orld at that moment. When he’d sent that first anonymous e-mail, she’d been an unknown entity. He’d been so obsessed with finding Keith’s killer that the line between right and wrong had all but disappeared. She had been his means to an end. Bile tickled the back of his throat.
As she stood before him, the spring breeze teased her tawny hair away from her face. The truth seemed so obvious. Smart, loyal, and sexy as hell, Sylvie Bissette was beyond what he’d ever expected…or what he deserved. He’d done the wrong thing for the right reason—to bring Keith’s killer to justice.
He hadn’t meant for this to happen.
He hadn’t meant to fall for the High-Heeled Wonder.
The store doors whooshed open and the pink-haired sales clerk hurried out. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I overheard enough to know something’s happening. Take this.” She shoved a brass key into Sylvie’s hand. “It opens a secret door behind Anders’s picture by the shoes. We all know there’s a room back there, but everyone pretends it doesn’t exist. The last girl who asked about it stopped showing up for shifts. The manager said she’d quit. Anders dropped the key when he came in this morning. I don’t think he realizes it’s gone.”
“Why give it to me?”
The girl bit her lip. “I won’t be able to slip you tips for your blog anymore. I got a new job, and after today’s shift I’m walking away from this fucked-up place for good.”
Sylvie stared at the key in her palm. “What’s in the room?”
The girl glanced over her shoulder toward the store. “You’ll have to see for yourself. I’ve already taken enough risks. For what it’s worth,” she added, “I know you didn’t write that horrible stuff yesterday.” She nodded her head and hightailed it inside.
Desperate for something to focus on besides his own failings, Tony swiped the key out of Sylvie’s grasp. “Come on, let’s go discover Anders’s big, bad secret.”
The salesgirl acted as their lookout, guiding Tony and Sylvie from one security camera blind spot to another in the store until they arrived eye-to-oversized-eye with Bloom’s picture. Tony slid his fingers along the frame’s edge until he found the lock. He inserted the key and the mechanism clicked open.
The door swung inward on silent hinges.
A vast, dark expanse stretched before them for at least twenty-five feet. The only relief in the shadowy landscape was a small, dirt-caked window at the far corner letting in a strangled ray of light. One entry. One exit. Everything else remained an unknown entity. His toes itched.
“Hurry up,” the girl urged. “They’ll be down any minute to go to lunch.”
A quiet vibration thrummed in the walls—Anders’s private elevator.
Adrenaline pumping, Tony sneaked into the secret room. Sylvie slipped in after him. The door snapped shut, leaving them in the inky black.
Damn, what he wouldn’t do for his night-vision goggles about now.
“Tell me you have a plan for this that doesn’t involve sitting down to a meal first.”
“Smartass.”
“Yeah, I’m like that when I’m locked in a pitch-dark secret room in the lair of the enemy.”
His eyes adjusting to the dark, he made out a desk, couch, and filing cabinets. “It seems to be some sort of office.”
“Why would he need two offices?”
“Must be where he runs his other business.” Tony fished his phone out of his pocket, activated the flashlight app, and took a step forward. The overhead florescent lights flickered, triggered by some sort of motion sensor, he presumed.
The room had a Spartan setup. A desk and chair on one side of the long, narrow room and a leather couch on the other. A six-drawer filing cabinet stood in the near corner.
Sticking close the wall, he checked the corners and blind spots before venturing farther into the secret office, scouting out the whole space. Adrenaline ebbing, he returned to Sylvie.
“If I say run, get your ass out through that window and call Ryder. If you can’t escape, fight like hell until I can get to you. Remember that old FBI beauty pageant movie? Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin.”
She gave him a well-duh look. “I’m a fashion blogger. I have that movie memorized.” She went to the desk, flipped on the computer, and started rifling through drawers. The computer screen blinked on. She glanced at it and gasped.
“What is it?” he asked, coming over to look.
“It’s an Excel spreadsheet. He’s got people’s names listed in one column with…shit, their kinks in another.” She scrolled down. “Oh, my God.” She dropped into the chair. “There’s another list of names, mostly women, and the column next to it shows ages and… prices?”
Prices? As in—