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The warehouse was closer to my side of town—and I'd done that on purpose. No one would search for him here. I called it a warehouse, but it was actually a hanger that I owned, which was part of a private airport that had very few visitors.
I only referred to it as a warehouse as it was empty. I'd left my private plane down in Florida on my last trip—and thank god I had because this space had come in handy. I'd already hired someone to fly it back, and they would be here within the next twelve hours.
Jeff glanced at me as he pulled up outside the garage, but this time, he didn't say much. This was less suspicious. I texted my Private Investigator as I approached the locked door:Here.
I had keys, but I'd also insisted that he install a separate deadbolt that would ensure extra safety. To my surprise, he opened the door before I even reached for the handle. I could hear the shouts from inside.
"Jesus, this isn't protocol," I hissed, glancing back at the SUV.
"It's about fucking time. He's losing his shit in there, Lucas. You hired me to find him, not to fucking babysit him."
I raised my hand. "Trust me, this is almost over."
"It damn well better be, Lucas."
"I'll talk to him. And when I'm finished, you won't hear another peep out of him."
The PI rolled his eyes.
"Just wait here."
As I entered the hanger, evening sunlight seeped in through the high windows, coloring the vast space a deep yellow. He was pacing back and forth but stopped when he saw me.
"Lucas, what the fuck?" He stormed toward me, flashing his phone into the air. It was a news article declaring him dead.
My shoulders slumped. "Quinn, I told you what was going to happen. And how the fuck did you get internet on that phone? It was just supposed to have games to keep you occupied."
Quinn threw his hands up in the air. "I'm a hacker, bro. And no, this wasn't part of the plan. You said you were going to get me out of this mess. You didn't say you were going to fucking kill me!"
"You're blackmailing the fucking mayor, Quinn. What did you expect me to do?"
"Oh, don't act like you're doing this for me, Lucas. You're doing this to cover Olive's ass."
Fuck. He'd done more than google his own name apparently.
"Yeah," Quinn growled. "I googled you. And now it all suddenly makes sense."
"One million dollars."
Quinn shook his head. "What?"
"I'll give you one million dollars to disappear. One hundred thousand wired to your bank account monthly until it's paid off." I waved the manilla envelope in the air. "Inside, you'll find a new birth certificate and passport. A completely new identity."
Quinn leaned back as if he was trying to judge if I was serious. "I want two."
"Everyone's a fucking scam artist in this town." I scoffed. "Fine."
Quinn laughed. "Seriously?"
"I have a private plane coming to pick you up tonight. It'll take you to San Francisco, where I have a contact who will take you anywhere in the world you want. But once you leave Boston, you don't come back,ever. You take your new identity and go wherever you want."
Quinn cocked his head. "What's the catch?"
"Tell me what's on the video and why you wanted Olive to steal it."
Quinn exhaled a deep breath. "Rachel Carlyle." I blinked.
"What?"
