“He’s not,” Baker cut through again.
Falcon stared up at the former SEAL’s enlarged image and frowned. “How can you be so sure?”
But Baker simply looked back at Falcon and straight-faced said, “Because I’m damn good at what I do.” And then he shared the rest of what he knew. “Phillip Mitchell isn’t on that boat, because he’s hosting a fundraising gala later tonight at his East Hampton Estate.”
“The man orchestrates a kidnapping the same day he’s hosting some hoity toity event?” Apollo’s brows dipped low. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does if he’s using the event as his alibi.” Beckett started for the door.
“Where the hell are you going?” Digger asked from behind.
“I’m going to see Phillip Mitchell. I’m going to make him tell me where Evie is, and then I’m going to get her the fuck back.”
“You’ll need to be on the list to get in,” Baker spoke from wherever the hell the man was. When Beckett stopped and looked back at him, he added, “The event is invitation only, and evidence from the past shows he overindulges when it comes to security.”
But Beckett was already shaking his head. “I’ll break down the fucking gate if I have to.”
“You say that now, but you go in there causing a scene, how close do you think you’re going to get to talking with Phillip Mitchell?”
“Baker’s right.” Owens supported the other man’s point. “The only way you’re getting into that mansion is looking as if you belong. Which means?—”
“Which means, it’s a good thing I just hacked into Mitchell’s electronic invite list and added your name in the mix.”
“Put mine down, too,” Digger stood and joined Beckett by the door.
Before Beckett could ask Dig why he’d offered to go with, Owens said, “Good idea. Might look suspicious if you show up by yourself.”
“Okaaaay…” Baker’s fingers danced over his keys. “There.” He hit ‘return’. “Anyone checking the list at the gate will see Beckett Stone and Slade Garrison as confirmed attendees. While you two are up north, I’ll keep working on trying to figure out where the hell that boat went after it left the marina. With any luck, Mitchell will fold like a house of cards, and this whole thing will be over by morning.”
No one bothered asking how the guy knew their given names. The guy had already proven himself to be as useful and technically talented as Shadow. As for morning…
I’d love nothing more than to wake up to find Evie wrapped up safe in my arms.
“Oh, and there is one more thing.” The intelligent man’s steely eyes fell over Beckett and Digger. “Do either of you own a tux?”
Four hours later,Beckett and Digger stood in a sea of black and white as they did their best to blend into the upscale crowd.
“You see Mitchell yet?”
“Not yet,” Digger spoke as he pretended to take a sip of his complimentary champagne.
Both men continued scanning the guests, the air of wealth and entitlement swirling about doing little to settle Beckett’s already churning stomach.
Come on, you evil son of a bitch. Where the fuck are you?
The question had no more rolled through his mind when Dig nudged his shoulder and jutted his chin. Beckett followed the other man’s line of sight, and there he was.
Phillip Fucking Mitchell.
The arrogant asshole stood front and center with a small group of formally dressed men. Some were in their sixties, like Mitchell, while others—if the absence of silver strands and wrinkles were any indication—were several years younger.
No matter what their age, the men were all smiling and laughing like a bunch of dumbass puppets with more money than sense. Each one of the idiots more than happy to let a rich asshole like Mitchell pull on their strings.
“You got this?” Digger asked while keeping an eye on their target.
Beckett placed his glass of untouched champagne on the tray of a passing by server. “Oh yeah.” He started walking toward the man he’d flown two hours to see. “I’ve got this.”
Both men walked with purpose across the shiny tile floor. It reminded him of the flooring in Isak Rahal’s island mansion…the place where he’d almost died.