I waited for someone to correct me. No one did. Maybe I’d given away too much, revealing that my investigation of their children had slammed into a brick wall. But the lack of evidence could be owed to the fact that Kaci and Collin didn’t have the twenty-to-thirty year crime history their parents had.
I glanced at the woman most concerned about appearances. “The contract ensures she doesn’t do something stupid and drive Trenchant into a scandal?”
Kathleen nodded. “Precisely.”
In return, it promised Kaci the CEO position, a promise that wouldn’t be realized. Stealing the job from her didn’t feel right, but that feeling was fed by my very strong desire to find her innocent while I took down her family.
I blanked my face. Fingers slack. Voice steady. “Okay, so you’re going to set her up, lure her into an affair. And if she doesn’t bite?”
Trent stacked the papers in front of him and stuffed them in the folder. “She’ll bite. I’m sending her to The Watch tonight on an errand, so I’ll see it done then.”
So messed up. He’d plotted the ruination of his son’s marriage with less deliberation than he would give a menu at a restaurant. And he’d intentionally mentioned the club she would be at so I’d what? Volunteer for the job?
I wanted to close my eyes and consider what was happening here, but if I did that, I’d imagine her with another man. No, I’d imagine her with me because picturing her with her husband or with a stranger set my fucking chest on fire.
Was it too hopeful to think her encounter with Evader was…singular? That she was a good person, and cheating wasn’t commonplace for her?
Pull your head out of your ass. You need this contract negated.
But I could volunteer to be the bait, the tempter. The other man.
Fuck, I needed to shake this goddamned whatever that had my heart racing. She was never mine, would never be mine. For all I cared, Slutty Ducati could go where no slut had gone before. If she was weak enough to cheat on her husband, fuck her.
“Assuming the contract is a non-issue…” I stood. “When do I start?”
Trent rose as well, strolling my way, and the other three followed suit.
He held out his hand, and when I grasped it, my skin recoiled against the dry scrape of his fingers.
“You start now.” His grip tightened, his tone frigid. “Welcome to Trenchant.”
13
Kaci
The murmur of voices drifted around me, melding with the clink of champagne flutes and the deep, lonely notes of a saxophone. The acoustics in The Watch dispersed noise with subtlety, tricking the ears to disregard individual sound while luring the soul to fuse with the collective whole.
I traced the stem of the martini glass, the aroma of alcohol tingling my nose, the soft laughter of a nearby couple caressing my skin. Maybe I’d be laughing too if Collin were here, but he was still at the studio. And as usual, Trent’s order had been nonnegotiable.
Eight o’clock sharp. Wait at the bar. Accept the delivery. Don’t ask questions.
Typical shady bullshit. What would it be this time? A nondescript envelope? A flash-drive? A whispered message of cryptic nonsense?
Sometimes I thought he contrived this crap just to test me, to see how I would maneuver assignments shrouded in I-could-tell-you-but-I’d-have-to-kill-you, like some perverse rite of passage. Other times, these tasks seemed a little too authentic to discredit, like the tiny hairs raising on my arms.
What if I was unwittingly meeting with mobsters? Aiding in felonies? I didn’t know the nature of Trent’s dealings.
Buy hey, in a couple weeks, I would be CEO. Which meant I could fire the board, clean up the company, and never ever participate in shady shit again. I filled my lungs with a deep inhale.
Until then, I didn’t have a choice. Follow his directive or sentence Collin to prison.
So I sat on the last stool at the L-shaped bar and made the best of it. God knew I’d needed to let my hair down. Literally. It hung in thick waves around me, warming my back and tickling my elbows. The rest of my senses tuned in to the retro-festive surroundings.
I loved The Watch the first time I came here with Collin. Loved it now. The live jazz, the waitresses in fishnet stockings, the pre-prohibition furniture, the energy, the eccentrics it attracted. This nightclub was straight-up sexy.
A low snap sounded from the stage across the open room. Click. Click. Click. Steady, patient, the snapping fingers set the beat.
The murmurs waned. Heads turned. Bodies leaned. The foot of the older man beside me tapped in time. Then the saxophone joined in, breathing each note with a heavy soul. Slowly, the crowd angled toward the stage, listening, swaying, losing themselves.
I felt it, too. Deep, rich, and devastatingly bold. Like the eyes of the man at the other end of the bar. He was just a silhouette in my periphery, but I didn’t need to look. His gaze was palpable, tracing my face and burning my cheeks, demanding I answer his silent query.