“You know,” he continued, his eyes taunting Remington. “The real sweating should be happening for the killer right now.”
Remington huffed, finally shifting his focus to the group. “So, until we capture the killer, none of you are sneaking out before the cops show!”
“Anyone itching to bolt can! But the first foot out of this joint gets tagged as the murderer and gets a bullet!”
His threat sealed the deal; no one dared to suggest an exit strategy now.
With the crowd dispersing nervously, Hannah casually approached Remington. “Hey, about that Chadwich racer from the other day, did they spill anything useful?”
“No, they only said they were focused on winning the race, even if it meant playing dirty.” Remington shrugged.
Seemed like dead ends were all they had.
Hannah turned to Remington. “Mind arranging a chat with that racer for me?”
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Remington nodded. “Sure thing, they’re still around. I’ve got some other business to tackle. Someone will escort you there, and if the cops show, we’ll give you a heads up.”
“Got it.”
With Bryson and Maloney flanking her, Hannah headed off.
As they strolled, Remington motioned to halt Bryson.
Bryson glanced at Remington’s hand. “Do you need something else?”
“Why not stick around and lend a hand, Mr. Mitchell? No need to join the crowd.”
Bryson smirked. “Do you need my expertise for something else, Mr. Lyons?”
Remington’s expression hardened, his voice dropping a notch.
“I didn’t invite you here to play games. I wanted us both to benefit. Things didn’t go as planned, but I’d rather mend fences than keep butting heads.”
Bryson stood firm, unfazed by the tension.
Ignoring Remington’s implied threat, he shot back, “Do you remember the cruise ship? Your goons weren’t exactly friendly. You having a change of heart?”
Remington grinned, nodding. “In Cadilind, they say more friends mean more opportunities, more enemies mean more obstacles. I’ve seen what you’re made of, carving your niche here all those years ago. You’re no run-of-the-mill guy!”
His gaze, loaded with implication, bore into Bryson. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to team up, be pals instead of foes, Mr. Mitchell? What do you say?”
Bryson raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, but what I’m about to say might not be what you want to hear.”
Remington squinted. “So, you’re straight-up saying no to me?”
“Did I actually say that?”