Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Less a favor than help recalling a bit of old gossip. Alethea Eldridge is rumored to have killed her husband around the time you were still living in New York. Does he still have family in the city?” It had been before Dmitri’s time, and his father’s files were woefully lacking in information about Clayton Norris and what remained of his people.
“Oh, that.” Ivan grunted as if settling deeper into a chair. “She didn’t kill her old man, though it served her purposes to have everyone think she did. You were too young at the time, and I don’t know that I would have registered it at all, but Clayton Norris owed money to my mother’s oldest brother. The fool liked to gamble and didn’t know when to stop. I think Alethea tried to curtail it, but he just went behind her back to our territory.”
“I have a list of Clayton’s brothers—Jermaine, Dane, and Earl—but no other information. My father usually kept better files, but those three seem to have disappeared into the ether. There is no record of them anywhere in New York.”
“That’s because they’re dead. Your father tangled with the Norris clan a few times back in the seventies, but they were dwindling fast by the time you were born. Clayton was the only remaining living child of his parents, and allying with Eldridges through marriage was their last-ditch effort to remain relevant—and it failed.”
Damn it. If the brothers were dead, so was his lead. “You said she didn’t kill him. Who did?”
“She was supposed to—her mother wasn’t a fan—but ended up backing out at the last moment. Instead, she bought off his debts with my uncle and Clayton disappeared. We thought she’d sent him away, but there was a rumor a few years ago that he was back—if not back. You understand?”
He’s alive. Adrenaline surged, and Dmitri had to pause a moment to get control of himself. Got you, Alethea. “One last question.”
“Naturally.”
He ignored that. “Does he have any known pseudonyms?” If anyone would know that, it would be the people he gambled with. Ivan’s uncle had a reputation for being incredibly thorough when it came to people who owed him money.
“Just the one—John Cash.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I was. I only remember because it was so absurd.”
The whole point of a pseudonym was to fly under the radar—something impossible to do if one insisted on using the name of a famous musician. “Thank you for the information.”
“Easily given. I look forward to your party, Dima. Something tells me that it’ll be one for the record books.”
It certainly was shaping up to be. “Good-bye, Ivan.” He hung up before his friend could say anything more absurd.
Several minutes later, he had the confirmation he needed. Neither Clayton Norris nor John Cash brought up anything worthwhile, but a Clayton Cash owned a small apartment in Brooklyn—which happened to be almost directly in the middle of the area Cillian O’Malley had given him.
Dmitri called Alexei. He barely waited for the other man to answer to speak. “Gather the men. I believe I’ve found our Mikhail.” He hung up. Calling Keira was tempting, but she deserved an update in person, and it wouldn’t take but a minute to deliver the information.
And maybe he wanted to see what she’d gotten up to in the last few hours.
It would take his men a good ten minutes to be ready to leave, which gave him plenty of time to hunt her down in the grand ballroom in the center of the house. He’d always found the room ostentatious—much easier to plan things at a neutral location than to invite friends and enemies alike into his home—but it was the best option for the reception. The O’Malleys needed to be reassured. His allies had all been here before. The Eldridges were a wild card, but he fully intended to remove them from the playing field before they had a chance to do further damage.
Keira glanced up as he walked through the door. She looked like herself for the first time since she’d arrived in New York, wearing a pleated skirt that was several inches too short for his peace of mind, and a cropped muscle tank top with some band he’d never heard of written across the front. The black shirt showed off her pale skin, and he frowned when he realized he could count her ribs. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, O benevolent overlord. I had two eggs twenty minutes ago to keep my energy up for this appointment you set up for me, and Pavel basically threatens me with snacks every hour or two.” She stopped and frowned. “You’re leaving.”
“I found him.” He didn’t feel relief—not yet—but he hoped they wouldn’t arrive too late. It was in Alethea’s best interest to keep his man alive, and she was too smart to kill him and lose her pawn. But Mae was unpredictable, and he didn’t have the utmost faith in her mother’s ability to control her.