Page 129 of Long Gone

He gave me a skeptical look. “I thought you had a check for him. Wouldn’t you have to put his last name on it?”

“I didn’t write it,” I said. “My boss gave it to me in a sealed envelope, and told me to bring it to him.” I shrugged. “I’m just doin’ what I was told.”

“Sorry,” he said, relaxing after my answer. “Like I said, no Pinky here.”

“What about Mike?” I said. “My boss said his real name might be Mike.”

He shook his head. “Nope. No Mikes either. You sure you’re at the right place?”

“My boss must have gotten it wrong. Sorry for taking your time.”

“No problem,” he said. “Good luck with your search.”

I turned around to leave, and ran right into a man. I took a step back and tried to keep from crying out as pain shot through my shoulder.

“Harper Adams?” the man said in surprise, and I realized I’d bumped into Skip Martin.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have looked where I was going.”

“I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that,” he said with a laugh. He stepped around me to hand a folder to the guy behind the counter. “Here’s that report for you to look at.”

“Thanks, Skip,” the guy said as he took it.

Skip turned back to me. “You havin’ car trouble?”

“No, nothing like that,” I said, not wanting to reveal the real reason I was here.

But the guy behind the counter said, “She was looking for someone named Pinky or Mike.”

Skip’s brow shot up. “Is that part of your case?”

“She said she had a check for him. From her boss.”

Skip narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were your boss.”

Shit. But then I remembered my real boss. “I may have forgotten to mention I work for the Morgan, Hightower, and Adams law firm.”

“You were delivering a subpoena?” the guy behind the counter asked in alarm.

“No. I really was delivering a check,” I said, trying to look beleaguered and not concerned I was about to get caught in a lie. “He won a minor settlement. Mr. Hightower sent me to hand deliver it to him, but obviously they gave me the wrong place of employment.” I made a face. “Again, sorry to have taken up your time.” I considered asking Skip if he knew about J.R. Simmons, but there was still a chance he was involved, and I didn’t want to tip my hand. Also, if I confronted him, I wanted backup, as hard as that was to admit to myself.

I headed out the door, and to my surprise, Skip followed me.

“Have you gotten any closer to finding Hugo?” he asked.

I stopped on the sidewalk in front of my car and turned to face him. “No, I’m sorry, but it’s bound to take longer than a few days.”

“I thought of something else after you left,” he said. “I’m not sure how important it was, so I didn’t call you.”

“Oh?”

He leaned in, close enough I could smell a hint of garlic on his breath. “When Hugo was asking for more money, Brett Colter called me. He was pissed that Hugo had fucked away the money he had.” He cringed. “Sorry for the cursing. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Anyway, he made an offhanded comment that something had to be done with him or we were gonna lose everything we’d put into the property. I thought he meant going to the Secretary of State. But now I wonder…” He frowned.

“Wonder what?”

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