Delilah and Ellie exchanged a glance that said they didn’t like me asking such a pointed question. Did other girls just accept that it was a legitimate offer because they were so wowed by Howard and his bimbos?
“Well,” Delilah answered, telling me she was the smarter of the two. “It depends. Some girls stay on here and others go to New York. I’ll bet that’s where he’ll have you, since that’s where you’re from.”
“There are branches of his business all over the world,” Ellie added. “When he hires someone, he always looks for where they’ll fit best.”
“And what about you two?” I couldn’t resist a bit of a tease. “Aren’t you worried?”
“Worried?” Delilah spoke, but both women wore puzzled expressions. “About what?”
“About him finding someone to take your place.”
They both flinched as if I’d slapped them. That was a bit of an extreme reaction, I thought. Apparently, I’d hit a nerve. That was good. That meant, if I kept pushing, they might say something they wouldn’t have otherwise.
“Come on,” I said. “You had to have thought about it. You’re not getting any younger, and plastic surgery can only do so much, right?” I made my tone as understanding as I could muster. “You have to be thinking it every time he talks about hiring someone younger.” I smoothed down the sides of my dress, drawing their eyes to my body. “Someone prettier.”
Delilah scowled. “Howard knows how valuable we are.”
“And he tells us every day how beautiful we are,” Ellie added.
Neither one of them was giving me a very friendly look now. That was fine with me. I wasn’t looking for friends. I was looking for answers.
“He trusts us,” Delilah continued. “Trusts us to find him the right girls.”
“He brings us to all of these parties,” Ellie said. “And we get to meet rich and famous men from all over.”
“So he doesn’t keep you to himself?” I asked. “He shares you with his friends?”
I let the question stand as bald and rude as I’d meant it to sound.
They didn’t get the opportunity for retaliation, however, because Howard appeared, and they switched back to their glowing smiles. Their eyes, however, shot daggers at me whenever Howard wasn’t looking. That was fine. I didn’t really care what they thought about me. I was more convinced than ever that Howard was up to no good, and that, despite the lack of evidence, he’d had something to do with Patricia’s disappearance.
“So, ladies, did you talk about me when I was gone?” Howard gave what I assumed he intended to be a charming smile. “All good things, I hope.”
I looked around. “Where’s Gavin?”
“Oh, he had to step out for a moment to get something for our associate.” Howard took a step forward so that he was no longer between Ellie and Delilah, but closer to me. “I have to ask, Carrie, have you given any more thought to coming to work for me?”
My eyes darted to one side, unable to make eye contact. It hadn’t really been difficult to realize that I didn’t want to work for Howard, but I didn’t want to tell him now, like this. As uncomfortable as he made me, I couldn’t think of a legitimate reason to turn down his offer in a public setting. So, I lied. “I’ve just been so swamped at work, with your case and all, I haven’t had time to think about it.” I purposefully reminded him that I was working for him already, albeit indirectly.
“Well, we’ll just have to make time, won’t we?” He lightly touched my arm. “Why don’t you come by my Manhattan office on Monday morning and we can discuss it in greater depth then. I’d love to show you the many benefits you’d get by working for me.”
A chill went over me and I could barely stop myself from shivering. If I did that, Howard might think I was actually cold and offer me his jacket, or worse, try to put his arm around me. I couldn’t say specifically why, but I didn’t think I wanted to know what benefits he had in mind. Somehow, I doubted he was talking about a 401k. Still, I wasn’t going to be rude, and besides, I could use the opportunity to try to find out more about what he was up to.
“I’ll see you at eight,” I said.
“Excellent.” Howard smiled. “I’ll be waiting in anticipation.”
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond to that, but, fortunately, I didn’t have to, because another partygoer came up to greet Howard. I didn’t want to attempt another conversation with Delilah and Ellie, and judging by their expressions, they didn’t want to talk to me either.
I turned, intending to find a quiet place to be alone until I could find Gavin, but it wasn’t necessary. He was coming out of the library, his expression serious, eyes scanning the crowd. When his gaze met mine, his face lit up and I knew he’d been looking for me. We made our way towards each other, and the moment our hands touched, I relaxed. None of that other stuff mattered. Only the feel of his hand around mine and the fire in his eyes.
Chapter 12
Three hours of laughing at jokes I didn’t find funny and thanking men for telling me how beautiful I looked while they undressed me with their eyes was about all I could stomach. When a serious-looking man told Gavin that they needed to speak privately about an urgent manner, I saw my chance. I assured Gavin that I’d be fine alone, then made my way towards the back staircase the moment he was out of sight. Howard’s tour of the house was coming in handy.
