Page 106 of The Billionaires' Gamble
I pause from counting the hours until Katherine and Kingston fly home to answer the page from my assistant.
“Detective Garcia is here about your apartment building. He has a photo and is hoping you can identify someone.”
Interesting. Somehow, now surprising. Nothing’s going to surprise me for a good long while after Lucinda Winthrop’s insanity.
“Send him in.”
I push to my feet as the detective steps through the door.
Dark hair. Inexpensive suit. Keen gaze. Everything I’d expect.
“Mr. Hunt.”
I round the desk to shake his hand.
“Thanks for meeting me.”
“Of course.”
Staying close with local law enforcement is part of the job.
“I won’t take much of your time. I wondered if you’d ever seen this man before.” He taps his tablet a few times and then hands it over.
Taking it, I stare down at a photo obviously snagged from a security camera. I recognize the setting immediately. It’s the elevator in my building. It’s not a great angle to see the man’s face. And everything about him seems average. Height, weight, complexion. But a few things stand out, his maintenance uniform, for one, loose-fitting and not what the men in our building wear. It’s a dull gray instead of navy.
He carries a tool bag almost the size of a small duffle, but it’s not as worn as I’d expect it to be.
“No,” I say. “I don’t. But I can tell you that he’s not one of the normal maintenance guys for our building.”
I point out the incorrect uniform.
A trace of a smile curves the detective’s lips. “They said you were sharp.”
“We have to be, don’t we?”
“Anything else?”
I point out the bag. “When was this taken?”
He takes the tablet back. “A few hours before the leak.”
“I suggest you look into Lucinda Winthrop’s… associates.”
His chin lifts, momentary surprise flickering over his face. But then he nods as if that makes total sense.
“After last weekend, I wouldn’t put anything past her,” I say.
Once I’ve seen Detective Garcia off, I find a new text on my phone. This time from Gabe, asking me if I want him to grab anything from our apartment.
Suddenly, the sleek gray of my office feels too cold. No longer modern, masculine, and strong. But dull. Lifeless. Boring.
I page my assistant. “Cancel my afternoon. Send over anything I can handle from home.”
It’s past time to confront Gabe and get back to our friendship.
“Your next meeting is here,” my assistant says.
Blowing out a sigh, I settle back in my chair. “Okay, after this,” I say.
