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“You ever speak about my future wife that way again, and I’ll kill you.”
“Please, we’re just scared,” said Jason.
“You should be. Quinn has a massive manhunt out for you, and he will find you.”
“He’ll find her too,” said Virginia defiantly with tears in her eyes. “He’ll find her and finish what he started, and then we’ll be back to normal.”
“You will never be normal, lady,” said Carl. “They won’t find Gail. Ever. Neither will you.”
“What investments were you making for Quinn?” asked Tobias.
“Nothing suspicious. They were all legal companies, legal investments that yielded good returns. The problem was he was gambling with other people’s money. He was making investments for foreign businessmen, playing with their money because they couldn’t trade on the U.S. stock exchange. I didn’t know that originally, then I figured it out.”
“He was using his money to launder their money,” said Ian, nodding at the others.
“What? No, I-maybe,” said Jason, shaking his head.
“Who were the other investors?” asked Tobias.
Jason Mackenzie opened his mouth to say something, to give one last piece of evidence that might save his daughter’s life. Instead, the splatter of blood and brain stained the Aubusson carpet.
Virginia Mackenzie didn’t even move. She stared at her husband’s dead body, then closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. With a single shot, she rolled left into her husband’s body. Both of them dead.
Ian, Mark, and Tiger raced around the back of the mansion to see if they could find where the shots had been fired. Out on the frigid waters of Easton Bay, a massive boat sped away, no doubt carrying the shooters.
“What do you want to do?” asked Benji. Tobias just stared at them, unable to comprehend how they could treat their children in such a manner.
“Nothing. Leave them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
While Jean and the others interviewed at NutriHealth, the Irish of Belle Fleur made their way to the area of Hell’s Kitchen in Manhattan. Once upon a time, it held the Irish gang known as the Westies. Today, it was trendy shops, restaurants, over-priced apartments and townhomes, and an underbelly of organized crime.
They weren’t exactly sure of what they were looking for or what they would see, but when they made a left at 49thand 10th, they were shocked to see the variety of ethnic restaurants. Indian, Persian, Thai. Everything except an Irish pub.
“Maybe we’re in the wrong place,” said Liffey.
“No. We’re in the right place,” said Irish. “Look.” He pointed to the sign above the Indian restaurant.Delhi a Quinn Restaurant.
“Okay. Let’s have Indian food.”
The smells of the Indian cuisine assaulted before they even opened the door. The rich fragrance of cardamom, curry, and spice had them all hungry. Taking their seats, the waitress brought them water and asked if they wanted anything else to drink.
“No. Just water,” said Irish.
“I’m sorry. The owner requires that you drink something other than water,” said the young woman cautiously.
“Fine. Iced tea for everyone.” She frowned at them, then returned to the kitchen where they could see her whispering to the chef.
“I think this lunch is going to be short and sweet, boys,” said Dom.
“Rules of the house,” growled the chef, “order some fucking liquor or don’t eat here.”
“You can stick the rules of the house up your ass,” smiled Liffey. “Water or iced tea, that’s what we want. Now get us the fucking drinks and our food.”
“You’re going to regret that,” he smirked.
“I’m really sorry,” said the waitress. “I know it’s a silly rule, but we have to enforce it, or Mr. Quinn gets angry.”
