Chapter 122

Chapter 122
Chapter Title: Their Stories

Reynolds

By afternoon, the Williamson estate looked less like a home and more like a federal compound.

CPD cruisers lined the driveway. Two FBI SUVs were parked near the front entrance, while agents moved around the property, checking cameras, gates, and every possible access point.

The birthday party was going to happen as scheduled.

Only now, security would be a joint CPD-FBI operation.

Nobody was cancelling the party. If the suspect wanted it to happen, then we'd let him have it.

But we'd be waiting.

Every guest would be screened. Every vehicle would be inspected. Plainclothes officers would be stationed throughout the estate. No one would get in or out without us knowing.

Chief Morgan had assigned Tate and me to coordinate the CPD side of the operation. The arrangement also gave me access to every part of the estate.

Including the one place I needed to see.

The basement.

Lena had told me my cousin, Theo, had been hired to turn it into Hank's man cave.

Before we started the security sweep, Tate and I had a few people to talk to.

Ace was first.

The leather clutch Gray had dropped off at the diner contained fifty thousand dollars in cash. It made me wonder what kind of information Archer was giving Benny to warrant that much money.

I'd asked Howard to question Gray about it, but Gray was in Baltimore for his debriefing.

That was code for unreachable.

We found Ace in the kitchen, pacing with his phone in his hand. He stopped when he saw us.

"I'll call you back," he said before hanging up.

"Who were you talking to?" Tate asked, surveying the huge kitchen. "Man, this kitchen is bigger than my whole apartment."

"A girl named Chloe," Ace said, looking at me with a faint smile. "You know, the girl I was with at the diner."

My brows lifted. "Yeah, I do. Your new flavor of the month?"

Ace laughed. "Touché. I told her she couldn't come to the party. That I'd be working." He leaned against the massive island. "So, what's this all about?"

"Hank said you and Hastings were working leads to find Kimberly," I said. "I know about the rental at Dorsey's scrapyard, your trip to Ocean City, the assassination attempt, and, of course, I saw the two of you together at the Delish event." I held his gaze. "Anything else I need to know?"

"That's practically everything Hastings and I did before she partnered with you." Ace smirked. "So, no. There's nothing else."

"You seem pretty unbothered that she's gone missing," I said. "Is that because you've moved on, or because you know who's taken her?"

Ace's eyes narrowed. "What are you implying, Blake?"

Tate raised a finger. "We have reason to suspect your brother, Robert Archer Ryder Jr., may be behind all of this. But this is too big for one man to pull off alone. He most probably has help."

"Are you accusing me of kidnapping and murder?" Ace asked.

"No," I said. "But he is your brother. And we know you're close." I paused. "So do you know where your brother is?"

"I told you at the diner. I have no idea where my brother is." Ace's jaw tightened. "His boat is in the marina. His car is there too. I checked. I tried calling him, but his phone's out of reach." He paused, thinking. "How about we call Brianna?"

"Okay," I said. "But in case you didn't know, she's at home."

"Home?" His brows drew together. "I thought they were together."

He dialed her number and put the call on speaker.

She answered after several rings. "Ace?"

"Hey, Bri," Ace said casually. "Any chance you're with Archer? I need to speak to him."

"I haven't seen him since he dropped me home from Delish the other night," she said. "He hasn't called either. Anyway, if you do find him, tell him I need my car back. My dad's already pissed at me for lending it to him."

"Brianna, Detective Reynolds, CPD," I cut in. "May I ask what make and model your car is?"

"2023 silver Civic. Registered under my name."

I glanced at Tate.

She immediately pulled out her phone and began calling Nick.

"Did Archer tell you where he was heading?" I asked.

"Snow Hill," she said. "He said he'd be back yesterday. I've been trying to call him, but his phone is out of service."

"Thank you, Brianna," I said. "We'll find Archer and your car for you."

"Have him call me."

The call ended.

"The silver Civic is the same car found abandoned along the highway after Hastings was discovered missing," Tate said as she hung up. "Abducting a federal agent isn't looking too good for your brother, Ace."

"Has any one of you considered that maybe Hastings went with him of her own volition?" Ace asked.

