Page 58 of Cozen

Shit.

“Yeah, three weeks.”

“Bring me what you found, and brief me.”

Without another word, Jett hung up the phone. Sargon was left staring blankly out the windshield as his car became gridlocked in Manhattan traffic. He wasn’t going anywhere for a while, it seemed.

Jett was going to have to wait until traffic thinned out a bit. Not that the man would be pleased with the excuse—even if it wasn’t technically a lie.

Nothing fucking new.

This was why he hated the city. He much preferred the beach.

Sargon peered in to the crowd again as his hands tightened around the leather-wrapped steering wheel. So tight, in fact, that his knuckles turned white from the pressure. Stress was eating at him all the time now.

He had lost Cozen. She was nowhere to be seen in the crowd.

Not that it mattered, now.

The boss calls.

Sargon stepped out of the car at a little past ten. The dark, inky sky hovered high above his head, and for a moment, he took the time to count the stars he could see. It was one of the things he missed the most.

Stars, that was.

In the city, the stars were not as visible. All the bright lights and pollution made a haze of sorts that kept them clouded from view. Whenever he did get the chance to appreciate the sky and stars, he took a minute or two to do just that.

“Took you long enough.”

Sargon closed his eyes, and sucked in a deep breath. Counting back from five to settle the sudden jolt of irritation he felt at being interrupted, it only helped a minuscule amount. He opened his eyes again to find one of Jett’s other bodyguards approaching him.

“He knew where I was,” Sargon said. “I can’t help that he sends me into Manhattan, and then calls me back during rush hour. I am not fucking Houdini. I’m not magic, and I don’t work miracles just because someone demands I do.”

So the counting thing probably didn’t work.

Jean didn’t look like he cared, either. “Whatever. Boss is inside waiting for you. In the dining room, I guess.”

Sargon didn’t bother to reply to the man. Things were still a bit tense for him with Jett’s men, although the less time Sargon spent with them, the nicer they seemed to be. Not that he blamed them, really.

He wasn’t particularly open to them, either.

Tucking the folder under his arm, Sargon headed for the entrance of the Griffin mansion. The estate rested on a few acres of land that was heavily guarded, but also allowed Jett privacy. Not that it really mattered.

Jett spent as much time away from his home as he did inside of it. The guy had penthouses and luxury apartments scattered all over the city. He wasn’t overly fond of hotels—would use one if he absolutely had to—so he preferred to keep his options open.

A man opened the large French doors to allow Sargon in before he could even reach for the handle. He passed the black-dressed man a nod, and headed in the direction of the dining room on the bottom floor of the three-wing monster.

Jett rarely allowed his men beyond certain areas in his home, and if he did let them go further, it was with supervision. Sargon had seen most of the bottom floor plan, and the back of the house where a large in-ground pool rested around a white marble setting.

The whole mansion dripped in wealth. From the gold plated decals on the trim around the doorways, to the overly large chandeliers hanging from the cathedral-style ceilings. Jett did not make any effort to hide his riches inside his home.

Every which way someone turned, there was something more expensive to look at. A person could get lost simply going from one thing to the next.

It took Sargon a couple of minutes to get to the dining room. The voices filtering out from the space made him slow in his walk a bit. He wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but Jett’s relationship—or sometimes, lack thereof—with his two sons was a source of interest for Sargon.

The man had two grown sons.

Silas—twenty-eight.