Hide Me by Ava McCarthy

Author:Ava McCarthy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Chapter 23

Harry clipped down the stairwell, spattering echoes off the hard, white tiles. Hairs rose on the back of her neck. She had to call Zubiri.

She eased open the door to the ground-floor hallway. She’d hoped to get a chance to use Riva’s phone, but the woman had broken off to take an incoming call and had immediately signalled to Harry they were done. Harry had seized the chance to slip away while she could.

She hesitated in the doorway. The ground-floor corridor was dimly lit, the swirl of roulette wheels deadened by the partition wall. Her pulse drummed at the notion of braving the open territory of the casino. Ditching Franco’s crew meant she’d probably ditched Zubiri’s backup team as well. Assuming they’d ever been there.

Harry edged into the corridor, rewinding her conversation with Riva. She’d tried to quiz her more about her brother’s death, but the woman had refused to be drawn.

‘Franco killed him,’ she’d said. ‘That’s all you need to know.’

The stairwell door clunked shut and Harry picked her way down the corridor. Something was different. A pie-shaped wedge of light was angled across the floor up ahead. Victor Toledo’s office was open.

She inched forward and peeped around the door. The room looked empty. Fluorescent lights blazed down on pristine-white furnishings: white desk, white walls, white floor.

White phone.

Harry’s pulse surged. The instrument gleamed like a beacon. She glanced up the corridor, then slipped into the office, lifted the handset and dialled. On the third digit, her fingers froze. Her brain faltered. She’d blanked on Zubiri’s number.

Shit! What the hell was it? She clenched her fist.

Think!

She’d hard-wired it into her memory. For days, she’d been able to recite it at will, one number prompting the next like a catchy jingle. She groped for the rhythm, but couldn’t latch onto it. Her head felt scrambled. Her memory had shut down.

Dammit!

Harry took a deep breath. Maybe oxygen would goose her brain into gear. Then something shifted in her head; another number leaped into focus. She dialled it without thinking, her fingers trembling. Then she waited for the call to pick up.

‘Hunter.’

His voice sounded taut, strung out on a short fuse. A lump sprang up in Harry’s throat, a reaction she put down to relief at hearing a familiar voice.

‘It’s me,’ she said.

‘Harry. Jesus. Where the hell are you? I’ve been calling you for the last two days.’

She swallowed against the fullness in her throat, not trusting herself to speak straight away. Hunter didn’t seem to notice. His tone said he had a lot to unload.

‘I looked up those names, like you asked. Against my better judgement, I might add.’

She heard the tap of a keyboard and pictured him squinting at the screen, his expression mutinous at the confines of being tied to his desk. She wished she could see his face.

‘Ginny Vaughan,’ he said. ‘Comes from one of the wealthiest families in Dublin. Yachting, horse breeding, opera buffs, art collectors . . .’

‘No criminal record?’ Harry noticed how much she wanted Hunter to keep on talking.

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