Treasured by Thursday(98)
Her face went blank.
Solomon moved to her side. “The car was in the shop last week.”
Delgado took a tiny step back. “You’re Mrs. Blackwell’s bodyguard?”
Solomon offered a nod.
“And who are you?” the second officer asked Connor.
“Security,” Connor said.
“And the man at the gate?”
Gabi stepped in. “My husband is a very wealthy man. We can’t be too careful.”
“I find it interesting that you have a house full of security shortly after your own life was recently spared and another was taken. I also find that dots in a line eventually connect.”
“I don’t know what happened to that boy, Officer.”
“But you know something—”
Solomon stepped between the officer and Gabi. “This meeting is over, Officer. Connor will show you out.”
“We only want to talk to you, Mrs. Blackwell. No one is accusing you of anything.”
Was that what was happening? Suddenly the presence of the cops was anything but comfortable.
“Are you arresting anyone?” Solomon asked.
Delgado met Solomon’s gaze and turned to leave. “We’ll be in touch.”
Gabi waited until after the officers left before turning to Solomon. “What the hell was that all about?”
“I don’t know.”
She glared. “That man was right. My car blowing up . . . the missing boy who was last seen in this house . . . those odds are too good to ignore. They’re connected, aren’t they?”
“This is the first I’m hearing of the kid, Mrs. B.”
She remembered the young man’s smiling face as he wired one of the televisions, envisioned him flirting with the girls. “There were a lot of people in the house that day. They could be in danger.”
“We don’t know that.”
“We can’t rule it out. Holding back information might result in someone else getting hurt . . . or worse.” She twisted toward Andrew. “Where is Hunter?” It was the first time she’d asked.
“I don’t know.”
Well that’s convenient. She lifted the phone and dialed Hunter’s office.
Tiffany apologized, said he wasn’t there . . . asked about her well-being.
No, Tiffany didn’t know where Hunter was. He asked for her to clear his calendar for the rest of the week.
Gabi hung up and dialed his cell.
Voice mail picked up.
“I don’t know where you are, and wouldn’t care if the police hadn’t just left our house. I need answers, Hunter. If I don’t get them soon, I’m going to the police myself and telling them everything I know.”
No sooner than the space of time it took to hang up the phone, it was ringing again.
“It’s Neil.”
Gabi glanced at the hidden camera she knew Neil and his team monitored. “Where’s Hunter?”
“I can’t tell you that, Gabi. Going to the police could be suicide.”
“A boy is dead.”
She heard him sigh. “Tell me what you know about him. What exactly was he doing at the house?”
“He wired the televisions, connected the cables . . . stuff like that. I think he helped a few of the girls with hanging some of the higher Christmas lights.”
“Anything about him seem odd?”
“There was a massive crew that day. Nothing felt off.” She paused. “Except the tree delivery guys. They weren’t off so much as overly helpful.”
“Tree delivery?” Neil cussed under his breath. “I’m sending over a team.”
“You already have a team here,” she said in protest.
“A different team. No more talk about going to the police, Gabi. You have to trust me on this.”
“If someone else ends up dead—”
“We will find them. Put Solomon on the phone.”
Frustrated, she shoved the phone into Solomon’s hand and left the room.
Hunter pulled into his father’s drive in a Jeep he’d picked up from the dealer before noon. If anyone was following him, they would have targeted the Town Car he had one of the security guards jump in the back of. It was all very cloak-and-dagger, but he didn’t trust anyone.
Wearing jeans—something he did on such a rare occasion that he had to hunt for an unopened box that had been sent from the high-rise condo he recently slept in—Hunter glanced around the secluded home of his father.
Tucked into the far suburbs of the Santa Clarita Valley, his father’s property wasn’t gated or secure in any way.
No one cared to notice.
There was a pickup in the drive, one Hunter had bought his dad a few years back. Beside it, a tiny sports car five years past its prime.
He pulled the key out of the ignition and lifted the collar on his jacket. Hiding under sunglasses and a baseball cap, Hunter jogged up the steps to his father’s home and didn’t bother to knock.