As he sped toward Brooklyn, cursing as he had to fight rush-hour traffic, his mind was running through every possible scenario. Maybe Sam Charles actually was a PI who was also looking for Lila, but sent by whom? Was Sam Charles wanting to cast who he knew as Sienna in his porn films just a coincidence to the abduction? Perhaps Carson was being played, and the family hired an investigator to keep an eye on him, that investigator being Sam Charles, leading them and Elon right to Lila.
Whatever the case, he was certain it wasn’t some strange cosmic coincidence, and Sam Fucking Charles definitely had a role in Lila’s disappearance. Just how and why, he didn’t know.
Carson was playing out in his mind how he was going to torture the information out of Sam Charles when he pulled up to his first destination. The small Brooklyn brownstone where Lila, his Lila, had grown up sat directly in front of him. Although he’d been there before, it now held a brand new significance.
Taking a deep breath, Carson got out of the car and walked confidently to the front door, then rang the bell. It was past dinnertime, so he assumed they would be home. He needed the family now more than ever to give him potential clues as to where Lila might be, and he wasn’t sure whether he could expect them to cooperate. There was no fucking way he was going to allow them to railroad him as they, or Elon, had been doing thus far. Whoever was pulling the puppet strings was finished. He was going to make sure of that.
He also didn’t expect Elon, the bastard, the goddamn husband, to answer the door, but it was a welcome surprise. Carson had a feeling this would make his fact-finding mission that much easier. He also was pretty certain he had just discovered the puppeteer.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t such a welcome surprise to the man standing opposite him, judging by the quick flash of anxiety that crossed the jerk’s face. And the way he greeted him while growling, “Hello, Mr. Graham. What brings you here today?”
Bringing up his acting skills, Carson pretended not to notice his animosity. “Hey, glad you’re here, man. I was just coming to check in with your in-laws and get some more information to help my ongoing search for your wife,” he said, cool as a cucumber.
Just using the word wife with regard to Lila and this asshole made him cringe inside.
“This works out well,” he went on. “I can kill two birds with one stone now that you’re here. I’m really looking forward to getting to the end of this case for you and your in-laws. You must be so anxious to find your wife.” Carson continued to play it cool. He even stuck out his hand to shake the fucker’s hand.
“I was here checking on my in-laws,” Elon said carefully. “I actually think this whole crazy chase hasn’t been good for their health. I told them long ago, Lilach decided she didn’t want this life, and they should just let her go.” He crowded the doorway, obviously trying to keep the conversation at the front stoop.
Carson gave Elon his best shark smile, then stepped into the hallway, shouldering his way past the bastard. He did his best to ignore the fury that passed briefly on Elon’s face as he pulled the large door partially closed behind him.
The detective in him noted the extra emphasis on the “ch” in the old-fashioned pronunciation of Lila’s name that Elon had used. What was that about? Claiming his stake?
He pushed it to the back of his mind and put himself on high alert, searching for any clues, desperate to be sure nothing slipped by him. The stakes were too high. He walked farther into the entryway and faced his newfound enemy head-on, then asked, “Weren’t you worried about your wife, though, despite her not wanting this life?”
Elon stood stiffly in the hallway, his face impassive before he slid a sad but resigned look on his face. “At first, yes, but then I reflected back on the few years we were together, and she always mentioned wanting something more out of life. Not this life here, apparently. I guess she’s happy somewhere now.” The bastard stepped forward, using his personal space to attempt to push Carson back toward the door.
Yeah, right, motherfucker. More like she ran as fast as she could away from you, but why?
Carson continued with their dance and prowled right on ahead, heading toward the sitting room where he’d met with the family before, pushing himself further into a space where he clearly wasn’t welcome.
“Did she ever file divorce papers,” he asked, “or did you think about it? Did you want to move on, make a life with someone else, presuming she was happier now that she was gone?” Carson couldn’t help but goad the asshole a little bit, standing in the narrow hallway. It was the only way he could avoid physically attacking him.