Page 52 of My Bossy Billionaire Attorney

I think about how all this might fit together.

Did he ask Eric for money for the wedding? Did Brandon—owe him money, and maybe Eric killed him for it?

Taking out my phone, I scroll until I get to a picture of Brandon. Then I show it to her.

“This. Have you seen this man come in? Maybe with Eric? I need you to think.”

She nods. “Yes. It was the day Eric spoke about the wedding. The man he spoke to came in an hour later looking for Eric, but Eric had already left.”

I see.

“He looked pretty pissed. Did he kill someone?” She asks.

“Who?” Peter asks.

She points to my phone. “That man?”

“No, he didn’t. Eric did,” I cut in, despite the cautionary look from Peter. “We think Eric killed Brandon, and we are looking for him. So, if you know of his whereabouts, I’d advise that you tell us now, so you don’t end up as an accomplice to murder.”

She doesn’t say anything until we go to leave.

“One more thing,” she says.

I turn around sharply. “What?”

“I don’t know if this will help, but the last time he was here, he asked if I had seen a knife. Looked angry and paranoid when I said no.”

Knife.

It rings all the bells in my head.

“Had you seen the knife he was talking about before?”

She shakes her head. “No. I don’t allow my customers to bring in weapons, and if they do, they have to keep them where I don’t see them. Or,” she gestures with a slicing motion across her neck, “it’s off with their heads.”

I grin. “A woman who runs a tight ship. I love it.”

***

“You don’t know if Eric killed him. They had a falling out, that’s all,” Peter says when we get into the car.

I shake my head.

“No, we don’t know that yet.”

“Why did you tell her that, then?”

I shrug. “Because it was better to tell her and scare the crap out of her then she’ll go and tell him.”

“And?” He turns to me. “What’s the point then, to set a fire under his ass?”

I grin and snap my fingers. “Bingo. You get it. He’s going to run. And when he runs, we will find him. Do you know what happens when you light a fire under a turtle?”

Peter sighs.

“I get the point. You can stop with the metaphors. So, what are we going to do now? Sit here until he comes out, or do we go to the address that she gave us?” Peter asks.

“I have a better idea,” I say.

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