Played: Manhattan Ruthless - 7

Chapter

Six

I slide the large envelope across the desk to Drake.

He opens it and peers inside at the collection of photographs. They’re also on a thumb drive, but I prefer to go old school and print them too. Anything online can be wiped, but photographs are cold, hard evidence.

“Thanks, buddy,” he says. “Nobody ever gets the job done as quickly as you.”

I shrug. “It wasn’t exactly taxing.” I’m used to much more interesting cases than the cheating husband I caught nailing his personal trainer in the back of her Mercedes.

He offers me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything more exciting for you, buddy.” He tosses the envelope onto his desk. “I’m up to my ass in corporate lawsuits and messy divorces. I have to say, my wife much prefers me doing this kind of work than the kind we did back in Chicago.”

“You ever miss the place?” Before moving back to New York over a year ago, Drake headed up the Chicago branch of James and James, which was where he and I met ten years ago. James is a popular last name, and it didn’t occur to me that Drake James in Chicago was connected to Mason James in New York. When it did occur to me, I’d been working for him for months and we were already friends—as much as men like us ever have friends. I figured he was in Chicago for a reason and that he’d left New York behind the same way I did. If he knew who I was, he was clearly unbothered by it, so why should I be?

He shakes his head. “Nope. Everything I love most in the world is right here. You?”

I don’t actually know if it’s Chicago I miss or if it’s the freedom of being away from the Worthington name. Any city would probably be better than New York. “I miss the work there. You’d think New York would have a much more interesting clientele.”

Drake laughs. “They do, but unlike the Morettis, our New York clients have their own super hacker at their disposal. And believe me, she needs no help from anyone.”

“Sounds like an interesting setup.”

Drake’s lips curve and he nods. “Oh, it is, buddy.”

I glance at my watch. “I have another meeting to get to. But everything you need is in the envelope. Best of luck.”

Drake stands and shakes my hand. “Thanks. I promise I’ll try and find something more interesting for you.”

“Hey, I’m grateful for any work you can throw my way. I appreciate it.”

“No thanks needed, man. As soon as you said you were in New York, I knew I needed to get you in here. There’s a reason we call you Hotshot, and that’s because you’re the best at what you do.”

I can’t help but smile at the familiar nickname, although it seems like a while since I’ve felt like the best at anything. The shadow of my father’s disapproval is far too close when I’m in this city.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Blackthorn.” Curtis Jones indicates the chair opposite, and I take a seat. My new potential client is a used-car salesman. Originally from Connecticut, he now lives alone in a New Jersey townhouse. Widowed. Father of one.

“No need to thank me,” I say. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

He inches forward, and the lines etched deep on his face make him look much older than his forty-two years. “I want you to find my daughter.”

I suspected this was the job he wanted to hire me for when I looked into him. He filed a missing persons report for Cassidy Jones thirteen months ago, and the cops uncovered a string of text messages between him and Cassidy which not only revealed they’d had a huge falling out over her choice to drop out of college and become an exotic dancer, but also that she threatened to leave the state and never speak to him again.

A week after her alleged disappearance, she paid off the remaining lease on her apartment using her credit card and gave notice she was moving out via email, which led the to the conclusion that she’d made good on her threat to leave. So they closed the case.

“I understand the police have looked into her disappearance and …” I stop speaking. There’s no delicate way to say this, and he’s clearly grieving.

“Yeah, I know what they say.” His nostrils flare, and he continues. “And yes, we had a huge fight. I didn’t always agree with her life choices, Mr. Blackthorn, but she was still my little girl. She threatened to stop speaking to me at least once every couple of months, but she would never actually do it. We made up after that fight. She came to my place for dinner after. We were good.”

“Maybe this time she did mean it. Maybe it was a farewell dinner?”

His knuckles turn white. Curtis is a man with a temper, and he appears to be clinging to his last shred of it. “She’s a good kid. She would never be so inconsiderate to run away and never contact me again. Something happened to her.”

I shake my head. “If the police⁠—”

“Fuck the police!” he roars. “If she simply up and left, why is there no trace of her anywhere? Can you answer me that, Mr. Blackthorn? Yes, I know the bullshit about her lease, but someone could have easily stolen her card and sent that email if they had access to her phone. Four PIs I hired to track her down, and not a single one could find a shred of evidence as to her whereabouts. Not a credit card receipt, a doctor’s visit, traffic violation, or even a paycheck. Nothing!”

“Perhaps she simply doesn’t want to be found, Mr. Jones.”

He snorts a laugh. “She’s a twenty-one-year-old community college dropout, Mr. Blackthorn, not a criminal mastermind. We’re a working-class family. She doesn’t have the money to disappear like that even if she did have the know-how. That kind of ability to disappear is only afforded to those who can afford it, if you know what I mean.”

The accusation in his tone makes me bristle.

His right eye twitches. “There’s a reason I contacted you specifically, Mr. Blackthorn.”

I’m the best at what I do, asshole. But I have a sinking feeling that’s not the reason I’m sitting here today. I grind my teeth. “And why is that?”

“I know who you really are. Mr. Worthington.” He keeps his eyes on my face, waiting for me to react.

My insides churn, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of showing that the name gets to me. “And what? Would you like some kind of medal for your efforts? It’s no secret I changed my name, Mr. Jones. Anyone could look that up.”

Nodding, he places his forearms on the table and leans forward. “It’s not that you changed your name that interests me though—it’s why.”

