Recalling Bryson’s words, he clenched his fists, a furious tempest brewing within him. Suspicion clouded his mind, casting doubt on Peterson’s seemingly innocuous behavior.
The events at the gathering had taken a dramatic turn, unravelling in ways that Remington had not foreseen.
Though the Juarez and Delgado families held little sway, their abrupt departure had thrown a spanner in the works, hindering progress in their alliance. This setback was a significant blow to their efforts, and Remington could not ignore the potential implications.
Despite his growing suspicion and surreptitious surveillance, no tangible clues had surfaced, and he remained in the dark about the mastermind’s identity.
As he placed his fingertips against his forehead, a contemplative gesture, his gaze drifted upwards, settling upon Miss Moore’s room on the fifth floor.
His mind replayed the incident, and he recalled being in the same room as Miss Moore when the shots rang out, and today’s car race served as confirmation that she was the intended target.
Though unlikely to be the perpetrator, he pondered if Miss Moore could unwittingly lead him to the culprit.
Returning to her room, Miss Moore was almost immediately greeted by a call from Bryson. The moment she accepted, the sound of running water filtered through the speaker, and she asked, “What were you discussing with Remington downstairs?” Curiosity was evident in her intonation.
“Oh, you really want to know?” Bryson leaned against the sink with the faucet running in an attempt to hide his voice.
“You want to keep me guessing, don’t you? You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Of course not. Just kidding. Remington noticed me standing up for you and wanted to know when we became so close.”
Miss Moore’s reaction was one of wry amusement, unsurprised by Remington’s inquisitiveness. “And what did you tell him?” she asked.
Bryson’s laughter reverberated across the line as he shared his response with her. “I told him that I suddenly find you utterly charming, and I’m eager to get to know you better.”
His statement was met with a moment of silence as she absorbed his words, before he added, “He brought up your fiance, and I told him that feelings can be unpredictable.” His tone held a note of playful mischief.
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Hannah’s silence spoke volumes as Bryson’s words hit her like a tidal wave of brazenness. She had half-expected Remington to erupt at Bryson’s audacity, yet his restraint in the face of such daring pronouncements was surprising.
Her thoughts lingered on the ever-thickening plot, the intrigue growing by the minute.
Her voice held a hint of reproach as she questioned, “Why would you say that? It just adds fuel to his suspicion.”
Bryson, however, seemed unfazed. “There’s nothing to worry about. We can just act out a little ‘cat and mouse’ game for his benefit. It wouldn’t be the first time, you know.”
Letting out a small, exasperated sigh, she retorted, “Could you be any less subtle? I think you need to read more novels. You’re Losing your touch.” Bryson’s unrepentant grin was almost audible through the phone as he teased back, “That would ruin the fun. Where’s the sport in being predictable?”
Bryson’s voice shifted, “Alright, let’s cut to the chase,” he said, his words resonating with a deeper, more serious inflection. “How is Bagot faring after the incident?”
“Thankfully, the injuries aren’t life-threatening, but the delay in treatment resulted in significant blood loss, which will prolong his recovery period. The situation is stable, but there’s no telling what the fallout might be.”
Hannah and Bryson’s conversation shifted, focusing on the unaccounted-for mask from the incident. “There’s not much to report aside from the description of the mask,” Hannah admitted.
Bryson’s response was grave. “I know where that mask is.”
Her sharp intake of breath signaled her surprise. “What? Are you serious? Where?” she asked with a hint of disbelief.