Hard Money by Diane Capri

Author:Diane Capri
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: International Crime Thriller; Michael Flint; Heir Hunter; vigilante justice; genealogy; traditional detective; financial thriller; kidnapping; ransom; murder; suspense; mystery
Publisher: AugustBooks
Published: 2024-06-14T12:58:08+00:00

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Chapter 27

Kansas City, Missouri

On the other side of the city, Boldo’s mansion stood like an old sentinel. A gala to benefit one of his wife’s many charities was unfolding. Guests adorned in the finery that only money and taste could buy mingled like old friends. The gardens were filled with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the soft strains of a string quartet nestled beneath a canopy of stars.

Boldo moved among his guests, his face set in a smile that belied his annoyance. He had no time for galas and gladhanding, but his wife had spent an entire year organizing this event. Boldo’s attendance was mandatory.

He moved among the guests, shook hands, clinked glasses, exchanged pleasantries. But his gaze swept the scene with a hawk’s vigilance, taking in every face, every movement. A crowd like this could be a dangerous thing. He’d tasked his security team with keeping things civil.

Boldo eventually made his way to where his personal assistant stood, her own eyes scanning the crowd as if her interest were mere casual observation.

“Everything in place?” he asked with a false grin, leaning in as if sharing a jest.

“All set. Cameras, checkpoints, the works. If he tries to get within a mile of here, we’ll know,” she replied, her voice low, matching his casual demeanor.

“Good.” Boldo nodded, sipping his champagne. “And the rest?”

“Monitoring all routes. No sightings yet. He’s out there. And he’ll surface.”

They parted with a smile and a nod, Boldo returning to his role as the genial billionaire host. The night air was cool, the stars sharp above, the music a gentle swell of violins and cellos.

As the evening wore on, Boldo slipped away from the throng to the quieter confines of his study. The room was dark, save for the light from a single lamp on his desk. He approached the desk, pressing a sequence on the side of the lamp that clicked softly.

A panel on the wall slid open, revealing a bank of monitors.

The screens showed various angles of the estate, the roads leading up to it, the dense tree lines that bordered the property. Each was manned by security.

He picked up a radio from the desk. “Report.”

“Nothing to report, sir. All clear,” came the crackling response.

Boldo set the radio down, his finger tapping a steady rhythm on the desk. He pulled out his phone to dial a number memorized long ago.

“Status?” he asked when the call connected.

“Still on the move. We don’t think he’s here,” said the voice on the other end.

“Keep on him. Don’t lose him this time,” Boldo instructed, his tone firm.

“Yes, sir.”

He ended the call and sat back, the chair creaking under his weight. He raced through scenarios, plans, contingencies. He could not afford to lose him now. Not when he was so close.

The sound of footsteps drew Boldo’s attention. He looked up to see his assistant standing at the doorway.

“Trouble?” he asked, noting the urgency in her step.

She walked in, closing the door behind her. “Emily Royce is here. Spencer Lyman was invited and sent her instead, apparently.

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