27. Nik
CHAPTER 27
Nik
I drill the security detail who will be guarding Holden’s suite that night, making them repeat their instructions until I’m certain they understand. They’re casino security, more used to catching pickpockets than stopping killers—but they’re solid enough.
And more importantly, they’re loyal to Brie. I can see it in their proud reactions when she thanked them personally for taking on the role for the night, just before she let me give them all the third degree. It’s not just some of the Family members that appreciate Brie; the casino staff adores her, too.
She’s widely loved. Maybe she has enough people around her who care about her.
Maybe she doesn’t need me to love her as well.
“Check IDs against the approved list before allowing any entry,” I tell the guards for the fourth time. “No exceptions. Not for housekeeping, not for maintenance, not for God himself. Clear?”
They nod, and I see in their eyes they grasp the gravity of their duty. Still, watching them take up positions at Holden’s suite door feels like I’m admitting defeat.
Like letting go of something I’m not ready to release.
Brie and Holden are already in there. I pushed a gun into Brie’s hand before I let her go in, and then she entered with a quick backward glance at me. I’d like to take some comfort in that, pretend that there’s some hope we can work things out, but it’s tough.
The hotel corridors seem emptier than usual as I head back down to the lobby. Many of the legitimate guests seem to have cleared out, probably sensing the growing unease in the air given all the tension in the Family. Even the usual crowd of hopeful gamblers has thinned, leaving behind only the serious players—the ones too focused on their games to notice anything else.
I book myself a room on the fourteenth floor—close enough that I can come quickly if she needs me, but far away enough to give Brie the space she says she needs. The memory of her saying that sits like lead in my stomach. I don’t want to put any distance between us, but I guess sometimes protection means stepping back.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The casino bar calls to me with its promise of temporary oblivion. It’s quiet tonight, just a few hardcore gamblers nursing their losses. I choose a seat at the far end of the bar, where I can watch both entrances while staying partially hidden in shadow. The bartender doubles the vodka neat I order without comment, and I wonder if my face gives away as much as I hope it doesn’t.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Phil Reynolds’s voice comes from behind me.
I’ve been watching his approach in the mirrored wall behind the bar, so I saw him coming, but I hadn’t expected him to speak to me directly. He slides onto the stool next to mine, his perfectly tailored suit a stark contrast to the desperate energy of the late-night gamblers.
“Surprised you’re talking to me,” I reply carefully, studying his reflection. “After what went down yesterday.”
He chuckles. “Ms. Kusek, I manage a Mob-owned casino. You think that’s the first time I’ve seen the inside of that room?” He signals the bartender. “Put her drink on my tab, will you? And get me a scotch—the good stuff.” His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “So what are you doing down here, anyway? I thought you were joined at the hip with Mrs. Colombo—so to speak.”
I turn slightly, letting him see just enough of my expression to know he’s treading dangerous ground. “Careful.”
His laugh is soft. “Relax. I’m not playing any games here. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.” He loosens his tie, and for a moment, I see genuine exhaustion in the lines around his eyes. “Are things going to settle down soon?”
“You’re asking the wrong person.”
“I don’t want to know the details. Just the…” He waves a hand. “The general vibe.”
“You’re still asking the wrong person. But you should know as well as I do, Family business is complicated.”
“Tell me about it.” He takes a long sip of the scotch placed in front of him by the bartender. “All I want is to run a damn casino without getting caught in the crossfire.” He gestures at the gaming floor beyond the bar. “Keep the books balanced and the chips flowing. Simple.”
“Nothing’s simple here.” I turn my glass slowly. “Everyone wants something.”
“And what do you want, Ms. Kusek?” His question is casual, and when I turn my head and look at him, I see no ulterior motive in his eyes.
“I want something I can’t have.”
He understands at once, and I hate the sympathy in his voice as he raises a glass to me. “Then I’m sorry to hear that.”
I clink my glass against his, take a drink.
“You know,” he says delicately, “I have a lot of admiration for Mrs. Colombo. I hope she comes out on top. She deserves something for all the work she puts into this place. She’s a damn legend around here. People know her. Love her.”
“She’s come a long way,” I agree noncommittally.
I hate that he’s echoing my own thoughts from earlier, about Brie being surrounded already by people who love her. Is that what Brie was trying to tell me in the security room? That I should think about moving on because she doesn’t need me in the same way I need her? She has the Colombos and the casino and Holden Brooks.
Was I out of line before, accusing Brie of manipulating him?
No. She knew what she was doing. And the thing is, she was right to do it; she needs that damn footage corrected, and fast, because Caruso won’t lay low much longer. My knee starts bouncing, and Phil gives me a sideways glance, but says nothing.
I can’t get away from this sense of urgency, though. And I’m no computer whizz, but…
“Phil.” I set my glass down. “You think you could log me in and let me take a look at all this footage Holden’s been obsessing about?”
