“We have every right to search premises that are part of a current investigation.” He climbed the stairs two at a time. “Every room, every space, every item in this household will be searched.”
“And may I ask what you are looking for?” Austin said.
Brett stopped outside Austin’s room and faced him, not saying a word to begin with. When the man started squirming, he said, “Evidence.”
“For what?”
“The kidnapping of Felix Jamison.”
He entered the room and wasn’t surprised to see that it was a mess. A lot like Austin’s life, it seemed. From what Brett had been told by those he’d asked to search for information on all of Felix’s housemates, Austin went from girl to girl without a break. The band was called ‘The Ports’ for a reason—a girl in every port.
“Felix has been kidnapped?”
Austin’s voice was barely a whisper, and Brett faced him again, trying to gauge his authenticity. What little colour his skin had previously was gone, and his hands cradled his stomach as if it hurt. Brett couldn’t deny it was a good show, but he could act as well as he could sing and play the drums. After all, musicians had to wow the crowds, too. He wasn’t convinced that Austin cared about Felix.
“Yes. Where are the other housemates?”
“Um, Remi should be in his room. Angelica is away on business.”
Brett turned and started going through the wardrobe. Austin settled on the bed, not making a move to stop them and saying nothing further. It took them over half an hour to check the entire room, but they found nothing. He honestly hadn’t believed they would. Not because he thought Austin was innocent, but because he believed the man was too clever to keep things in easy-to-find places. If he was involved, he would keep anything incriminating somewhere else. He had the money to hide things if he wanted. The same as the other housemates.
He exited the room to find the others, who eventually all came back with negative findings. There had to be something they’d missed. Being unable to show Austin the photo they found right then, due to Commissioner Thomas wanting to wait until they formally interviewed the drummer, he had nothing further to go on.
Heading down the stairs, he aimed for the front door.
“You might want to check on the person who owns this building,” Austin called after him, and Brett paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder.
There was no expression on the man’s face, so he couldn’t decipher if he knew who owned it and had information or if he was trying to tempt them down a different route. Despite knowing it could be a diversion, Brett nodded and headed out, determined to find out if the owner of the building had anything to do with what happened to Felix. He had never really understood the draw of sharing a house with someone who wasn’t family or a partner. It reminded him too much of the films he’d watched where they had several people in one building and they always lived in each other’s pockets, always in their lives and faces. Brett shuddered to think of it. As much as he hated going home, he was glad he lived alone, but he couldn’tretreat there yet. Needing a breather was becoming a necessity, but he didn’t have time.
He didn’t drive straight to Windsor Castle, though. He found a layby and parked the car, leaving the engine running while he stared out of the windscreen. Far too many loose ends floated in his mind’s eye, flapping ribbons he needed to fasten down before he could make sense of everything.
As he sat there, he worked through what he knew, and it was as if puzzle pieces started clicking together. The one thing he kept coming back to was that it might be his fault. With his father’s death and Malcolm taking over, Malcolm had agreed to keep the promise that Brett’s father had made to the royal family. The problem was… Brett didn’t believe that Malcolmwouldkeep the promise. There was enough bad blood between the two of them that, despite promising his father that he would keep to the rules, Malcolm could blatantly deny it the moment his father died, and there was nothing Brett could do about it. Just like the additional rule about Maddox.
The more he thought about it, the more he believed he was right. And the angrier he got.
Putting the car into gear, he checked his mirrors and sped towards the house he had not seen in thirty years. He would be walking into the lion’s den, and there was no guarantee he would come back out again, but he had to try. For Felix, he had to. If Malcolm did have something to do with his disappearance, Brett would take Malcolm down with him.
His hands clenched the steering wheel as the familiar and unfamiliar sights greeted him. He’d known extensions had been built over the years, but not to the extent of what he saw then. It was almost like an entire town fitted onto the acreage of his family’s land. After getting through the gates, when the main house came into view, he barely withheld his need to runaway. It had been his mother’s home turned nightmare, and his stomach churned at the thought of going inside.
Swallowing hard, he parked the car and climbed out. Immediately, he saw six guards in various places, eyes on him. He wasn’t intimidated and calmly strode towards the door. It opened when he got to it, and despite the bile rising in his stomach at what he knew he would see when he walked through the opening, he still did it.
He couldn’t stop his gaze from hitting the stairs and the space at the bottom, but then he pulled his attention to the man walking towards him.
“This is a surprise,” Malcolm said, leaning against a doorframe. “I didn’t think we’d ever get you here again, and yet, here you are, walking freely into the house you said you would never ever step into. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We had an agreement.”
Malcolm’s mouth twitched as he huffed a laugh. “A gentleman’s agreement.” He pushed off the doorframe. “Despite my initial reservations about the necessity, I’ve realised it’s quite handy to have the royals in my pocket.”
Brett clenched his jaw. “Don’t think you get anything from it other than us turning a blind eye.”
“But isn’t that the same as being part of it? If you know about it and do nothing, you are… what’s the word… corrupt?” Malcolm shook his head. “No, that’s not it. Ah, complicit.”
Brett’s blood heated, and he wanted nothing more than to introduce his fist to Malcolm’s face, but he refrained. Barely. “As long as you stick to those who deserve it, we’re fine to be…complicit.”
“But who is the one who decides that they deserve it? You? Me? The royals? The public? Who has the final say in who dies and who lives?”
He sighed. “I’m not here for this. You know why I’m here.”