"We found Hastings' DNA on the needle of the syringe recovered from Kimberly's bedroom," I said. "The syringe contained a sedative strong enough to knock out a horse." I stepped closer. "That doesn't exactly sound like she went anywhere willingly."

Ace held my stare. I held his.

"If I find out you're hiding anything from me, Ace, I'll make sure you and your brother share the same cell with a huge man who has an image of his gay lover tattooed on his arm."

Howard and a few of his fellow agents suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Oh, yeah. I messaged Howard," Tate blurted out, looking amused.

Ace glanced toward the doorway.

"You won't be able to take a piss alone until we find Archer. I suggest you find him ASAP."

She gestured toward me. "Let's go. I want to see the rest of this place."

I laughed. That was Tate's excuse to move on to the two other people we needed to question.

Divine and her husband, Senator Henry Williamson II.

They were in what Divine called the East Parlor. I remembered passing through it before reaching Divine's office.

As we walked through the enormous dining and living areas, lined with floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the sprawling backyard and Chesapeake Bay, I noticed several federal agents riding around in golf carts, bypassing the stage, gazebos, and tables being set up for the party.

"Wow," Tate exclaimed. "The outside is so huge people have to use golf carts to get from one place to another. After we finish with the senator and his wife, why don't we take a cart and tour the estate?"

"Sounds like a plan," I said eagerly. "I've been here maybe twice, but I've never seen the whole place."

"Honestly, this would be a great place to hide four people," Tate said. "It's got its own security, its own dock, and it's private as fuck."

"But Divine isn't a suspect," I whispered. "She's a potential victim. Allison, Benny, and now her. Imagine Divine being murdered at her own party. That would be the scandal of the century."

"And that would mean we'd lose our jobs," Tate grumbled.

Finally, we found the Williamson couple seated together, sharing a drink.

The senator offered us scotch, but we politely declined.

"We're on the clock," Tate explained.

The senator settled beside Divine. "You're here because Hank told you about us searching for Kimberly."

"And have you found anything that could lead to her whereabouts?" I asked.

"No." He shook his head. "Everything's been a dead end. So I think you understand why Hank jumped the way he did when he was called to bring money in exchange for her."

I inclined my head. "Of course."

"Why do I have the strange feeling that's not all this is about?" the senator asked.

"We have reason to believe your wife may be the next target," I said. "Allison Reed was murdered and presented at an event at Delish. Benny Reed was killed in his office before we were able to question him. Now there's this party."

"But you forget one thing," he replied.

"And that is?"

"There's nothing that connects my wife to the Reeds," the senator gritted out, "other than Hank." His expression hardened. "So if there's a target, it must be our son." He paused. "Where is Hank, by the way?"

I glanced at Tate.

Then I unclipped my radio from my belt. "I need a twenty on Hank—"

"That won't be necessary," Divine said. "He's downstairs in his recreation center."

Relief washed over me.

"No need. We know where he is," I announced into the radio before clipping it back onto my belt.

I looked at the couple.

"I have one last question, then we'll go find Hank for you."

"What's your question?" Senator Williamson asked.

"Have you been to Snow Hill recently?"

"Yes. With Hank." He paused. "We took my boat."

My attention sharpened.

"Hank inherited his late grandmother's properties in the area," he continued. "Her house is currently being renovated. Hank wanted Kimmie to have a relaxing place to go once they started a family."

Snow Hill.

The same place Archer had supposedly been heading.

I filed that away.

"Thanks for your time," I said. "I know this is stressful, but after we question Hank, we'll be out of the house for most of the duration. You'll have your privacy."

"How do we get to the recreation center?" Tate asked.

"Through the wall panel at the back of the stairs," Divine said. "Type in the code 060766."

"Thanks."

An electronic keypad was mounted on the wall. Tate typed in the code, and the wall panel slid open, revealing an elevator.

"Looks like Hank and Allison had something in common," I muttered, pressing the only button inside.

The doors closed, and we descended.

"I heard about the hidden elevator at Lace and Timber," Tate said. "Maybe Allison referred her elevator guy to Hank."

"Or vice versa," I replied.

The elevator stopped. The doors opened.

The room was exactly what I'd expected from a wealthy young man.

Everything was oak. The lighting fixtures were expensive. A massive television dominated one wall, surrounded by black leather couches. A pool table occupied one end of the room. Beside it was a huge bar stacked with shelves of every kind of alcohol, along with a custom-made poker table.

