The Heir Hunter Read Online Free PDF Page B

operation like Merchant and Associates. Do we know when they got ahold of the file?”
    “About an hour before we did.”
    Castleton instantly glanced at his watch. It was 7:10 P.M. in New York. The hour had gained Merchant and Associates almost nothing. If they were lucky, they might have gotten hold of the death certificate. But a head start of any kind was still disturbing.
    “It doesn’t matter,” Castleton said. “Merchant won’t be a problem. The father never gave us problems—why should the boy? I’m looking to have this wrapped up in twenty-four hours.”
    Borg was clearly not overwhelmed with the pep talk.
    “I hope so, Lawrence. I keep thinking about Omar Morales.”
    “Well,
don’t
,” growled the president, confirming a huge sore spot. “It was pure, dumb luck, Richard. We got sloppy and Merchant slipped in and stole one—big deal. That isn’t going to happen here, I promise you that.”
    Borg nodded and said nothing. It
was
a big deal—a $21,000 big deal. They had called the Omar Morales case an aberration, a freak event, but it demonstrated a sobering fact-they weren’t as invulnerable as they liked to think.
    “When does the Lear land in New York?”
    “Midnight.”
    “Crack of dawn I want Risso and Lake in Hudson at the neighbors’ front doors.”
    “They will be.”
    “Good,” replied Castleton, nodding importantly. “We’ll solve it, Richard. Merchant can’t touch us. I want to check something upstairs on our friend Mr. Jacobs. You have time?”
    Borg nodded. At the door, Castleton grabbed his friend’s shoulder.
    “One last thing—let’s keep this Jacobs business our little secret. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone else in the firm besides Risso and Lake. I don’t want to get everyone else here all wound up. Nor do I want to slice this pie up into too many pieces.
Capice?
”
    Borg nodded his approval.
    “Let’s go, then.”

CHAPTER

4

    J IMMY DEMELLO WAS frightened. He was on his knees, opening drawers and shoving files indiscriminately into his suitcase. Now that he was inside his East Harlem office, he felt a heightened, almost panicked sense of urgency. Ten minutes—he needed to be out and on the road in ten minutes. He ran his sleeve across the wetness of his forehead and cursed. Even close to midnight it was sweltering, the dry air hanging like smoke over the carpet. He was tired of that heat. He would move somewhere cooler, somewhere by the ocean hopefully. It didn’t matter where actually; he just needed to put some serious miles between himself and the Gerald Jacobs assignment. He intended to do that immediately.
    He was reaching for another drawer to empty when he heard a creak, like a foot stepping on aged floorboards. He froze, too scared to move. He listened. He was about to remove the gun when two men slipped into the half-darkness of the office.
    They were an odd-looking pair. One was tall and long-limbed, the other thick and muscular. They both looked dangerous as hell to Jimmy Demello. His stomach suddenly hurt. He hadn’t noticed them staking out the parking lot, but apparently they had been there all along. Waiting for him.
    Malloy and Regnier both held pistols affixed with silencers.
    “Strange hours you keep, Demello.”
    The PI felt his bladder loosen at the mention of his name. He swallowed hard and tried not to show how scared he was. “Can I help you guys with something?”
    “Oh yeah,” replied Malloy, with a barely perceptible smile. “I think you know what it is we’re looking for.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Cut the bullshit. You and your partner like taking pictures. Where are they?”
    The smile was gone now. The thick man named Regnier had stepped to the left, spreading the distance between himself and his companion. Demello thought of reaching for the pistol in his belt but knew it would be suicide. He would try begging.
    “The old man’s got ’em all. I swear to God. He’s got everything.”
    “The old man’s dead,