Page 145 of Beautifully Ruined

And Cade’s reaction seems to be aimed at the mention of who he contacted.

“Not yet, but he did it. Tracked the fucker down,” Enzo mutters.

“What fucker?” I ask.

They both glance at me. “Ivan.”

I still. “The one who…”

“Took us, yeah, that fucker.” Then Cade swings his attention back to Enzo. “But it’s not just he found him, is it?”

“Not in terms of what my uncle did. He got his location. And I went to the dive he was at in the early hours this morning. Let’s just say, he was in a corner, getting drunk when I rocked up.”

“No security?”

I’m sure they were dotted around, but low-key means ditching most of your entourage, and dude’s only now creeping out of the hole he hid in. Good for us, though, because I got close. I know who he was with, too.”

For some reason, his gaze shifts to me.

“Guess who the companion was.” Enzo lifts his eyes from me to Cade. “Vi knows him.”

“But…” I frown. I don’t know anyone who’d know this Ivan. Maybe Thomas, but Cade knows who Thomas is and surely, that wouldn’t be some kind of shock.

Cade rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

“I think you’ve got it.” Enzo offers a grim, humorless smile.

“Walsh.” Cade mutters the name like it’s toxic.

“Fucking bingo.” That smile turns into a dark grin. “Two of them were in deep conversation when I sat myself down to the side. So deep they didn’t even pause. Probably thought the music in that fucking bar would block out what they were saying. I did miss some of it, but…my favorite line, and the most telling, was the one about making sure nothing leads back to the congressman.”

“But—” I stop when Cade squeezes my hand and shoots me a look.

Enzo continues, attacking his eggs. “Nothing direct was said. I’ve got it recorded.” He tosses Cade a USB. “But there’s nothing usable, and nothing that would never hold up anywhere. It was, however, rich in inuendo. The chat alluded to Joseph Walsh’s involvement in his daughter’s disappearance.”

“Mental gymnastics, or just if you know you know type of inuendo?” Cade asks.

“The latter, or I wouldn’t be here.” Enzo spears some bacon and mops a piece of toast through his yolk.

My bagel, that arrived at some point during the conversation, turns my stomach and I push it away. “Did he mention her?”

“Didn’t need to,” Enzo says. “Look, we’ve done this long enough, and we know how the dots work. Anyone else overhearing them would have thought nothing of it. They might’ve wondered why the congressman was there, but he was in jeans.”

“He’s away.” My stomach turns.

“No, he isn’t,” Enzo says. “Or maybe he’s back early. He wasn’t in a suit, and he wasn’t camera ready and even drunk they were careful. To me, it was clear as day because I have more facts than the average Joe. The club, the daughter’s being held like someone who’s been human trafficked, maybe to the highest bidder. Your boss isn’t a good guy.”

I push back the table. “Walsh isn’t…”

Isn’t what? I can’t believe this, unlike I could with Isaac.

Walsh is different, good, a man who I hear nothing but great things about, and that’s his staff. The people where the dirt is usually exposed. He’s not shady.

I’d have seen it.

Others would whisper about it.

“I need the bathroom, if you’ll excuse me.” I get up and hurry through the diner to the restroom and go inside.