Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

“Tell me again,” I say evenly.

The receptionist and I stand in an abandoned floor of a high-rise. It’s Sunday, mid-morning. I got the call from her two hours ago, because the only thing left on her desk was my phone number scrawled on a ripped piece of paper.

Only twenty-four hours ago, this floor was occupied by Tobias Hutchins’ law firm.

And now it’s empty.

“I arrived for work like I always do. I work Sundays to catch up on paperwork and get some extra hours. Mr. Hutchins never minded.” She swallows. “I scanned my fob to get up the elevators since the building isn’t open on Sundays. That’s normal. But everything was dark. The door”—she’s talking about the glass doors right off the elevator—“wouldn’t open. I had to call maintenance, who let me in. I propped open the door just in case.”

“And everything was cleared out?”

“Just like this. No one’s been here. I saw the number on my desk and called you.”

“Did you leave early yesterday?”

She nods. “He let everyone go after he had a drop-in visit after lunch.”

Interesting.

“Who was the visitor?”

“The appointment was under Amy Lawson, but he didn’t call her that.”

I go still. “What did he call her?”

“I didn’t catch a last name. But he called her Margo.”

Fuck.

“Call this number,” I tell the woman. I give her my uncle’s business card. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s cleaning up other people’s mess. “He’ll have you compensated for the trouble—but the details remain with me. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Speak a word of his last visit, and I’ll strip away everything he gives you,” I promise.

“I understand. Thank you, Mr. Asher.”

I leave her standing in the middle of the bullpen. Forgotten cubicle dividers, desks. But no computers, no paperwork. Tobias Hutchins is officially spooked, and it all comes down to whatever Margo Wolfe said to him.

What are you up to, little lamb?