I crept up the stairs, hoping no one else had gotten this idea. When I reached the second floor, it was quiet. Still, I wasn’t going to take any chances. I slipped off my shoes and carried them as I made my way down the hall. There had been one room on this floor that Howard had mentioned, but hadn’t let me see more of than a quick glimpse through the doorway, and it was to this room I now headed.
His office.
If there was anywhere in the entire house that held his secrets, this would be it. If I could find some sort of paper trail connecting him to the anonymous women in his pictures beyond those few shots, maybe I could figure out what he was doing. More than that, if I could find proof he’d been in contact with Patricia after their brief encounter, I might be able to get the police to investigate Howard in relation to the girl’s disappearance. It was a long shot, I knew, but it was all I had.
I fully expected his office to be locked, but I hadn’t taken into account Howard’s hubris. Men like him, ones with money and friends in high places, they always thought they were untouchable. He’d never dream that anyone would have the gall to sneak into his office. Even if he did think someone would dare such a thing, he struck me as the type of person who assumed he was smarter than everyone else and, therefore, he had nothing to fear because no one would be able to uncover his secrets.
I was determined to prove him wrong on both counts.
His office was just as pretentious as I’d thought it was at first glance. I didn’t dwell on that though. I wasn’t here to critique his décor. I needed to figure out where he hid his paperwork. Of course, he wasn’t going to make it easy for me by having an ordinary filing cabinet with an easily pickable lock. No, Howard had gone with a state-of-the-art steel cabinet with a code lock. It looked like one of those safes in a hotel room, the kind where rich people hide their jewels while on vacation.
I sighed in frustration. The keypad was numeric and it appeared to be eight digits. Actual word passcodes were so much easier to figure out because often there were commonly used ones that didn’t require any personal knowledge. People like Howard would use words like “god,” “power,” “money,” and “sex.” Numbers, however, were nearly impossible without knowing things like birthdays and anniversaries. Not that Howard would use his anniversary, I reasoned. I knew it was pretty much hopeless to try to guess, but I did a couple common ones. All zeroes. One, two, three, four... Then backwards. Not surprisingly, none of them worked.
I turned towards his desk. Maybe I could find something there that would give me a clue as to what his passcode could be. I was careful as I looked through his papers, making sure
only to touch with the very tips of my fingers and putting back anything I moved. If I couldn’t find evidence of a crime, I didn’t want him being suspicious that someone was looking into him.
After several minutes of searching, I still had nothing, and I knew I was running on borrowed time. Either Gavin would figure out I was missing or one of the security guards would venture up to this floor and find me. I had to get out before then, but I was reluctant to leave with nothing.
As I turned, something on the bookcase caught my eye. The Art of War. That was the book Howard had in his library, the one that had belonged to his mob boss great-grandfather. Well, not the exact same book. This one was a newer edition, one purchased to be read rather than one to be put on display. Had Howard bought it to feel closer to his ancestor or had he wanted to have the same mentality towards business that had allowed his family to run a vast empire for generations? I didn’t think either one was a particularly good reason.
I reached for it, not really sure why I was doing it. Maybe I wanted to see if it was dog-eared and highlighted versus barely touched. It didn’t matter, though. As soon as I opened it, a newspaper clipping fluttered to the floor, catching my attention. I picked it up, intending to put it back into the book, unread, but then I saw the picture of a beautiful young woman with blond hair and a sweet smile.
I recognized her.
Camille, Gavin’s late fiancée.
I set the book down on the desk and began to read the article.
Twenty-four-year-old Camille Turner was struck by a hit-and-run driver yesterday afternoon as she and her fiancé, Gavin Manning, were out for a walk. The actions taken by Manning kept Turner alive until paramedics arrived and saved the life of his unborn child, a girl who was delivered via C-section at the hospital less than an hour later. Turner was officially pronounced dead minutes after her daughter was born. A hospital spokesman assured us that the baby, though a week early, is doing well and showing no signs of trauma from the accident. The only witness, Manning, gave the police a description of the vehicle as a black Bentley, but was unable to provide any additional details as he had been focusing his attention on Turner and their child. The police are asking anyone who may have any information about the incident to please call their local precinct.
My brain didn’t know what to register first. Gavin had been responsible for saving his daughter’s life, but he hadn’t been able to save the woman he loved. As the only witness, whatever information he’d given the police had been their only leads. If he’d gotten a license plate number, they might have been able to find the person responsible, so he had to feel guilty about that. Then, there was the huge, glaring fact that he’d failed to mention to me.
A black Bentley.
