Page 45 of No Lies No Promises

As Dante and Mace turn, I pace back so Daed can hear. “Not sure how this fits in, but my grandmother swears she saw my father arguing with Jeff Pearson.”

“Not surprising,” My boss scowls at the screen. “Parkhaven needs investors. Your father has access to a lot of money.”

My frustration maxes out. “Then why the fuck would he let me use his name to investigate them?”

No one answers.

I didn’t expect them to.

Chapter 23

Lillian

Once morning rush hour is over, we leave Queens. In Jersey City, we swap the bulletproof SUV for a Toyota. Now, we idle in front of a six-foot iron fence topped with barbed wire.

Welcome to Serenity Rose Psych Care.

As instructed, I log into their app. At exactly ten o’clock, the hinges creak, a motor whirs, and the gate swings open.

For almost a mile, we drive past pristine lawns. Not a leaf dares to stick out from the pruned shrubs. Oaks tower over younger maples. Walkways wind through it all, no doubt designed to soothe anxious minds.

Following the VISITOR PARKING sign, Sean pulls into a space behind the ivy-covered, three-story brick building.

Today he wears a charcoal polyester jacket over a crisp white button-down shirt. Slicked-back hair and horn-rimmed glasses give him this sexy accountant vibe. In contrast, his right hand never strays far from the holstered Sig beneath his left arm.

Don’t know why I’m turned on so, but my mouth waters as he circles the hood to open my door.

“Hurry. We’re exposed.” When his head swivels toward the pool beyond the pickleball courts, I follow his gaze.

“Bocce ball. Croquet. Badminton.” After living in the city, the amount of open space blows my mind. “This facility has everything.”

“Except people.” Palm on my lower back, he ushers me to the entrance.

“Huh.” Despite the seventy-five degrees, the light breeze, and a cloudless sky, not a single patient ventures outside.

At the front desk, a blonde woman barely out of her teens glances up from her cell phone. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Mr. Clark. She’s Ms. Fisher. Ms. Cudworth is expecting us.”

The girl sends a text, then focuses on her game or whatever she was doing. “Have a seat. She’ll be with you shortly.”

“Hello?” I wait for at least ten seconds before waving my hand in front of her face. “Did you know Simone Hart?”

“I only started here last week.” Her lips and brows scrunch together, as if taking the SATs. “Isn’t she the one who escaped, then blew herself up?”

Eyes on a flock of geese landing around the pool, Sean shrugs. “Police business. Can’t discuss it.”

He leads me to a couch under a crystal chandelier. While I sink into the rich leather, he sits to my right, his face contorting. No matter how he fakes it, that leg still hurts. Back to the wall, his gaze shifts to the restrooms, the front door, then the hallway.

Once he settles, I scoot closer. “She used the word escape. Is this a prison?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” Face blank, body tense, he says nothing more. Because I respect his need to keep watch, I don’t distract him.

Fifteen minutes later, we follow the receptionist up the stairs to a spacious office furnished with turn-of-the-century antiques. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the eerily empty estate.

Cudworth, a gray-haired woman in pearls and a pinstriped suit, rises and extends her manicured hand. “As I explained to your horrid young man on the phone, I already spoke to the authorities. I have nothing more to add.”

“Yes, ma’am.” My partner shakes her limp-wristed offering. “We need to dot a couple of i’s and cross a few t’s. Her family hired us to prove there was no negligence.”