NYPD Red 6 - James Patterson Page 0,11

dumb question?”

“Erin Easton has been around since I was in high school,” Kylie said. “She’s not exactly the flavor of the week. This kidnapping—real or staged—is going to put her back in the spotlight. When you’re a detective investigating her sudden disappearance, the question isn’t dumb at all.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Detective, but we’re not shooting an episode of Law and Order. We have an outline—heartwarming ceremony, over-the-top reception, exclusive interviews with celebrity guests. Basic reality-show fodder. Trust me, none of our writers are creative enough to come up with anything as outrageous as the bride being kidnapped.”

“We’ll need a copy of the guest list,” Kylie said, “along with the names of anyone who accepted the invitation and failed to show.”

“Failed to show?” Brockway said with a smirk. “Sweetie, this was the hottest ticket in town. There are two hundred and twenty-four names on that guest list. Only two people didn’t make it. One was Shelley Trager’s wife, but of course you know about that one, because you took her spot.”

“Who was the other no-show?”

“Veronica Gibbs,” he said, the smirk on his face wider and even more irritating. “The groom’s mother.”

CHAPTER 9

AS SOON AS Declan McMaster realized that Erin was missing, he had his security detail get Jamie Gibbs out of harm’s way. The new groom was now locked up in one of the administrative offices on the second floor and was being closely guarded by the NYPD.

“I never even heard of Gibbs until he became the man who was marrying Erin Easton,” I said to McMaster as Kylie and I followed him downstairs. “What can you tell us about him?”

“Classic spoiled rich kid, always in the gossip rags, famous for his sexual exploits and his run-ins with the paparazzi, ex-husbands, current husbands, Uber drivers, and just about anyone who got in his way,” McMaster said. “Three years ago he woke up with a dead girl in his bed. Not his fault; she OD’d. But according to Erin, it scared him straight. He gave up the blow and the booze and went to work for his mother.

“Veronica Gibbs owns Head Turners, a multimillion-dollar international modeling agency, and she put Jamie in charge of talent development. It’s a real job—if Veronica would let him do it. But she’s a tyrant. I swear to God, her business card doesn’t say CEO, it says BIC, which, if you ask, she’ll tell you stands for ‘bitch in charge.’ She runs the business and her son’s life with an iron fist. Jamie hates living in her shadow, but he doesn’t have any real money of his own, so he tolerates her bullshit and cashes the monthly allowance checks.”

“Why did Veronica bail on the wedding?” I asked.

“Two weeks ago the new issue of Vanity Fair came out. They did a major article on Veronica. Mostly it was about her success running a global company in the cutthroat world of fashion. But eventually the writer asked how she felt about her son marrying one of the most famous women in the world.”

“I bet Mama went on a tear when she heard that question,” Kylie said.

“Oh yeah. She started with ‘Famous for what? Spreading her legs?’ I’ll spare you the details of the rant, but she went on for three paragraphs—basically called Erin a gold-digging whore. It was less than five percent of the article, but the tabloids and the TV entertainment news shows pounced on it and gave it a life of its own.”

“How did Erin deal with it?” I asked.

“She kind of shrugged it off. Or at least she pretended to. But Jamie took it hard. He was really pissed at Veronica. I figured it would all come to a head today, and I was braced for a real catfight the minute the two women came face-to-face, but Veronica never showed.”

We arrived at the office where Jamie was secured. Two uniforms were posted outside. A detective from Midtown South was inside. Kylie opened the door and asked the detective to step out.

“How’s he doing?” she asked the detective.

“Pretty broken up,” he said. “Seems genuine.”

“Any phone calls?”

“Nothing incoming. He dialed out once. Nobody picked up, so he left a voice mail. He said, ‘Mom, Erin’s been kidnapped. Call me back.’ ”

“Did she?”

“No.”

Kylie, McMaster, and I entered the office. Jamie was at the window looking out onto Thirty-Fourth Street. He turned as soon as we walked in. He was about medium height with a puffy face that would have benefited from a more defined jawline.

“Did you find her?”