Off Course, page 11
He strolled toward them, his expression pinched, his light green eyes practically glowing. His black hair was artfully tousled, styled to look as though he had just gotten out of bed, she was sure. She figured the scruff on his jaw and the well-manicured mustache and goatee took far more effort to maintain than appeared.
There was a reason he’d been slated as one of the sexiest men alive by more than one media outlet.
Recalling what she’d read, she knew Ronan was six feet tall, but he seemed larger than that. Even next to Brantley and Reese, who had four or five inches on him. He wore a white dress shirt and black slacks, his muscular frame discreetly masked by the conservative wardrobe. He wasn’t as big as Brantley, but he was big enough.
Not that Becs was checking him out from a perspective of interest. More like intrigue because he was a celebrity. She hadn’t met a celebrity before.
Ronan held out his hand to Brantley. “Ronan Kavanagh.”
Brantley shook his hand and then introduced him to the rest of them. Becs didn’t shake his hand, but she nodded when he said, “It’s nice to meet you all.”
She did her best not to swoon at the sexy Irish lilt.
“Follow me,” Ronan stated before turning and going back the way he’d come.
Thankfully, she was at the back of the group, so she didn’t get a chance to look at his ass. The last thing she wanted was to drool on her first field assignment.
Chapter Eleven
Ronan Kavanagh looked exactly like his photographs.
His class and sophistication weren’t faked. The way he carried himself spoke of entitlement and wealth. As for whether he’d grown up in the lap of luxury or he was a street rat who’d clawed his way to the top, Brantley didn’t know. The family history was steeped in secrets and mystery. Or so JJ had told him via text after another attempt to trace their origins.
The one thing he did know was that the family was as much a titan as the company they’d created.
Granted, Brantley had expected to see a laid-back version of the man on a Sunday afternoon, but he wasn’t entirely surprised. Something told him that nothing about the Kavanaghs was typical. Or laid-back. Considering they had armed escorts for their visitors, this family appeared to have something worth defending. Could’ve been people, possessions, or even secrets. Perhaps all of the above. Whatever it was, they weren’t messing around.
“Have a seat,” Ronan stated, gesturing toward a dozen empty seats around a large conference table. “Can I get you anything?”
“No.” Brantley wasn’t here to have tea on a Sunday afternoon.
Ronan’s gaze shifted to the rest of the team, one eyebrow cocked to extend the offer to them as well.
Everyone declined as Brantley pulled out one of the chairs and eased into it while he scoped the space around him.
Aside from the door they’d come through, it appeared there was a hidden exit at the back of the space. It blended relatively well with the glossy wood walls, but Brantley had been trained to seek out things like that. There were also two additional hidden compartments in the walls, both roughly waist high and long enough to hold anything from office equipment to a sizable cache of weapons. Brantley suspected it was the latter, considering the family was rumored to have mob ties. He figured they were loaded for bear and ready to take anyone on when the situation arose.
“Your secretary told me you’re here looking for Decker Bromwell,” Ronan said, glancing between all five of them as he pulled out a chair and sat.
“She’s not his secretary,” Atticus said at the same time Slade said, “Don’t let JJ hear you say that.”
Brantley cut his gaze to them and silenced them with a look. Slade mouthed I’m sorry before squaring his shoulders.
“Yes,” Reese confirmed. “We are.”
“Are you friends of his?”
“Are you?” Atticus retorted.
Brantley glared at him and got an impish smile in response.
Maybe he should’ve left them all at the hotel.
“Co-workers,” Reese admitted.
“How well do you know him?” Brantley asked, wanting to maintain control of this conversation.
Ronan’s eyebrow lifted, his all-seeing gaze shifting over each of their faces. “About as well as I know anyone. I met Deck a few years ago while he was on assignment for a family friend. We made our introductions over a glass of whiskey at the bar.”
“You liked him enough to keep in touch?”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “I hadn’t seen or talked to Deck since then. At least not until he contacted me a couple of months ago.”
According to Z, Ronan was the one who’d contacted Deck. Which was it? Who was lying? And why?
Opting not to point out that he’d already detected a lie, Brantley asked, “So you’re not friends?”
“Friends?” Ronan shook his head. “No. Acquaintances? Perhaps. He’s been around a bit more these past couple of months. I’ve had a chance to get to know him better.”
“Is that something you usually do with people you hire?”
Ronan frowned. “I’ve come to trust Deck. To a degree.”
Brantley wondered if that was something that came easily. Ronan’s trust. Based on the fact he looked as though he was expecting one of them to draw a weapon on him at any moment, he seriously doubted it.
“More than the armed entourage in the lobby?” Slade questioned.
Ronan’s black eyebrows rose as he glanced at Slade.
“We’re trying to figure out why you hired Deck to keep an eye on your sister when you’ve got personal protection,” Brantley clarified.
He had to give the man credit. Ronan managed to mask his expression. If he were surprised that they were here or that they were digging into his life, he didn’t show it. However, it was obvious to Brantley that Ronan wasn’t one to engage in conversation with people he didn’t know well.
