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The agent slid his finger from Gwen’s delicate features and onto Hawk’s distinctive sneer. “Robert Hawk. Father of your wife. Principal of several outstanding real estate loans that you are responsible for and ... if I had to guess ... serious pain in your ass.”
The words were said without humor, the final word delivered in a flat tone. “Dead.”
Robert Hawk. Dead. It was something Dario had wanted for a decade, yet it felt hollow. Still, the confirmation of the news brought his gaze up, past the pointed chin and whiskery lips and to his light brown eyes.
“He’s dead?” Dario shifted his legs under the table, stretching them out until they bumped into something. “I thought ... I didn’t know there’d been confirmation.”
I didn’t know the bastard was actually mortal. That’s what he felt like saying. With all this time, the fact that such a simple act—a bullet in a parking lot—had felled Hawk ... it seemed too easy. Why hadn’t Dario done it years ago? But the question to that one was easy. Gwen. Gwen hadn’t wanted any harm to befell her father. Gwen had believed that, beneath all of his threats and despicable actions ... that there had been some redeeming characteristics there.
Gwen had been wrong. And now, as a result, she was gone.
The man nodded. “I got the call just before I stepped in here.”
Dead, and Nick had done it. Dario felt both cheated and grateful, a contrasting mix of emotions that didn’t sit well.
The agent tapped on the second to last photo in the row. “Bell Hartley. Your latest girlfriend and the potential target of the murder. Missing.” He said the word as if it meant dead, the suspicion in his voice completely unfounded.
“And then... we have you.” He circled his finger around Dario’s photo. “Alive. Unscathed. In less than a week, you’ve gotten rid of your cheating wife, her boyfriend, her meddlesome father, and inherited an empire. Forgive me if everything seems a little too clean. Plus, there’s the matter of Bell Hartley.”
Her name sounded foul on the man’s lips, and Dario wanted to reach into his mouth and yank the syllables back. “What about Bell Hartley?” Dario growled out the question.
“She’s disappeared.” The man lifted his chin and fixed Dario with a hard look. “Know anything about that?”
“She’s safe. I got her out of town and away from Hawk. That’s all you need to know.”
“Actually...” The man shifted in his chair. “That’s not all we need to know. You can’t keep leaving us in the dark and then expecting us to jump when you snap your fingers. The FBI doesn’t work like that. When you lied to the police and told them that was Bell’s body in that condo—you brought her into this mess. The fact that she’s your girlfriend, and you’ve got a dead wife on your hands ... that doesn’t help anything as far as you are concerned.”
Dario sat back in the chair and folded his arms. “Fine. You want Bell? I’ll bring in Bell. You can ask her whatever you want.”
The man studied him, his finger tapping a slow beat against the desk. “Thank you, Mr. Capece, for that permission. Not that we need it.
“You need it if you plan on finding her.”
The edges of the man’s mouth turned down. “We are, I assure you, quite skilled in that art.” He leaned back and buttoned the top button of his coat. “Finding people is what we do, Mr. Capece.”
“Well, not to measure dicks or anything, but that stack of missing girls’ posters says otherwise.”
Dario leaned forward and tapped the stack of manila folders, his face hardening into a scowl. “I didn’t plan on Bell joining their ranks. You’ll have to forgive anything I did to keep that possibility at bay.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Anything? That’s a strong word, Dario.”
It wasn’t. Anything was a weak word where she was concerned. Anything didn’t begin to cover the enormity of what he would do to protect her. Anything sat in nine-to-five cubicles, it played inside the lines and lived with modern society. Everything was a far better word. He’d do everything to protect her and burn down this town if that’s what it took. Planting the gun ... hiding her away ... it was all just the surface of what he was capable of.
“I feel like we are getting off track.” The attorney jumped in, anxious to justify his eight-hundred-dollars-an-hour rate.
The agent pointed that stupid finger back in Dario’s direction. “You mentioned that you could bring Bell Hartley in. Do it. We want to talk to her, to get her statement on what happened that night. And in the meantime, with this murder weapon in hand and no longer any need to mislead Robert Hawk, you’re free to go. But our investigation is still ongoing. As I said, this is a very convenient turn of events for you, Mr. Capece. All of your problems have suddenly found themselves in the morgue and off of your plate.”
