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“Jesus, Tweets,” Sway groaned.
Brian released her and kissed the back of her hand, staring at her with admiration. “If I’d been in the States at that time and only a few years younger, I might’ve given that third husband of yours—Jerome—some stiff competition. You wouldn’t’ve needed a fourth.” Brian walked away, leaving Tweetie and Sway’s mom in a puddle of charmed goo.
Brian drove his Mustang along the back of the hotel. It was a Sunday afternoon, so he figured quite a few of the guests had checked out already. He saw his brother and Dana sitting in Ford’s big pickup. He parked and strode over to the truck, stopping at Ford’s window.
“Took you long enough.”
Brian blinked at Dana and nodded in Ford’s direction. Asking a silent. What the fuck’s wrong with him?
Dana shrugged and motioned for Brian to come around to his side of the vehicle. Brian saw he was flipping through the images on his camera.
“The locator you put on that guy’s car. Max Wright the other business partner’s nephew wasn’t a guest here. He’s been scoping this place out. He’s been here several times. Sits in the bar for a while, the business center, even in the lobby, like he’s waiting for someone. But, he goes home each night. No wife, kids, nada. No other family, except for his uncle. Who’s about to do a stint if he can’t clear his name. He’s after something.”
“Not our problem or concern,” Ford grumbled. “We’re not mediators.”
Brian turned to his disgruntled brother then back to Dana. “What you got for me?”
Dana sighed. “We’ve been monitoring all his banking information. All his assets are seized, and we haven’t seen any other financial transactions. He’s a damn ghost right now”
“Why’s he still in Atlanta any damn way?” Ford turned to them.
“Costs money to get really get lost.”
“Takes a passport as well. Which the judge ordered he relinquish. He has no money but he’s staying here?” Brian gestured at the posh hotel. “He’s got help.”
“Who knows? The wife?” Dana asked.
Ford shook his head. “Quick was sitting on her all last week. Her routine is the same. Work, home, yoga twice a week. Brunch with her little club on Wednesday. No impromptu trips to hotels. No bank withdrawals from her one personal account.”
“There has to be a reason the nephew’s been here several times,” Dana added.
“Nothing on the hotel register?”
“We cross-referenced so many damn names. Whatever alias he’s using, we’re not making the connection.”
“Email me the list,” Brian said then turned to look up at the hotel. At least fifteen floors. Brian’s mind had a way of aligning pieces that no one else could.
“Tell me what you think, Brian.” Ford watched him.
Brian glanced around, narrowing his eyes. His brain tossed about scenarios and cause/effects so rapidly it felt like gears shifting in his head. Deafening and exhilarating. He lived for the hunt and his prey was right underneath his nose. He could smell it. Brian scratched at his beard, which was now, a couple of days’ thick, and turned back to the truck.
“If this guy is staying here. Holed-up in there for whatever reason—most likely lack of any genuine acquaintances. He’s getting help. We should hold off surveillance of the other potential abettors and start cross-referencing this hotel’s employees. Max Wright was scoping this place out for a reason but he ain’t catching him because our jumper probably never leaves. Robert Clarkson’s got a half a million dollar bounty on his head. Would you leave your room?”
“Fuck.” Dana leaned against the head rest. “There’s easily three-hundred employees at a hotel like this. It could be anyone.”
“Start with front desk, reservations, then executive offices.” Ford huffed. “It’ll take a while, but when we find them we can shake ‘em down for the room and head right up and get his ass.”
Dana picked up his phone. “Duke ain’t gonna like this news. He didn’t want to spend so many man hours on this.”
Brian tapped the side of the truck, halting Dana’s call. “If he’s living here—” Brian pointed into the lobby. “He has to be eating here.”
“You wanna stake it out?” Dana asked.
“Hell no. Besides, Max has already been doing that for us. And, no dice.”
“There’s a restaurant here, right?” Dana asked. “That’s where you took the photos of Max.”
Brian smirked. “There is a restaurant.”
Ford frowned, watching Brian’s face. He shook his head and grumbled in that rough timbre of his. “I know that look.”
“Me too.” Dana laughed. “What’s up, B?”
“I say we get us some in-house help, too.” Brian sneered. He pulled out Chef John LaRoy’s card, flicking it like it was a lucky pass and nodded for them to follow him. As he moved against the biting chill, he buttoned up his mid-thigh wool coat. Sway had teased him, saying he had his Jason Bourne impression going on. Brian allowed himself a couple of seconds to reflect on last night and how he wanted to do that again soon. He was going to catch this damn jumper and then he was taking some time off. He’d get some of his unfinished projects done and he’d be home waiting for Sway any night he wanted to drop in.
