“Hey, what’s going on?” Michael called out.
I turned my head, seeing him come into the ballroom. I’d drug him out of bed and told him to meet me here. I should’ve told Will, but I’d rather someone stay close to Rika when Lev went over to pick them up.
I shook my head. “I know to listen to my instincts, and I ignored them.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
I turned toward him. “This place was built in the early nineties,” I told him, “but this was a family hotel, and the rumor circulated that the family had a secret floor in every hotel they owned.”
“So?” He sighed, looking tired.
“So, Damon’s family is one of the oldest in Thunder Bay,” I pointed out. “The Nikov’s have been in this area since the thirties. Wouldn’t it have made sense to start their businesses close like we’ve been doing to monitor them more easily before expanding abroad?”
They built hotels long before the nineties. Why wait to build one close to home until then?
“You’re right.” He stared off, look
ing lost in thought. “Why wouldn’t they have had a hotel in Meridian City first?”
Not to mention the fact that there had been no move to build another one or reopen this one. He didn’t want somewhere local where he could have business meetings, put up clients, host parties…? It made no sense.
It was probably nothing. So, he didn’t open a hotel close to home. It was odd, but so was the family.
I looked at Michael, shaking my head in exhaustion. My brain was fried.
But he was frozen. He stared ahead, focusing on nothing as the wheels turned in his head.
And then he breathed out, “Shit,” and dove into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. “No, no, no…”
I advanced. What the hell?
He breathed hard, dialing a number and putting the phone to his ear. “Rika…”
“What’s wrong?” I barked.
But he just pointed at me, already walking for the door. “Get in the car!”
“What?”
He’d bolted, and I had to run to catch up to him. We ran out the back, and I didn’t argue or try to stop him. Michael never lost his head, and if he did, there was a reason. He jumped in his Rover, and I left my car next to it, hopping in his passenger side.
Before I even had the door closed, though, he’d punched the car into reverse and slammed on the gas, making my body vault forward. I shot out a hand to catch myself.
He sped down the alleyway and swung the car around, shifting into drive, and then took off down the city street and toward the bridge.
“Robson!” he yelled to whoever finally picked up the other line. “Who owned Delcour before us?”
Delcour? What—
He listened to the other man talk, worry etching his face. “I know it changed hands a lot,” he shouted. “But it was built in the thirties. Who built it?”
No, no, no…He didn’t think—
Delcour, the Crist family apartment building was a jewel in the black city. It was artfully designed, boasted the best views, and the architecture was mysterious and alluring.
And it easily could’ve been a hotel back in the day. It even had a ballroom.
Good God.