“Look, Mr. Kavanagh, we—”
“Ronan,” he said sternly. “Mr. Kavanagh is my father.”
There was a hint of hostility in his tone that had Brantley’s hackles rising.
“Ronan,” he drawled slowly. “To find Deck, we need to—”
Ronan sat up straight. “Find him? What makes you think he’s missing?”
Brantley looked at Reese and frowned. What the fuck was going on here?
“That’s why we’re here,” Reese explained. “Deck hasn’t checked in for four days, and Sniper 1 Security has deemed him missing. We assumed he was with your sister.”
The man pursed his lips and shook his head, his mask of indifference falling back in place. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Where’s Saoirse?” Brantley asked.
His answer came easily. “My best guess is that she’s at home.”
There was a casualness to his tone that told Brantley he was lying. He was trying to appear bored by the conversation, but the tense shoulders and constant eye movement were a dead giveaway.
“And home would be?”
Ronan’s eerie green gaze slid over them. “I’m confused.”
“That makes six of us,” Atticus mumbled from the end of the table.
“You’re here looking for Decker, and you think he’s with my sister?”
“You hired him to protect Saoirse,” Brantley stated.
Ronan’s expression morphed into something that resembled amusement. “I did no such thing. As you said, I’ve got armed protection. And I don’t mean only those you encountered in the lobby. Why would I need to hire him? And why on earth would I hire him to watch my sister?”
“That’s what we’re tryin’ to find out,” Reese said. “According to our information, you called Deck back in June and hired him to provide your sister with twenty-four-hour protection. He brought that information to his superiors and asked for the assignment specifically. Until four days ago, he’d been checking in regularly, every twelve hours.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
The man was talking them in circles, and Brantley got the impression that was how he got out of difficult discussions. By pretending not to have the answers.
“Where’s your sister now?” Brantley asked, dropping all pretenses.
“As I said, she’s probably at home, but honestly, I don’t know. She’s been spending a lot of time with that fiancé of hers.”
Brantley didn’t imagine the slight snarl that accompanied the word fiancé.
“We need to talk to her.”
“You should call her.”
“We’ve tried that,” Brantley said, his patience dissolving.
Ronan didn’t respond.
Brantley glanced down the table at Becs, Slade, and Atticus. “Would you give us a minute?”
Becs immediately stood. “Sure.”
“Would you mind takin’ Tesha?” Reese asked her.
Becs came around the table and took Tesha’s leash, whispering to the dog as she led her out of the room.
“Go,” Brantley told Slade and Atticus more forcefully.
He could tell they didn’t want to, but they got to their feet and walked out behind Becs, closing the door.
“When was the last time you saw your sister?” Brantley asked when it was only the three of them in the room.
Ronan glanced at the door.
Brantley waited until he met his gaze. “Look. We’re here looking for a colleague, and we’re not leaving until we find him. With or without your help. If you help us, there’s a good chance whatever it is you’re attempting to hide will remain secret. But if you don’t, we’re gonna rifle through every inch of your life until we find what we’re lookin’ for. Your choice, Ronan.”
***
Reese was glad Brantley was steering this conversation. Within the first minute, he’d realized Ronan wasn’t going to give them any information. About anything.
The guy was as tight-lipped as someone else Reese knew. However, mentioning that there was a similarity between Ronan Kavanagh and Max Adorite didn’t seem like the best way to approach this. God knows what would happen if he did. If the Kavanaghs had ties with the Irish mob—there was nothing directly linking them that he’d found so far aside from rumors and gossip—he figured that would put Ronan on edge. They weren’t here to rile the man or taunt him with accusations. Reese wanted to find Decker. That was his only objective.
Clearly, this wasn’t going to be an easy case. Ronan was hiding something. Reese had known it from the moment they stepped into the building. If he had to guess, those rumors were indeed fact, and the Kavanaghs were hiding their shady business dealings beneath this conglomerate. Since JJ hadn’t yet unearthed anything concrete, they were doing a damn good job of it.
That didn’t mean Reese wanted to find himself in the middle of some sort of mob war. And he prayed that Decker wasn’t already there. If Decker was working for Max and had embedded himself in the Kavanagh’s organization, there was a damn good chance the guy was dead in an alley somewhere. Or tied up in someone’s basement, being beaten for information.
Reese was doing his best not to form the worst-case scenario, but it wasn’t easy. Decker Bromwell wasn’t the easiest man to work with, nor was he the most sociable in other settings, but that didn’t mean Reese wished him any ill will.
With that said, Reese also didn’t want to get taken advantage of, and based on Ronan’s responses so far, Z hadn’t been forthcoming about everything he knew. Reese intended to take it up with his brother as soon as he walked out the door.
“Where’s Saoirse, Ronan?” Brantley asked, his tone rife with frustration. The longer Ronan was silent, the more intense it became.
Finally, there was a stirring of emotion in Ronan’s olive-green eyes. He sat up straight, clasped his fingers together tightly, and rested his hands on the table.
“I do not know, but I don’t think she’s missing.”
Finally, an inkling of truth. And now they were getting somewhere.
