It takes another fifteen minutes after I announce my need to depart for more hugs, handshakes, backslaps, and a hard slap on my ass from Jett. It’s Riggs, though, who walks me out to my car.
I pause at the driver’s door of my Escalade after unlocking it. While my friendship with Riggs has only deepened over the past several weeks, he’s the one I’ll miss the most. I think it’s because we have such an easy time talking to each other. He reminds me of Wes, and I’m fortunate to have him in my life.
I turn to face my friend, and he asks, “You need a ride to the airport tomorrow morning?”
I shake my head. “I have to be there super early, and I don’t want to impose. I’ll take an Uber.”
Riggs doesn’t argue, and I appreciate it. I wouldn’t let him change my mind, anyway, and we both know it’s not a matter of imposition. I want to say my goodbyes today.
“Thank you for helping me come to the right decision.” I hold out my hand, and he shakes it, then pulls me in for a bro hug.
Riggs chuckles when he releases me. “I’m glad you think it’s the right decision. If it’s not, I’m gonna feel like shit.”
My hand reaches for the door, but I freeze when Riggs asks, “Are you going to look Sophie up?”
Sophie Winters… the woman I rescued in the attack.
I frown, looking at him in question. “Why would I?”
Riggs frowns back at me, the lines in his forehead deepening. “Why would you not? You two shared a horrible experience. She lives in Pittsburgh. You’re the type of guy who checks in on people. I just assumed you would.”
To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it. I’ve had so much on my plate, I’d forgotten she even lived in Pittsburgh.
I’ve certainly thought about Sophie as the months have ticked by and I’ve grown stronger. She came to visit me not long after I was attacked, and it was horrible. I didn’t want to talk to her, and I’m quite sure I scared her off. She’s never attempted to contact me since, and I’ve never tried to reach out to her.
But maybe I should. She was doing a photo lineup of the same suspects I looked at today. If she’s able to identify even one of them, we might be well on our way to putting all of this to rest. Detective Gilmore seems to think they’ll enter guilty pleas if we have good identifications.
It would be something recent to talk about, since it’s a bit awkward that we’ve gone months without contact.
So, yeah… maybe I’ll look her up and see how she’s doing.
CHAPTER 4
Baden
The Pittsburgh Titans hockey arena is located in North Shore—the sports-centric neighborhood of Pittsburgh situated on the Allegheny River, just prior to it joining the Monongahela to form the Ohio River. It’s nestled between the city’s football and baseball stadiums, a one-stop shop for the city’s many sports fans.
The arena was only constructed ten years ago and is a multistory building made of concrete and glass. The windows are environmentally green, letting in light, absorbing heat, and repelling pollution. When you walk the main concourse, the entire Pittsburgh skyline is visible across the river.
As with most professional hockey teams, the administrative offices are housed inside the arena. It takes a lot of executives to run such a major organization.
A lot of damn chiefs to carry out orders: the chief executive officer, the chief operating officer, the chief financial officer, the chief revenue officer, and the chief technical officer. There are vice presidents of finance, facilities, ticketing, analytics, human resources, public affairs, and merchandising. And all these people have their own armies to keep the cogs moving.
Brienne’s assistant, Michael, picked me up from the airport and brought me straight here. We take an elevator up three stories from the underground staff parking deck, and I follow Michael through what is obviously the executive suite, given its high-end furniture and décor. At the end of one hall is a beautiful corner office overlooking the river and skyline. A brass nameplate mounted beside the door reads Adam Norcross, Chief Executive Officer.
Brienne’s brother who was on the plane.
“Where’s Brienne’s office?” I ask.
“She doesn’t have one here,” Michael replies, looking briefly over his shoulder at me. “She runs the family empire from an office over at Fifth Avenue Place.”
He says that as if I should know what he’s talking about, but I don’t. I’ve only ever been to Pittsburgh to play hockey games. “Fifth Avenue Place?”
Michael shoots me an apologetic look but continues walking briskly. “Sorry. Forgot you’re new to the city. It’s the big office building across the river with the pyramid top and a steeple. Has offices, restaurants, retail spaces. Nice place, although I suppose Brienne will have to work more from the arena now.”
Another stark reminder that Brienne was truly removed from running this team, allowing her brother to handle it. The Norcross family is very old money, stemming back to the 1800s when they invested in coal, steel, oil, and real estate and then eventually founded Norcross Bank. They’re one of the top fifty richest families in the United States, putting them in the multibillionaire class.
I did some basic research before I accepted the job, and I learned Brienne and Adam’s mother died several years prior. Their father, Marcus, remarried a woman twenty years his junior, but when he died two years ago from a heart attack, he’d left most everything to his children. His wife was set up with enough money to never want for anything again, but the business holdings were squarely in his kids’ hands.
Adam’s death left Brienne as the sole heir to the Norcross estate, a conglomerate of assets that includes a decimated professional hockey team.
“Brienne runs all the Norcross business ventures?” I ask curiously.
“There are CEOs who run each corporation, but Brienne is on the board of directors and is now the majority stockholder. In addition to her philanthropic work, she’s primary oversight on all the Norcross holdings, except for the Titans, which was Adam’s baby.”
“And is now hers,” I murmur. Christ, the lady has a lot on her plate.
“Here we are,” Michael says and pushes open a door to a conference room.
I enter, and all heads swivel my way. Six people sit around a long conference room table, each with multiple folders and documents before them.
Brienne is at the end and stands from her chair with a smile. She’s dressed businesslike in a skirt and blouse, her blond hair pulled back in that same tight knot she wore at the funeral. “Take a seat, Baden. I hope your flight was okay.”
I nod as Michael closes the door behind me. “The flight was fine. I’m glad to be here.”
As I move to an empty chair with a pile of folders in front of it—presumably mine—Brienne says, “When we’re done with this meeting, Michael will take you over to your hotel to get you checked in.”
“Sounds good,” I reply, my mind slipping briefly to the multitude of things I need to do to get settled into this city. I’ve had no opportunity to even think about where to live or what to do with my house back in Phoenix, so I’m basically living out of a suitcase for the time being.