THIRTY-FOUR
Ogilvie never moved that fast. Rather than be offended, her curiosity ignited, luring her into his wake.
“Turn it on,” Ogilvie yapped at Astrid in the living room, waving his phone at the television.
The assistant did as told. Ogilvie grabbed the nearby remote to punch in a channel number. The screen switched to the news.
“…Kesley Walsh. Reports are unconfirmed at this time,” the news anchor was saying. The screen showed images of Zairn and Kesley leaving a building and getting into a waiting car. “The pictures were taken by a member of the public twelve hours ago. We have confirmed that both Zairn Lomond and Kesley Walsh are sharing his usual suite in Las Vegas. Attempts to contact either of them for comment have been thus far unsuccessful.”
Ogilvie’s arm shot out to poin
