Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Lincoln straightens, pulling me slightly behind him. “Your boss?”
The man nods politely. “Devereaux Huxley. He’s upstairs.” He gestures to the marble staircase in the center of the club, which is roped off at the base. “He noticed you asking questions about Morris Rolfe.”
My stomach flips. So we’ve been watched this entire time. I slip my hand into Lincoln’s, grounding myself. “When does he want to see us?” I ask, trying to sound calm and unruffled.
The stranger steps back, indicating the staircase. “Right now, if you please.”
Lincoln and I exchange a look. This could be exactly what we need—or a trap. He squeezes my hand reassuringly, and I nod, following the man off the dance floor. My thoughts swirl: If Devereaux wants to see us, that means we’re getting closer to Rolfe… but at what cost?
We weave through the crowd, past the bar area, until we reach the white marble steps. Up close, they’re even more impressive, the polished surface reflecting the club’s swirling lights. Two more guards step aside to let us pass, and we ascend toward an ornate landing.
Each footstep sends a thrill of anticipation through me. My lips still tingle from how close Lincoln and I were on the dance floor. I can’t focus on that now, though—this is the real deal. Devereaux is the owner, the man rumored to have shady connections, the man who was once suspected of being a serial killer, and he apparently knows about our interest in Rolfe.
Reaching the top, we find ourselves in a lavish corridor lined with plush carpeting and framed artwork that looks suspiciously like it belongs in a museum. The man in the charcoal suit leads us to a set of double doors, knocks once, then opens them. Inside is a private office, decked out in even more luxurious fashion than the main club below. Velvet sofas, low tables, an expensive chandelier shaped like swirling vines of glass.
A figure stands by the window, back turned, one hand resting on the windowpane that looks more ornamental than functional. He’s tall, wearing a crisp black suit. As we enter, he turns, a slow smile curving across his lips. His eyes move from Lincoln to me, and I feel pinned in place by the sheer weight of his attention.
“Welcome,” he says, voice a warm baritone that somehow conveys a subtle warning. “I’m Devereaux.”
Lincoln inclines his head. “I’m Lincoln Zane, and this is Isabel. We appreciate the invitation.”
Devereaux’s gaze lingers on me for a moment. “I couldn’t help but notice you two downstairs, asking about someone… special.”
“Morris Rolfe,” I say, stepping forward. My voice comes out more confident than I feel. “We heard he hosts parties here.”
Devereaux chuckles. “Indeed he does. And you want to attend, I assume?”
A spike of hope mingles with anxiety. “Yes,” Lincoln answers for us both. “We were told it’s invite-only.”
Devereaux nods, strolling to one of the velvet sofas and sitting gracefully. He gestures for us to join him. “I like to keep certain gatherings… exclusive. Rolfe is a valuable member. He has his own circle of friends and acquaintances.” Then Devereaux stares at me, almost like he’s studying me. “You look very familiar. What’s your last name?”
I blink, wondering if I should let him know I’m Dean’s sister. I know Dean knows him. It would be so simple to tell him of our connection and secure an invite instantly. However, I don’t want to clue Dean in on what we’re doing here.
He wouldn’t understand. At all. Overprotective brother vibe and all that.
I quickly shift, looking him directly in the eyes. “Zane.”
We move to the sofa across from him, my thigh brushing Lincoln’s as we settle. I notice the tension in Lincoln’s shoulders, the way he’s prepared to move at any second if things turn south.
“So,” Devereaux says, “I asked you up here because I take this club’s privacy seriously. A while back we had a rough time at people getting in and murdering my staff. I have many walks of life that are members here, and when a new couple comes in asking a lot of questions it makes me curious. I see my wife vouched for you. How do you know her?”
I swallow. Hard. “Through a friend of a friend. I don’t personally know your wife, but am good friends with somebody on the force.”
Devereaux smiles, but it never reaches his eyes. “Ah, I see. You both seem like a nice couple, but I’m not sure if Morris Rolfe’s parties are your type of pleasure.”
Lincoln clears his throat. “We’re exploring.”
Devereaux nods. “Right. So, Morris Rolfe is a good way to explore?”
My mind races. I recall the text message about a password: Angelus. But is it enough? “We want to do business with him,” I say carefully. “Word around town is he’s… resourceful.”
Devereaux’s lips twitch. “Resourceful indeed. And what sort of business would that be?”