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The thought of Bridget cheating hadn’t crossed my mind till now. I comb through my memory to see if she ever mentioned a guy that might have caught her interest. The only guy I know whom she’s currently close to is Felipe. But even though he’s gay, I don’t feel a hundred percent at ease with their friendship. Like me, he can see past her less-than-impressive fashion sense. And I’m not talking about inner beauty. I’m actually glad she dresses the way she does. When she was all dolled up in Phuket, she turned heads.
By mid-afternoon, I still haven’t reached Bridget. It’s been forty-eight hours. I call Cheryl, who said she hasn’t seen her since the other night when Marshall let her into my place.
“Ask Felipe if he’s seen or heard from her,” I tell her.
She comes back and says the last time Felipe saw her was the same night.
“Send Marshall to check on her.”
Something’s not right, and the next few hours pass a little too uncomfortably. I don’t have any meetings until dinner, when I’m meeting with other division heads within the Jing San.
I’m in my hotel room dressed in a suit, waiting to head to dinner, mindlessly flipping through channels on the television, when I get the call from Marshall.
“I got good news and bad news, boss,” he says. “I just talked with one of the neighbors in Bridget’s apartment building. There was some kind of gas leak.”
I pale.
“Good news is, Bridget wasn’t there when it happened,” Marshall continues. “She slept at your place. Chang confirmed he let her out of the club the following morning.”
I continue to breathe. “What’s the bad news?”
“Amy died.”
Holy shit. That explains why she didn’t pick up JD’s call, which was surprising, given how Amy hangs on JD.
“And one of the other roommates, think the name was Simone, was taken to the hospital,” Marshall adds.
“Where’s Bridget?” I demand.
“Don’t know yet. When I knocked on her door, no one answered. I cased the building and didn’t see any lights from inside her unit, though it’s pretty late here.”
“Let me know the instant you find Bridget,” I say before hanging up.
There’s probably a midnight flight to San Francisco I can catch, if needed. Or a private jet charter would be better. But it’s probably too early to bail on dinner and the rest of the week that Hao Young has planned on my behalf. I regret not doing a location share with Bridget’s phone. I hadn’t wanted her to turn around and request the same of me.
I call Cheryl to look into flights as well as any information she can about what happened, then sit down and cup my hands over the back of my neck. I’m going to have to tell JD about Amy.
Gas leak. Probably carbon monoxide poisoning. That’s not a common occurrence, though one does hear about it every now and then. Though I feel bad for what happened to Amy, I’m more relieved that Bridget didn’t end up in either the hospital or the morgue. At least, it appears that way.
But what if something did happen to Bridget? What if Marshall didn’t get the correct info? I’m all the way here in fucking Hong Kong, unable to do anything. I stand up and kick the coffee table.
“Yo, what’s the matter?” JD asks from the door that connects our two rooms.
I turn to him. Wearing a bathrobe, he’s in the middle of getting ready for dinner and has shaving cream over his face.
I release a long breath. “Something bad happened to Amy.”
“I didn’t get her pregnant, did I?” he jokes.
“She’s dead.”
JD stares at me for several silent seconds before saying, “What are you talking about?”
“I sent Marshall to check on Bridget at her apartment. She wasn’t there. One of the neighbors explained what happened.”
“Which was what?”
“There was some kind of gas leak, probably carbon monoxide. One of the roommates, Simone, was taken to the hospital. Amy didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”