My hands ball into fists at my sides, but I retain my calm exterior. “And why do you think that is?”

He goes on regarding me with curiosity. “I don’t exactly know, but I do know that you left New York eighteen years ago and that you changed your name shortly after. Took your mother’s maiden name, I believe.”

So he doesn’t know why I changed my name, but why is he fishing and why does it matter to him? “And?”

“I figure a guy does that because he actually hates his father and wants nothing to do with him, rather than a kid who’s simply mouthing off about it.”

“Like your daughter was?” I push back.

He simply nods. “We didn’t have the easiest relationship. It was just me and her after her mom died, and it was fucking tough raising a headstrong teenage girl. But we love each other, Mr. Blackthorn. She is all I fucking have.”

“So you reached out to me because you assume I actually do hate my father?” I ask, still not able to put all the pieces together.

He leans closer, and the sadness in his dark eyes is now tinged with fury. “You are my last resort, Mr. Blackthorn. Not because you’re good at what you do, but because of who you are.”

What the fuck does that mean? I remain silent, letting him play his hand before I reveal mine.

“I hope you hate your father, Mr. Blackthorn. I sincerely hope you hate him as much as I do.”

Now he has my attention.

“Because he knows something about my little girl’s disappearance. I am one hundred percent sure of it.”

What the fuck? I breathe in through my nose, maintaining the calm facade that serves me well in this job even as my heart pounds violently against my ribcage and my mind is flooded with questions. My father is a cruel piece of shit, but this? Could he truly be involved in Cassidy’s disappearance? “And you think that his only son is the person you want looking into this? That sounds like quite the risk, Mr. Jones.”

He scrubs his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up and giving him a stronger air of desperation. “A risk I have no option but to take. I have nowhere else to turn. The cops won’t do anything. And every PI runs for the hills once I mention your father’s name. For some reason, he’s untouchable in this part of the country, in case you didn’t know that.”

Oh, I fucking know it better than anyone.

Curtis’s eyes narrow to slits. “But I figure you do know that, and that’s why you left. And if I’m wrong …” Defeat weighs his shoulders down. “Well, I already have nothing left to lose.”

Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t take this case, can I? I can’t look into my own father for something like this, no matter how much I hate him. “Why is it you think my father is involved?” I ask, too curious to walk away without knowing more.

“He was the last guy she gave a private dance to in that club she worked at.”

“And? I’m sure she gave plenty of guys a private dance.”

Curtis shakes his head. “But he …” His lip curls in a sneer. “He was the one. Her boss at the club told me your father really took a shine to her. He visited a few times and was only ever interested in her. He was the cause of our last argument.”

“How so?” I ask.

“She’d been telling me for weeks about this man, some guy with lots of money and influence. Despite what the cops thought, I didn’t hate her job. I wanted her to be safe, and I disliked that she was constantly looking for an easy way out. And when she came to see me the day before she disappeared, she told me she’d already quit her job because this asshole asked her to. She said he was gonna take care of her. Gonna set her up in her own fancy place so she wouldn’t have to work again. She didn’t give me his name, but now I know it was your father. It makes perfect sense.”

Does it? There are coincidences, but surely that’s all they are. “Because she danced for him? That’s quite the leap.”

He shakes his head. “No, not because of that. It was the tattoo. That’s how I know it was him.”

“The tattoo?”

“The day she quit, she went and got herself a tattoo, right across the top of her back.” He traces his fingers over his shoulders. “It was healing when she came to visit, and I told her she was an idiot for defiling her body like that.”

Aware of my own visible tattoos, I arch an eyebrow at him.

“I have nothing against tattoos. But she got a tattoo for some guy she barely knew.”

I lean forward. “What was the tattoo, Mr. Jones?”

His eyes narrow. “It was a crown, and right beneath it, right across her back, were the words ‘King’s Princess.’ Kyngston fucking Worthington.”

My blood runs cold. Memories of overheard hushed conversations flicker through my mind. I’ll be there when I can, princess. I need you too, princess. Be patient, princess. He called them all princess. That way he never needed to remember their names.

It’s still a leap, but my gut tells me my father was indeed her rich guy. However, I’m self-aware enough to know that’s my own bias speaking, and the straws Curtis Jones is grasping at are made of very thin paper. “There are hundreds of rich and powerful men in New York, Mr. Jones.”

“Yeah, but not a lot of them go to some seedy club for a lap dance, do they? I’m sure they have higher-class, more discreet establishments they prefer to frequent. But your father just happened to visit there the day before she quit. And then she disappeared a few days after she started telling me about a guy so rich he was gonna take care of her and she’d never have to work again. That ain’t no coincidence, Mr. Blackthorn, and we both know it.”

“I assume you told the police all of this?”

“Of course I fucking did. But they spoke with him, and he never denied paying for a dance at the club. He denied ever seeing her before or after that though, and obviously because he’s who he is and I’m some shmuck used-car salesman …” He doesn’t finish the sentence, and he doesn’t have to. My father has far too much influence in this little corner of the world.

“When was the last time you heard from your daughter, Mr. Jones?”

He blinks, surprised. “You’re taking the case?”

I run my tongue over my front teeth. Am I? “I’ll look into it, but I want to get some more details from you to make sure they match up with what’s in the report.”

His entire body seems to sag with relief. “Thank you, Mr. Blackthorn.”

“Call me King.”