The Match (Wilde, #2)(44)

Boomerang helps people. It protects the innocent and punishes the guilty.

But now he read the name again.

Henry McAndrews.

Chris looked up the name and found the file.

This was bad news. Very bad.

Chris—the Lion—grabbed hold of his burner phone. On it was a dark web communication device that was as untraceable as possible. He composed a message that no one other than Alpaca, Giraffe, Kitten, Panther, and Polar Bear would understand.

CATEGORY 10



The urgent signal. Then he added, just to be sure:

NOT A DRILL.





Chapter

Seventeen



It’s so nice to meet you,” Jenn Cassidy said to Hester. “I really love watching you analyze a court case on TV.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve been a fan for years.”

Jenn’s voice was a little breathy. Hester was usually good at reading people, but it was hard to tell if the reality star was being authentic here or not. Jenn Cassidy was beautiful in a classic all-American way—blond hair, toothy smile, bright blue eyes. Her makeup, as was the wont these days, was a tad too heavy for Hester’s taste. Jenn had those overtly fake eyelashes that looked like two tarantulas baking on their backs on hot asphalt. Still, she gave off a friendly, approachable, even trustworthy air, and Hester could see why she’d be cast as the perfect good-girl reality star. Nothing about her beauty felt intimidating.

The doorman held the door for them. Jenn led Hester across the lobby of the giant glass tower of the Sky building. Once inside, she pressed the button for the second floor.

“We used to be higher up,” Jenn explained.

“I’m sorry?”

“I still say ‘we’—meaning Peter and I. I have to stop doing that. Anyway, when we—there I go again—when Peter and I were a couple, they had us up on the seventy-eighth floor in a four-bedroom duplex. Now I’m in apartment two. It’s maybe a third of the size.”

“You downgraded after the breakup?”

“Not me. They. In this case, the owners of the building. See, buildings like this always have unsold apartments. Since they’re sitting empty anyway, they give them to influencers for free under the condition we post photographs.”

“I see,” Hester said. “You advertise the building?”

“Yes.”

“Like a celebrity endorsement?”

“Exactly.”

“And that’s how you make your living,” Hester continued. “Via endorsements. You wear a certain designer dress or you visit a new nightclub—and millions of people see you and so those businesses pay you.”

“Yes. Or like in this case, we barter. When Peter and I were at our most popular, Sky gave us a two-year lease on suite seventy-eight, under the condition we put it on our social media accounts at least once a week. When it was time to re-up, they moved us—well, just me now—down here.”

“Smaller celebrity, smaller room,” Hester said bluntly.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jenn said, putting her hand on Hester’s arm. “I’m not complaining. It’s still wonderful that I’m here.” The elevator door dinged open. “I understand how this business works. Being an influencer has a short shelf life. You have to use it as a jumping-off point.”

“So what are your future plans, Jenn?”

The apartment door opened with a fob-wave rather than a key.

“Oh,” Jenn said, sounding somewhat crestfallen. “I thought that was why you wanted to see me. I was in the legal profession before Love Is a Battlefield.”

“In what capacity?”

“A paralegal, but I’d been accepted to law school.”

“Impressive.”

Jenn’s smile was both cute and endearingly shy. “Thank you.”

“Do you plan to matriculate now that the show is over?”

“Actually, I was thinking of trying to be a television analyst who specialized in the law.”

“Ah,” Hester said. “I would love to discuss that with you at another time, but that’s not why I’m here.”

Jenn gestured for them to sit on an off-white couch. Mirrors and generic artwork hung on the walls. There were no photographs, nothing personal, the whole thing looking more like a tasteful, if not warm, chain hotel than a true home. Hester wondered whether this was a model unit.

“I’m here about Peter Bennett,” Hester said.

Jenn blinked in surprise. “Peter?”

“Yes. I’m trying to locate him.”

It took her a second or two to absorb that. “May I ask why?”

Hester debated how to play this. “It’s for a client.”

“One of your clients is looking for Peter?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s a legal matter?”

“I can’t really say more,” Hester said. “As a trained legal professional, I’m sure you understand.”

“I do, yes.” Jenn still looked stunned. “I haven’t heard from Peter in months.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I don’t know where he is, Ms. Crimstein. I’m sorry.”

“Call me Hester,” she said, throwing up her most disarming smile. “You two were married.”