It was as if Hank owned his own underground bar.

There was a frosted glass door on the right. My guess was that it led to a bathroom. I walked toward it and heard the familiar sound of a shower running.

Hank was inside... which meant I needed to find that picture—and fast.

While Tate admired the glowing bottles of alcohol lining the shelves, I headed toward a wall lined with memorabilia.

Nothing. Just pictures of Hank and Kimberly.

I was about to give up when Tate called me.

"Hey, Reynolds. Look what I found."

She was standing behind the bar, a framed photograph in her hands. I hurried over.

“This is the girl from the torn picture I found in Benny’s safe,” she said, snapping a photo with her phone. “She’s facing the camera. She looks exactly like Hastings’s sister.”

Before I could take a closer look, I heard the shower shut off.

I immediately sank onto one of the barstools.

"Tate, put that back and make it look like you're making yourself a cocktail. Hank's done with his shower."

She didn't argue.

She placed the photo exactly where she'd found it beneath the bar and began making herself a Black Russian.

And just as I'd expected, Hank emerged from the frosted glass door, freshly showered and dressed.

He was on his phone.

"Don't worry," he said. "They don't suspect—"

He froze when he saw us.

"Just tell Senator Libby's chief of staff that we won't budge on the matter."

He ended the call.

"I wasn't expecting to see the both of you here," Hank said.

"I wasn't expecting there to be a place like this underneath all the snobbery upstairs," Tate said before taking a sip of her drink. She stepped away from the bar. "Yep. Mr. Black makes a better Black Russian." She sat beside me. "You want one?"

"What I want is a big cup of coffee."

"I can make you a cappuccino," Hank said, pointing toward the espresso machine at the end of the bar.

"Thanks, Hank. I really need the caffeine."

Hank placed a capsule into the espresso machine and began aerating the milk with the steam wand.

"What else do you want to ask me?" he asked.

"Snow Hill," I said. "Your father said the two of you went there."

"Yeah." Hank kept his back to me as he continued heating the milk. "I inherited a house there from my grandmother. A storage place, too, plus an old trailer."

"Took your father's boat?" I asked.

"No," he answered. "I took my own boat. Took it there to get some much-needed repairs. The mechanic in Snow Hill is the best."

"Good to know. I'll remember that when my grandfather needs to have his boat checked."

"I'll be putting this in a disposable cup so you can bring it with you."

Hank poured the steamed milk into the espresso.
A tree appeared in the foam.

After he handed it to me, I took a sip and closed my eyes.

Just like Sweet and Savory.

"Did Kimberly teach you to make a cappuccino, or did you teach her?" I asked. "Because this tastes like one straight from Sweet and Savory."

"Actually, we took lessons at this place in Florida when we vacationed there about six months ago." Hank placed a lid on my cup. "The person who taught us serves the best cappuccinos in New York. He held a five-day workshop in Florida."

"Where in Florida?"

"Miami." A faint smile crossed his face. "It was actually the best time I'd had in a long time."

"Thanks for the coffee." I rose from my seat. "Do you mind if we take one of those golf carts around the property?"

"Of course not," Hank answered with a smile. "If you need anything else, you know where to find me."

Tate downed the rest of her drink. "Thanks, Hank."

We rode the elevator back upstairs.

Once we were outside, I pulled out my phone and called Nick.

"Have someone confirm whether Hank had his boat repaired in Snow Hill," I said. "And find out if he used a credit card while he was there." I glanced back at the house.."Also, I need you to find out which hotel Hank and Kimberly stayed at in Miami, Florida about six months ago."

"Copy," Nick said. "By the way, I was just about to call you." Something in his voice made me stop walking. "The number that called Hank wasn't just blocked. It was spoofed."

"Meaning?"

"Whoever called him disguised the number that actually made the call. I've been tracing the originating signal instead of the caller ID."

"And?"

Nick paused. "I found it."

"Where?"

"The Williamson estate."

I stopped dead. "What?"

"The originating signal came from somewhere near or on the property."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Did you get the number?"

"Yeah," Nick said. "The number you had me trace the other night. The one you said was registered to an R. Ryder."

A beat of silence.

"Same one."