Why hadn’t Gavin told me it was a Bentley? Had he not thought it was important after all these years? And hadn’t he thought the same thing I was thinking right now? Howard loved Bentleys, had a lot of them. I was sure that had been true five years ago, too. Or had Gavin just dismissed the idea that his friend could be involved because a car preference wasn’t enough evidence? The thing was, now it wasn’t just the fact that Howard owned a black Bentley. Howard had a newspaper clipping about the accident tucked away in a book. Why would he have it if it didn’t mean something?
Another thought occurred to me. This article had been written the day after the accident. Howard and Gavin hadn’t known each other then. It was possible, I supposed, that after Howard had met Gavin that he’d tracked down the paper, but it seemed like an awful lot of trouble when he could’ve just read it online. He had no reason to find, cut out, and keep it.
Unless he’d had something to do with the accident. Black Bentleys weren’t exactly uncommon in the city, but they weren’t so prevalent that the odds of its being a coincidence were high.
Had Howard killed Gavin’s fiancée? I was close enough to being a lawyer to know that what I had was circumstantial, and any good defense attorney would be able to spread reasonable doubt. Besides, I didn’t want to destroy Gavin’s friendship based on a theory, albeit a compelling one. I needed more.
I looked back at the cabinet-safe. I needed to get inside. Surely, if Howard was guilty of anything, the evidence would be in there. I just needed to figure out the right code. I looked back down at the article. Written June fourteenth. A snapshot of Gavin’s tattoo flashed in front of my eyes. Six thirteen. The day of the accident.
My eyes widened. It couldn’t be that simple. I walked over to the cabinet anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to try it out. My fingers were trembling as I put in the eight digits: zero six one three two zero zero eight.
The click was louder than I expected, and I jumped. It had worked. I could barely believe it.
I opened the cabinet and saw row after row of files. I didn’t have the time to go through all of them. I just needed to find my smoking gun. I started to flip through the folders, looking for something that could connect Howard to Camille’s death. My fingers, however, stopped above another name.
Patricia Vinarisky.
I grabbed it. If I could get evidence about her, I could get a warrant, and if Howard had something about Camille, I could find it then. I started to look through the file. It was similar to what Gavin had given me, but there were dozens more pictures of Patricia, and they weren’t exactly similar to the professional ones Gavin had. These were of the girl in various outfits, each one more risqué than the next, eventually getting her down to her underwear, then even less. At least half a dozen pictures were of her naked, a couple just standing, looking uncomfortable, but the rest had her in various lewd poses.
I flipped them over, and about half had dates written on them. Dates that were much closer to the day she disappeared than the ones I’d seen. I felt a flare of excitement. This was good. None of the pictures had Howard in them, but the fact that he had possession of them, particularly the sexual ones, meant that I could reasonably speculate that he had something to do with her disappearance.
Behind the pictures were two sheets of paper stapled together. At first glance, it looked like some sort of inventory or information sheet, almost like the one Gavin had in his folder. There was one major difference between the two, however. I couldn’t read what this one said because it wasn’t in English.
I may not have been able to recognize the language, but I’d seen enough news in the past ten years to be fairly confident in thinking it was a Middle Eastern language of some kind. Arabic perhaps. I’d need to show it to a translator to be certain. The only question was, how was I going to get these papers out of here? I definitely didn’t have any room to smuggle them out in my dress. If I’d had my phone, I could’ve taken pictures and mailed them to myself, but I’d left my phone in my purse... It was in the guest room in this very house. I could get it, come back here, and take the pictures. No one would think it was odd that I’d decided to get my phone. Or at least I hoped they wouldn’t. There was still the risk of being caught sneaking back into the office, but it would be worth it. I had to know what had happened to Patricia, if Howard was involved, and now, if he had something to do with Camille’s death as well.
I was just starting to put the folder back into the cabinet when I heard it. Voices. I moved faster, hoping they’d walk past. Then I heard them stop directly outside the door. Shit. This was bad. I looked around for a place to hide. If Howard caught me in here, I didn’t know what he’d do, but I didn’t think it’d be good. Panic began to fill me as I saw the doorknob turn.
End of Book 4
To be continued in Club Prive – Book 5, the final installment of the erotic romance serial, release date June 6th.
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Acknowledgement
First, I would like to thank all of my readers. Without you, my books would not exist. I truly appreciate each and every one of you.
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About The Author
M. S. Parker is the author of the Erotic Romance series, Club Privé.
Living in Southern California, she enjoys sitting by the pool with her laptop, writing her next spicy romance.
This book was a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 M.S. Parker
Published by M.S. Parker Romance.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.