If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [47]
“Not a problem.”
Nothing was a problem for Ian. He was perfect for me. Young, beautiful, strong, smart—and he did everything right the first time I told him. I’ve gone through so many personal assistants I’ve lost count. The longest running was Zachary, who was with me almost two years before I found him screwing a cheap whore. It pained me to kill him. What a waste.
Ian had been with me for seven months, and was amazing in all parts of his job. After my one failed marriage, I’d never again give control to a husband. Killing husbands was a messy business because there were official marriage records and crap like that. A hired, under-the-table assistant was far preferable.
“We’re going to have some fun tonight.”
His blue eyes sparkled. “The cop?”
I grinned. Ian got the same thrills I did.
“May I kiss you?”
My skin tingled. “You may.”
He came around the desk and kissed me. I reached down and touched him between his legs. He was already growing hard.
I pulled away. “Save it. We’ve got a lot of work to do today.” And no way was I wasting time screwing.
Ian walked over to the couch and opened his laptop. “Sean Rogan. Lucy Kincaid. Let’s see what I can find.”
“While you do that, I have people to punish.”
I couldn’t tell from his look if he was concerned about my safety or merely disappointed he couldn’t participate.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured him, “and I promise to let you help with the fun punishments later.”
“You’re so good to me.”
SIXTEEN
Lucy showered until the hot water turned cold. Her head ached from both lack of sleep and the friction with Sean.
She was drying her hair when her phone rang. It was her brother Patrick, Sean’s partner at RCK.
“Luce, I emailed you a link to the missing persons reports I pulled.”
“I’ll look through them right now.” She put her phone on speaker and quickly gathered her damp hair into a ponytail.
“I used your criteria—Caucasian women between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five who went missing in the Northeast during the last nine months. I narrowed it down to forty-seven women, blond or light brown hair, between five foot four and five foot eight. Since the files are large, I posted them to my server and you can view or download them from there. I can broaden the search if necessary.”
At Sean’s computer, she logged into her email. “I hope she’s here.”
“I just got off the phone with Sean; he told me what happened. I got a seat on the last flight to Albany tonight, then a commuter plane first thing in the morning. This was supposed to be a vacation for you two.”
“This is the second vacation I’ve had where a dead body has turned up. Maybe I should stay home.”
She was half-joking, but Patrick was serious. “I started the background checks Sean asked for. The Swain family popped immediately. The father died in prison—he got twenty-five-to-life for killing his girlfriend. The oldest brother, Paul Swain, is in prison for manslaughter and drug trafficking. They tried to make a case against his brother Butch, but nothing stuck. Butch was suspected of bribery, extortion, and manufacturing methamphetamines.”
“Do you know if there’s an active investigation?”
“I called around to the usual places, didn’t hear of anything ongoing, but that doesn’t mean squat half the time. The word is when Paul Swain was sent away, his operation dried up. Nine people went to prison. He was the brains, Butch was the brawn.”
“Where’s Butch Swain now?”
“His legal address is in Colton, about twenty miles from Spruce Lake. There’s a younger sister, Roberta, who went to college in Florida, and I can’t find anything on her since then.”
“Really?” Lucy teased. “You’re stumped?”
“Hardly. I’m digging. I think she probably got married, which is why I have nothing on her maiden name. I can’t find a marriage record in Florida or New York, so I’ll broaden the search. Anyway, I wanted to make sure you got my email with the missing persons records. Let me know if your mine lady