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32
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CONNOR
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“Goddamn it. Mia toldme she was in bed, sick.” George wipes his face with his palm over and over. “She never left.”
Mack walks back in.
“She went out via the parking garage,” he advises, thrusting the phone in my face, and I watch as Mia hid in the corner of the garage and then ran when the roller door began to close, after the car exited.
“Jesus Christ,” I curse. It’s been five minutes since I got home, or maybe six now, and every minute counts.
Mia knows my secret and could’ve exposed me.
Does Joe Mancini know? Is Nathan walking back into a trap?
There’s nothing in my office which connects Decker or Nathan visually, but there are names.
How close did she look?
“Pull the video footage from inside my office. See what she did. What she looked at. Work out what she could’ve been focused on and thinking,” I say to Mack, asking the impossible.
But this is what they trained us to do as marines, and it’s better than standing around, flapping our lips.
He grabs a laptop off a nearby table and starts tapping. The data is accessible from the cloud, and I know why he wants a bigger screen rather than his phone. He wants to watch her eyes.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Connor,” George says, even though he has no idea what’s really going on.
Aside from my three Kings, no one knows my other venture or my true identity. Which is why I need him to leave, before he sees or hears anything more.
Usually, there would be no excuse for this type of oversight, and while part of me wants to throttle him and take out my anger at losing Mia on someone, I know George did nothing wrong.
I’m not willing to lose him over this.
“She’s the daughter of a gangster. I underestimated her. This is on me,” I growl.
It absolutely is.
I ignored my instincts, which I’ll never do again.
I toss him a set of keys. “Go pull the Maserati around. Park out front. I’ll be down in five.”
