Jack's POV
The steering wheel felt cold beneath my clenched fingers as I pulled up to the Simpson family's western estate.
My heart hammered against my ribs while bitter November wind cut through my coat the moment I stepped outside. The property's security lights cast harsh shadows across the manicured grounds, turning the familiar landscape into something sinister.
"Mr. Simpson," the housekeeper's eyes widened as she opened the door. "We weren't expecting you tonight."
"I need information," I said, brushing past her into the warmth of the foyer.
"Has there been a blond foreign man staying here recently?"
Her hesitation told me everything before she even spoke. "Yes, sir. A Mr. Doyle. He's been here for several days, but left this morning and hasn't returned."