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Four days ago. She came to the house with that twit of a fiancé. They got in a fight, and she left.”
“Was Deck with her?”
“No.”
“But he’s been around?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen Deck since then?”
“No.”
“What about Lawson?” Reese asked. “Have you seen him since their argument?”
Ronan shook his head. “He’s a fucking cunt.”
His Irish was thicker now. Rather than ‘uh,’ the u’s took on a longer ‘ooo’ sound. A fooking coont.
Brantley relaxed some. “Isn’t she getting married in a few days?”
Ronan shook his head. “That shit was never real. They did it for the publicity. My guess is she’s hiding out until it dies down.”
“So you do know where she is?” Reese prompted, growing tired of the runaround.
“I know she’s not in danger. I’m kept apprised of her whereabouts, and last I heard, she was at home.”
“Do you think Lawson’s behind Deck’s disappearance?” Reese asked.
“No. The little fucker doesn’t know his ass from a horseshoe.”
Reese had never heard that one before, but okay.
“We need somethin’ to go on,” Brantley told him. “Saoirse was the last person who was in contact with Deck. We’d like to talk to her.”
Ronan swung a hand up. “If I were you, I’d start at that bloody club she’s so fond of.”
Finally. Something they could go on.
“Which one is that?” Brantley asked, beating Reese to the question.
“Obsession.”
“I take it it’s here in Manhattan.”
Ronan nodded. “The owner’s a close family friend.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Kieran O’Rourke.”
Reese made a mental note while the conversation volleyed between Brantley and Ronan.
“Have you spoken to him since you last saw Saoirse?”
“No, but not for lack of trying. Like most of us, Kieran’s a busy man.”
Too busy to help a friend? Reese had to wonder.
“We’ll start there,” Brantley informed him, getting to his feet. “We’d appreciate it if you kept us in the loop.”
Ronan swallowed and stood. “I’ll tell you what I can, but it won’t be much. My family … we don’t converse with outsiders about personal shit.”
Yeah, Reese had already figured that one out.
They left the building the same way they entered, with their armed escort walking them to the main doors.
“What did he say?” Slade asked as they descended the steps to the sidewalk.
“Could we detour through the park?” Becs asked, still holding Tesha’s leash.
Reese nodded, figuring it would give Tesha a chance to use the bathroom if she needed to.
“He basically told us we’re on our own,” Brantley answered Slade as they walked across the street to the park entrance.
Reese listened while Brantley relayed the high-level details of what little they’d learned from Ronan. The man hadn’t been a fount of information, that was for damn sure. However, he didn’t appear concerned about his sister’s whereabouts.
“Does he know where his sister is?”
“He’s not worried about his sister,” Brantley said.
Reese joined the conversation. “Which tells us he knows exactly where she is, and she’s safe.”
Ronan didn’t strike him as the sort to be left in the dark. As for whether the man was concerned about Decker, that was another thing entirely. There was a good chance the Kavanaghs had a hand in Decker’s disappearance, and that was the reason they were putting up walls.
“And Deck?” Atticus asked. “What’s that mean for him?”
“Either he’s with her, or he’s dead,” Brantley said bluntly.
Becs stopped walking, her eyes wide as she stared at them. “Dead?”
“Probably not,” Reese noted, although he wasn’t sure he believed it. If the Kavanaghs were linked to the Irish mob, and they found out Deck was a spy, then all bets were off.
“Hopefully, JJ’s got more information for us,” Brantley said, clearly realizing he needed to refrain from harsh assumptions while Becs was around. “I’ll call her.”
“Have her look into the club,” Reese instructed. “And Kieran O’Rourke.”
While Brantley called JJ, Reese followed Becs and Tesha across the grass, watching as his dog checked out all the new smells. There were joggers on the path and people playing with their dogs, everyone oblivious to the fact that a man was missing. And while Reese wanted to believe Decker had pulled one of his stunts and went off the grid on his own, he couldn’t help wondering whether he was in a cage somewhere, hoping someone was out there looking for him.
“Your friends … they do not be looking for you,” the man said in heavily accented English, staring down at Reese through the bars above him.
Reese didn’t bother responding.
“Two months. They should be here by now.”
Reese’s gaze slid to the concrete wall where he’d been tallying up the arrival of darkness. He wasn’t sure exactly how many days he’d been here, but his marks matched up with the man’s statement relatively well. Fifty-seven days and counting since Reese had been captured and thrown into this concrete hole.
“We’d like to meet them,” the man said, his smile hidden behind his dark beard. “We hope they arrive soon.”
“Reese? You okay, man?”
He dragged himself out of the memory and looked at Slade. “Yeah.”
“You think Ronan’s hidin’ somethin’? Like perhaps Decker’s dead body?”
Reese took a deep breath. “I think he’s hidin’ something, but I don’t think he knows where Deck is.”
“If he didn’t hire Deck, how’d their paths cross?”
That was the question of the hour because what Ronan told them directly conflicted with the information Z had. One of them was lying. Or, at the very least, one of them was leaving out some pertinent details.
“I think we need to find Saoirse and talk to her.”
