan said and followed me.
Forest-green walls, dark wood, and paintings of hunts on the English countryside made the bar feel like an old-money country estate library.
We created a space for ourselves at the end of the mahogany bar where we were sheltered from prying eyes and ears by a thickly carved column.
I caught the eye of the bartender and held up two fingers. He nodded and snagged a bottle of bourbon from the top shelf.
“She may have just closed the book on who put Nash’s name on that list,” I said, keeping my voice low.
“I’m all ears.” Nolan looked at ease leaning against the bar, but his eyes were constantly scanning the room. You could take the man out of the marshal service, but you couldn’t take the marshal out of the man, I supposed.
The bartender delivered the bottle and glasses with a hesitant fold at the waist.
“Did that guy just bow to you?” Nolan asked.
“It happens,” I said.
He shook his head and sighed. “To walk in your shoes for just a day.”
“It’s not nearly as entertaining as it looks,” I muttered.
“Oh, I’d find a way to have some fun,” he insisted.
He probably would. Some people were cut out for a life like that. Each day was an endless source of entertainment and enjoyment. Sloane’s life would be like that. She’d choose a man who would make her laugh. Who’d be home for dinners. Who’d wake her up on a lazy Sunday morning with an adventure planned.
My jaw clenched.
I was important, respected, and feared. Yet all I could think about for the past week was Sloane’s accusation that I’d wasted my life on the wrong things.
“Tate Dilton,” I said, keeping my voice low.
Nolan’s gaze landed back on me. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
I shook my head. “She mentioned a family party of Metzer’s that Dilton crashed. He made a show of getting close to his family. Probably to drive home a point of just how close he could get.”
“Playing a little ‘look at me eating your mom’s potato salad and playing horseshoes with Uncle Joe so you better not fuck me over,’” Nolan mused.
“That’s what it sounds like. And Metzer disappeared while Dilton was still alive. So it’s possible he’s the answer to both questions.”
“That would leave only Hugo on the revenge list. And since you’re already working with you-know-who on that, it sounds as if your to-do list just got a lot shorter.”
I grunted. “But why would he have put Nash’s name on the list and then be the one to pull the trigger?”
Nolan shrugged. “The guy was an opportunistic egomaniac. He saw a chance to take out the guy who booted his buddy from his job. Then he got the opportunity to get paid to be the one to do the taking out. Hated him enough to want him out of the picture but not enough to make it happen until someone sweetened the pot with a cash offer.”
It made sense in that it was a stupid move and Tate Dilton had been full of stupid moves.