“That’s not good.” Shawn points to the wall.
“No, it’s not.” Tracy walks to the opening, looks inside. “It’s completely empty.”
“That was us.” Agent Pillsbury comes out of the bathroom, wiping her hands on a towel. “We thought there might be another key to the secret floor in there, but we didn’t need it.”
“Good God, lady, you scared me to death!” Tracy sits down on the bed, starts fanning herself with her fingers.
“Tracy Heissman, I’d like you to meet Patsy Pillsbury,” Shawn says.
“Glad to meet you.” Agent Pillsbury bolts her head up, swipes the air left to right. “Tracy Heissman. Editorial, Press magazine. Anchor, Hard Press. Former model. Appeared topless in the January 2012 issue of—”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Tracy reaches out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Shawn, we need to talk.” Agent Pillsbury looks from Shawn to Tracy. “No offense, Miss Heissman. You’re just not authorized.”
“None taken.” Tracy leaves the room, shaking her head.
“Josh was on a mission last night, snooping around for us,” Agent Pillsbury says to Shawn. “After we hadn’t heard from him in a few hours, we came back here to see if we’d missed him. We broke in, looked for some way to get into Élan’s secret floor in the South Tower. By the time my guys got there and crowbarred their way in, the whole place had been emptied out, completely. Nothing except the login computer. Not a single other computer, not a file, not a folder, not a table, not a chair. Nothing in any of the rooms. Worst of all, no sign of Josh.”
“Good God,” Shawn says.
“We’re not too worried though. West needs him alive.”
“Not too worried? Where is he?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. West must’ve found the FBI phone and turned it off. GPS won’t give us anything.” She tosses the towel back in the bathroom. “I blame myself for him going silent. He wouldn’t stop texting, so I told him to stop.”
“He can do that to a person.”
A man with a notepad knocks on the bedroom door. “No sign from the neighbors. Looks like he never came back here.”
Agent Pillsbury nods.
“You said Josh went silent,” Shawn says. “Weren’t you following him?”
“As best we could, lots of late-night preparations at the new building, hotels and restaurants opening today. We had to park a good way away. Couldn’t really see who was going in or out.”
“You’ve been awake all night looking for him?” Shawn asks.
“Pretty much. When we went to the secret floor this morning, we did get a glance at the login info on the computer that tracks who comes in and out.” She swipes in the air again, upwards this time. “Reed Cordell, 1:28 a.m.; James West 1:40 a.m. Micah Breuer, 2:22 a—”
“Wait, I’m sorry, did you say Micah Breuer?”
“Yes. You represented him last year, no?”
“That’s impossible.” Shawn sits down on the bed. “He’s in France. That makes no sense.”
“Listen, I don’t want to confuse you here.”
“Too late.”
“Shawn.” She sits down on the bed beside him. “Micah has nothing to do with our current case, so I’m gonna share a simple fact, part of an ongoing investigation. Micah Breuer was involved in CAAD years ago. That’s it. That’s all I can say, all you need to know. My guess is somebody used his old key to get inside. Or maybe to exit, which makes more sense with the timestamp. That’s all. We know exactly where Micah Breuer is at the moment, and he’s not in New York City.”
“You think Micah was involved in CAAD though?”
“I can’t say. Let’s just say he was more involved with West than he represented at trial.”
“God.” Shawn stands.
“Back to Josh, back to Josh, come back to me.” She gets no response.
Shawn walks into the bathroom, splashes some water on his face. “It’s too early for this shit.”
“Agreed.”
Shawn walks back into the bedroom, wiping his face with the towel. “Sorry. You were saying?”
“Josh. Your client. Josh is actually quite brilliant. I’ve been impressed. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“Why aren’t you more concerned?” he asks.
“West is too much of a wuss to kill Josh himself. And West wouldn’t have him harmed because he needs him to carry out some plan for CAAD tonight. We’ve got a lead on an airport pickup sometime this morning at Teterboro. We even have a search warrant for the plane. If Josh isn’t there, we’ll move his MIA to the next level.”
“Why Teterboro?”
“My guess is they landed somewhere else, then chartered a flight. Whoever these people are, they like to cover their tracks.”
C h a p t e r 4 9
“SORRY FOR THE restraints,” West pats Josh on the knee. “I’ll take them off once we get there.”
With his arms tied behind his back, Josh pulls his leg away, scooches to the right. “Fuck off.”
“We’re going in the VIP tarmac entrance up here,” West says to his limo driver through the speaker in the blackened glass. “Just roll down the window and give the names and flight number. You have our concierge ID’s.”
“Concierge ID’s?” Josh asks.
“We’re pre-screened,” West replies. “You’re not the only event planner, Josh.”
The limo pulls through the induction loop to the gate. As the driver talks with the security guard, two uniformed officers peek through the vehicle while the under-vehicle surveillance system scans for bombs.
With his eye beginning to swell from the beating he’d endured from the hooded man, Josh tries his best to get one of the officers’ attention, even jerking his body a bit to show he’s been restrained.
“Calm down, would you?” West shows him a gun in his jacket. The tip of the silencer catches a glint of morning sun. “The windows are tinted. And I’m not going to hurt you. I just need this simple favor. They need you to discuss some things with us, then tonight we’ll walk the party together. After the party, I’ll let you go. It’ll all be over by then.”
“What’ll be over? Who are these people?”
The limo pulls next to
