Page 128 of Hard Rain
The night wore on without Charleston doing anything stupid enough to help them.
No private confession.
No nervous associate slipping up.
No Cutter.
Just money, handshakes, and enough fake smiles to make Axel’s jaw ache.
Charleston remained in control of the room until the final speech ended and the quartet shifted into something slower.
Boone’s voice came through the earpiece.
“That’s enough. Let’s call it.”
Axel touched two fingers to his ear. “Copy.”
He looked toward the bar.
No Whip.
Probably working his way back from the west side.
Axel moved through the crowd, checking the balcony first.
Empty.
The stairs.
Nothing.
He kept walking.
Whip had disappeared half a dozen times tonight. Every time, Axel had found him again.
Near the quartet.
At the bar.
On the balcony.
Always there.
He touched the mic in his ear.
“Whip?”
No answer.
Axel slowed.
Around him, conversations rolled on uninterrupted. A waiter slipped past with another tray of champagne while Charleston laughed at something one of the donors said.
He tried again.
“Whip.”
Nothing.