He looks at me for a long moment, then shrugs. “Sure”. He finishes his drink and stands, straightening his cuffs with practiced precision. “I’ll walk you down, make sure they set you up okay.”
The security room feels different without Holden’s frenetic energy filling the space. Banks is still there, and looks up as we enter. It takes a second for him to hide the misery in his eyes and I wonder what the story is there.
But Phil just gives him a nod. “Ms. Kusek needs to see the footage Mr. Brooks has been looking over these last few days. Get her logged in, would you, and pull it for her?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Reynolds.”
“I’ll bid you goodnight,” Phil says to me. “And please—do let Mrs. Colombo know that if she needs anything, I’m her man.”
I put out my hand and he shakes it. “I’ll do that.”
“And now,” he says, “if you’ll excuse me—I do have a casino to run, as you’re so fond of reminding me.”
I’m still smirking when Banks boots up the computer for me. “Glad you and Mrs. Colombo got Holden out of here,” he confides. “Guy was starting to freak everyone out, you know?”
I lean against the desk while he loads the system. “You doing okay?” I ask, echoing Brie’s question from earlier. Because the guy is definitely not okay.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Personal stuff going on, I guess. And it’s quiet tonight,” he adds, gesturing at the screens around the room. “Not much going on.”
I wonder if I can put the guy to work, take his mind off things, especially since Holden seems to be getting nowhere, and I’m not going to be much better. “You’re pretty familiar with surveillance footage, right? Ever deal with tampered video?”
His face lights up. “Actually, yeah. It’s kind of my thing—I do some ethical hacking on the side. White hat stuff,” he adds quickly. “All legit.”
“Uh-huh.” I keep my tone casual. “Think you could take a look at that footage Holden was obsessing over? Footage from the night Terry Colombo got shot?”
He gives me an uncertain look. “Don’t take this the wrong way, ma’am, but I got no interest in getting mixed up in, uh. Mob business. Not since Sophie—” he breaks off.
“Sophie Johnson?” I ask sharply. “What about her?”
He glances around, making sure no one has overheard me. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he says in a low, desperate whisper, and his eyes get damp again. “But me and Sophie…we were kinda seeing each other.”
“So?” I ask blankly.
He stares at me. “She wasn’t supposed to fraternize with any security staff. Condition of her employment that she not have any personal connection to the security side of the biz.”
A stop-gap protocol. Makes sense. Then something occurs to me. “Sophie and you,” I say slowly. “Were you together the night of Don Colombo’s murder?”
He flushes a deep scarlet and blinks rapidly, trying to keep back tears. “Please don’t tell Mr. Reynolds,” he pleads. “I don’t want her to get in trouble, especially after what happened. But…yeah. We were together that night. Please don’t tell?—”
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” I say, trying not to snap. It would have been useful to know this much earlier. Would have made it easier to cross Sophie off the suspect list. “I won’t tell,” I say again, “as long as you do me this favor and help me check out the security footage. Deal?”
He’s still red and blinking. “Oh, man, I don’t know…”
Am I going to say it? Yeah. I guess I am. “Then how about you do it for Brie Colombo? I know she’d be very happy with you if you could help out with this.”
That has the effect I’ve been hoping for. “Well…okay, if it’ll help Mrs. Colombo, I’ll do it. Let me pull it up.” He heads back to his computer, fingers flying over the keys.
“Pull up the casino bar security footage from the same night, while you’re at it,” I ask him. “And send it over to my computer.” I might as well check Phil and Frank’s alibis while I’m at it.
“Done,” he says a few seconds later. “And I have that footage Mr. Brooks was working on. Might take me a few minutes to…” He trails off, lost in a world of clicking keys and computer files, so I leave him to it while I scrub through the bar footage.
Frank wasn’t lying. He’s right there, with Phil, who keeps watering down his drinks. With that settled, I let my mind drift back to Brie, painful as it is.
“Uh, Ms. Kusek?” Banks’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s frowning at his screen.
“Something wrong?”
“Well…it’s just…” He scratches the back of his neck. “Are you sure this is the footage Mr. Brooks was working on? Because it’s a pretty basic ghosting effect. Anyone using our software could clear this up in minutes.”
I stride over. “Show me.”
“See, look—” His fingers clatter over the keys again. “The original footage used a standard blur to obscure the figure—we do that a lot around here, on, uh, orders from above. And then it had this other footage pasted over it, too.” Brie appears on the screen, frozen before the door. “But if you apply a simple deconvolution filter…” He clicks something, and Brie disappears, leaving another blur. “And then remove this blur—” The image starts to sharpen. “Easy.”
The footage springs to life as Banks hits play. The familiar corridor near Terry’s office, the timestamp matching the night of his murder. But this time, the figure walking through is not blurred or distorted or missing, and I certainly don’t need to catch their reflection to identify them.
I can see them clear as day, but for a moment, nothing makes sense. What I’m seeing just doesn’t compute.
Then, terrifyingly, it does.
“Oh, fuck ,” I whisper—and I bolt.