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If I could do it over again, I’d change things between us, but I can’t. It’s too late. No matter what though, I love you, big brother. Look up to you. Please, find Zarah. Make sure she’s safe. I love her, Gage. Something isn’t right.
Love, Max.
I sigh and press my fingers into my eyes.
At least I don’t have to worry about his cat. The guy who took him will take better care of him than I could.
But this Zarah Maddox stuff. What am I supposed to do? Over a year has passed since Max wrote this, and while I personally haven’t kept track of her, she’s been in the news. If she’s not with her brother, her brother’s fiancée, Stella Mayfair, or her companion, she’s home at their country house. That’s all she does.
I know for a fact Zane Maddox has that house locked up tighter than Fort Knox. His money can protect her.
I don’t know what my brother was thinking. A fool in love.
Clayton and Ashton Black are in prison, and that’s where they’ll spend the rest of their pathetic lives.
Zarah’s not in danger.
Max was paranoid.
“Everything okay?” McClennan comes back into the room holding a steaming mug of coffee. The acrid scent twists my stomach.
I fold the notebook paper and shove it into the envelope. I tore it open using too much force, and the edges of Max’s letter stick out. “Yeah, fine. Goodbye shit, you know?”
“Anything I can do to help?” the attorney asks, sitting behind his desk.
“No.”
I leave it at that. McClennan waits, but I’m not forthcoming. I just want to sign what I need to sign and leave.
McClennan gives me permission to clean out Max’s apartment and says the banks are expecting me to access Max’s accounts. I don’t care about that, and impatiently, I tug at my jacket. Sweat drips down my back.
He slides a small silver key across his desk.
“What’s this?” I ask, picking up the key and turning it over.
“A key to a lockbox in his apartment.”
“Why do you have it?”
My PI’s mind starts to hum.
“Max wanted to be part of the group that went to Governor Guthrie’s mansion, and he made arrangements on the off chance things would go sideways. No one wants to think about things like that, but in this case, the provisions he put in place were needed in the end.”
That was Max. Always thinking five steps ahead. It’s what made him a successful reporter. I have to stop being so suspicious.
I pocket the key and stand. Shake McClennan’s hand and see myself out.
People crowd the sidewalk, hurrying to grab a bite for lunch. I lean against the building and try to purge the stench of McClennan’s office out of my nose. His office smelled fine, like Pledge and coffee, but it’s the stink of death I can’t stand, the realization Max is never coming back.
His letter crinkles against my chest where I shoved the envelope into a pocket inside my jacket.
Fuck.
A commotion across the street catches my eye, a group of paparazzi zeroing in on some poor target. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I turn to go, but the short brunette and her distress jabs me like a punch to the gut.
The paps close around her, shouting questions, and she stands frozen on the sidewalk, a beige trench coat hanging from her shaking shoulders. Her handlers are nowhere to be seen, which is unusual. Zarah Maddox, as far as I can ever tell, is never alone. She’s always with a bodyguard, or her companion, or Stella or Zane, for this very reason.
I don’t know all that because I’m a creeper, I certainly never had an interest in any of the Maddoxes in all the years we’ve shared the city, but there’s been no shortage of information about the heiress and I have a sense of curiosity just like anyone else. Besides, the gossip rags pass the time on a stakeout.