The receptionist does a good job not responding to the angst in my tone.
“Here is Regan.” I hand her a photo of Regan peering up at the sky in the seconds following the removal of the tear she shed at the same time every night.
I take in the photo as diligently as the receptionist. With everything going on, I forgot about Regan’s grief. I’ve concentrated so hard on keeping my promises to Dane, I haven’t had the chance to sit down and work through my own remorse.
The mad beat of my heart doubles when my eyes drop to my clock to check the date. Luca’s memorial was last month. I wonder if Regan went this year? And if she did, was it only Luca on her mind that day?
I’m drawn back to the present when the receptionist says, “I’m sorry. She appears familiar, but I’m not confident enough to declare if she was a patient here.”
“We already know she was a patient. This proves it.” I tap the receipt on her desk. “I’m just trying to determine if she went ahead with her operation.”
“I know.” The receptionist pats my arm in a soothing manner. “But I’m not confident I’ve seen her before, much less that I remember what happenedifshe came here.”
I want to argue, but years of training reveals it will be no use. She’s being honest. She didn’t stutter when grilled or lose my eye contact. She truly can’t remember.
“Okay. Thank you for trying.” I gather the receipt from the counter and the photo from her hand before stuffing them back into my wallet.
My sloth-like steps out of the clinic slow when the receptionist murmurs, “There could be hundreds of R. Myers in the world.”
When I pivot around to face her, she’s sitting behind her desk, sorting files like she never said anything. I’m about to ask what her riddle refers to, but the quickest flashback of a file from years ago steals my words.
Raquel Myers, younger sister of Regan Myers.
Holy fucking shit.Did I have my sights set on the wrong Myers?
After a quick mumble of thanks, I stumble onto the sidewalk outside of the 24-hour family planning clinic. It is late, but the number of pedestrians is still at an all-time high. My wide shoulders keep me from being bumped and elbowed when I stop halfway down the sidewalk to yank my phone from my pocket.
Because only one member of my team has my private number, it doesn’t take me long to locate the number I called in haste last month. I bite out a string of curse words when the date of my call registers as memorable. I blasted Regan for blocking my investigation on the day of Luca’s death.Fuck—can I be any more of an asshole?
I press my phone close to my ear when Regan’s voice sounds down the line. “You’ve reached Regan Myers. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you.”
“Rae. . .” I grimace.That wasn’t a good start.“Regan, it’s Alex. . . Alex Rogers.”The hole just keeps growing.“I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, but can you call me? It’s urgent.” I rattle off my cell phone number before disconnecting the call.
Wanting to ensure she can’t miss the urgency in my tone, I send a text to her old number. I doubt it’s still active, but when you’re grasping at straws, you use anything you can.
As my eyes lift from the screen of my phone, the quickest flurry of black freezes my steps. Isaac just darted into a restaurant on my left. Although seeing him dine at expensive restaurants is nothing out of the norm, alarms are ringing in my head. I’m in Hopeton, standing outside a row of buildings Isaac doesn’t own. That alone is highly suspicious. Isaac refuses to dine in any establishments he doesn’t own.
I slide my cell phone into my pocket before crossing the street. The brutish doorman blocking the entrance Isaac just entered holds his hand out, refusing my entrance. The flash of my badge drops his hand from my chest even faster than he steps out of my path. Lucky, or I would have dispelled some of the anger I’ve been hording the past year on him and his abhorrent face.
I move through the restaurant lithely, my guard up. If the goon on the door wasn’t already an indication that this enterprise isn’t lawful, the number of suit-clad man huddled around empty tables is a sure-fire sign. All they need is cigars in their hands and a mafia film set would be at the ready.
“Double whiskey, hold the rocks.”
The bartender jerks up his chin before serving me my drink as requested. I withheld the ice as the condensation on the glass gives away the fact I never drink my order. I could not order, but then I’d look even more out of place than I already do.
After placing a twenty onto the sticky countertop, I twist in my barstool to face the mainly empty restaurant. It takes me inconspicuously scanning the area three times before I find the mark I’m seeking. Isaac is sitting in the very far corner. He has his back facing me, but I don’t need to see his face to know it is him. I can smell his arrogance from here.
I accidently swallow a mouthful of the whiskey I’m pretending to swig when Isaac moves enough to the right I can see who he is dining with: Alberto Sokolov, righthand man of Vladimir Popov, mob boss of Las Vegas.
My heart beats in an unusual rhythm when excitement overwhelms me. After twelve long fucking months, I’ve got him.
Isaac’s nuts are about to be pinned to the wall.Finally.
Fifteen
Regan
“Izzy just arrested Isaac.”
