Damage Control (Dirty Money #2)

“Which would be an easy conclusion, except for one hole in that theory. There’s a big gap between when she left the hotel and when she left the train station. Surely she would have attempted to buy a ticket when she arrived, and left when she realized she needed identification.”

I pull my phone from my pocket and glance at my call log. “She called me thirty minutes ago and there was no background noise. She wasn’t in the train station, not even the bathroom. I’m guessing someplace close to it. In other words, she went there and something changed her mind. She’s afraid of a group of hackers. It’s reasonable to believe she thought she could pay cash and not show identification in order to buy her ticket.”

“Or,” he offers, “someone’s been pulling her chains, and they may have stopped her departure.”

“Or she decided she needed help after all, in which case, she’ll show up back at my apartment. Where is she now?”

His cell phone rings, and he reaches for it, answering me. “She was walking toward the convention center,” he says, taking his call, and then listening a moment before glancing at me. “Nick,” he tells me. “General update. Nothing new. I’m going to search the kitchen while we talk.”

I nod and he disappears into the other room while I consider the direction of Emily’s path and the possibility it’s not headed back to me. Inhaling a heavy breath, I turn away from the room and do a quick sweep of every drawer and cabinet, finding what few products she has are all generic, bargain brands, which drives home the reality of her empty apartment I wish like hell I’d known about. Walking to the closet, I find a small duffel bag and stuff everything I can find of Emily’s inside. She’s not coming back here. Ever.

With the bag on my shoulder, I exit the bathroom and walk to the side of the bed, grabbing a journal and a few other items she has sitting there, sticking them inside the bag. Zipping it up, I give the blow-up bed a grimace, and turn away. I can’t look at that damn thing. No wonder she didn’t want me here.

Entering the living area, I find Seth in the kitchen, opening and shutting drawers. “Anything?” I ask, leaning on the door frame.

He faces me and presses his hands on the counter. “She’s been eating on paper plates and using plastic ware. She has no mail. No connection to another life. We aren’t going to find answers here.” His phone rings again and he answers, listening several minutes, before saying, “Yes. Do it.”

“What was that?” I ask, walking to the bar that separates the living area from the kitchen where he stands facing me.

“She just entered the Hampton Inn by the Coliseum. Our man followed her inside, which brings us back to her ID and hackers. She can’t travel, or rent a hotel room in her name, which we have to assume based on her actions thus far, she knows. In other words, she could be meeting someone.”

“Or someone rented a room for her,” I surmise, not liking where this is going.

“My thought exactly,” he confirms. “But we have an opportunity here. People show their true colors when they don’t know you’re watching. What she does now will tell you who she is, far more than her true identity on paper ever could.”

“More like who is controlling her.”

“I’ll head over there then,” he says. “And I’ll personally stay the night and let you know if anything happens.”

“I’m going with you.”

“You’re the boss,” he says. “But in my opinion, you’re too close to this to get any closer.”

“All the more reason I need my questions answered.”

“I can answer them for you, and nothing may even happen tonight. Go home, Shane. I’ll call you.”

“One way or the other,” I promise him, “something is going to happen tonight.” I don’t give him time to make his case further, already walking toward the door and exiting. The wind greets me, swiping my face and dusting me in snow flurries, the possibilities of where the next few hours could lead as icy as the droplets they become.

Seth joins me, pulling the door shut behind him, and my cell phone begins to ring. I reach for it, hoping like hell it’s Emily, to find my ex-boss calling instead, no doubt trying to recruit me back to New York yet again. I decline the call and without the hesitation of the past. I have a mess here my family created that I have to clean up, once and for all this time, and lord help them if they’re behind what’s going on with Emily.

I glance up to find Seth already at the driver-side door of his car and I walk to my least favorite place—the passenger side. I don’t like being the one taken on a ride, but then, that’s a trait I share with the Brandon clan. The whole bunch of us prefer the driver’s seat, which wouldn’t be a problem if we all shared the same destination.

Seth clicks the locks, and I toss Emily’s bag in the backseat before joining Seth in the front. He cranks the engine and the heat, placing us in reverse and then forward. “I need to know how you plan to handle any visitor she has,” he says, pulling us onto the main road. “Because we have a chance to watch her and see her true colors.”

“You said that already.”

“And I’m saying it again,” he says. “No matter who shows up to the hotel to meet her, we need to sit back and watch.”

“Negative,” I say. “If Emily has a guest that bears the Brandon name, the game is over. There’s no reason to sit, watch, and wait.”

“And if it’s someone else?” he asks, already pulling us into a spot across from the hotel.

“We sit, watch, and wait.”

His cell phone rings yet again and he kills the engine, grabbing his phone and eyeing the screen. “She checked into a room.” He glances at me. “We’re working to find out under what name.” Another car pulls into the spot behind us, and a light flashes several times in the back window. “That’s Nick,” Seth adds. “I’ll be right back.” He opens his door and disappears, shutting me inside the car, alone.

I eye him in the rearview mirror, watching as he climbs into the black SUV behind us, and then turn my attention to the door, where people come and go, and I don’t look away. Ten minutes pass, then fifteen, and Seth climbs back inside the car with me, an iPad in his hand. “She rented a room with cash using a fake name, but no identification. She convinced the manager she lost her wallet at the airport.”

“And we know this how?”

“The man we had tailing her paid one of the girls at the front desk to get the details for him.”

“At least we now know she didn’t check in on someone else’s account,” I say, motioning to the iPad. “That has a purpose I assume.”