By the time we emerged from the kitchen, two of the three girls were there, standing as far away from the kitchen door as possible without it looking too weird. One server wiped down a table that hadn’t been used, while the hostess flipped through a stack of menus until she ran out. I caught her glancing at us out of the corner of her eye, then she started counting them again.
Suspiciously missing was the server Erin had briefly flirted with before I hauled her off to mate with her like a caveman. What wasn’t missing was a scrap of paper with ten digits scrawled across it with a single name underneath—Abby.
Erin, who would have been on a walk of shame if she had been anyone else, grinned triumphantly around the room as she slapped her hand on the counter and slid the credit card and note off of it. She turned and handed me my card, waving the phone number like a prize.
“Congratulations,” I said.
“I should be congratulating you,” she replied. “She seemed way more interested in you than me.”
I wrapped my arms around her tiny waist and pulled her close. Her eyeliner was smudged from earlier tears and our adventures in the kitchen. Same with her lipstick, making her look like one of those messy, goth-themed pin-up girls.
“Erin, there’s no way in hell she would have given her phone number if she wasn’t interested in you. You would have scared her off.”
The silver-haired temptress grinned up at me, her chin resting on my chest. “I caught her eye-fucking you like… five times.”
I spun her around in my arms and pulled her against me, her back pressed against my chest.
“Hey!” I called out to the two remaining girls. “Is Abby interested in her at all?”
They blinked at me, then looked at each other, completely out of their depth.
“You don’t have to answer him, girls!” Erin giggled and playfully elbowed me in the ribs. “I’ll ask her myself!”
The hostess seemed relieved.
Then she looked up at me. “If she says no, I’ll just have to convince her otherwise…”
I chuckled, spun Erin around, and gave her one last kiss before I let my arm slip from her waist.
Giving the girls a nod of thanks, we left, grinning at each other like two highschool kids who’d just lost their virginity as we strode out of the cafe hand-in-hand. The shoppers milling about had no idea that the two of us had violated at least a dozen health codes in that kitchen.
“Think their feelings were hurt that we didn’t ask for their numbers?” I asked.
Erin shrugged. “I hope not. They’re cute enough, but they didn’t stand a chance with Abby there. Hopefully they’re mature enough to know that we just have a type, and they’re not it.”
“The hostess was pretty cute,” I said, reminiscing over her girl-next-door look framed by short, dark hair.
Erin grinned as she looked up at me. “Noted. At least I know where to find her.”
“When are you gonna call Abby?”
“As soon as I head back to my room and get cleaned up. We’re meeting in the study in forty minutes?”
“Yep,” I said as we reached the elevators.
We stepped in, and I swiped my access card. While we ascended, Erin leaned into me—her back against my chest, my arms looped around her waist as we stared at Abby’s number.
“I can’t believe she was watching us,” I said, brushing my lips against the crown of her head.
She looked up at me, all smiles, “She was watching you.”
“Why do you look so happy about that?”
“Because nothing turns me on more than getting a reluctant straight to dabble in the waters of bisexuality.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I murmured against her forehead.
“You’ll be singing a different tune after Tara,” she said, her voice laced with amusement.
And then she closed her eyes and let me kiss her forehead, again and again, until the elevator hummed to a stop.
With final, lingering looks as interlaced fingers slipped from each other, Erin and I went our separate ways. She claimed she needed a shower, while I, who had already taken one, decided to check on my bedroom to see if anyone was still there.
It was much emptier than I’d left it—no tied-up redhead, no stunning milf lawyer-dominatrix… no submissive kitten curled up next to the empty spot I’d vacated.
Just a made bed.
In fact, nothing of last night’s festivities had survived. The room smelled clean, and there were no clothes or sex toys scattered across the floor. Even the sheets on the bed looked fresh.
The only evidence that anything had happened was locked away in my mind: Bobbi, strap-on tight to her hips, driving into Jess. The maid’s red hair twisted into a single rope, clenched in Bobbi’s small but capable hand.
I’d just come inside my assistant in a restaurant, and still, I twitched at the thought of my broken little submissive railing my ex like she owned her.
“Goddamn,” I muttered to myself. “Don’t you ever get enough?”
My phone started buzzing in my pocket, and I pulled it out. I didn’t recognize the number, but something told me I should answer it anyway.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Upton?”
“Speaking.”
“It’s Detective Reynolds.”
“Oh.” I turned away from my bed and slowly walked toward the door. Hearing that name left a pit in my stomach. “Hey, Detective.”
“I’m in your neighborhood,” he said. “Wondered if you had a few minutes to talk.”
I hesitated before saying, “Yeah. I’ve got a few.”
“Not on the phone,” he said, his tone annoyingly cool. “In person.”
“I have a meeting soon,” I said.
“Cancel it.”
“Can’t. I can meet with you after, if it’s that important.”
“It’s important.”
“Then after the meeting?”
“What time would that be? I’m busy later.”
“Then make an appointment,” I said. “I already gave you an afternoon. I’m not giving you another.”
He sighed. “What time?”
“Two thirty work for you?” I asked.
“I’ll make it work. Talk soon.”
I snorted and punched the ‘end call’ button like it personally offended me.
I’d really hoped Reynolds would just go away.
*****
Friday, October 10th, 1:00 pm
“Hey, gang!” I said, stepping into my study. “We may have a bit of a problem.”
My inner circle was already assembled, looking like a collection of sexy specialists ready to rob a casino.
Helen stood by the window, turning away from it as I made my entrance. She wore a white sleeveless vest with mother-of-pearl buttons and black slacks. Her hair hung in soft waves, looking as if she’d done just enough to it to keep from looking completely unkempt. Her makeup was minimal, subtly enhancing her stunning good looks. Arms loosely crossed, she looked like I’d caught her in the middle of a deep thought.
Emiko stood next to my desk, dressed exactly the same way she’d been when I saw her earlier in her cheongsam-style dress… severe hair style and all. Her smile slowly faded at the mention of a problem.
Charity sat on the corner of my desk opposite Emiko, legs crossed at the ankles and gently swinging back and forth as she scrolled through her phone. Her eyeliner was heavy today, but her lips were touched up with a bit of gloss, giving them a subtle bubblegum pink hue. Her leggings were artfully torn to flash thigh, and her oversized shirt draped off one shoulder as if she’d just rolled out of bed and into a nice brunch. She’d mastered casual fashion.
Erin sat in my chair, mid-conversation with Emiko before I entered. She looked pristine and untouched compared to how I’d left her… as if we hadn’t just fucked in the back of a cafe less than an hour ago. She’d traded the fashionable dress for a simple blouse and a skirt that ended just past the knees—casual but professional.
The way she looked at me, though?
That was anything but professional.
There was heat behind those eyes… the kind that made my blood boil and freeze at the same time.
God, I had it bad for that girl.
“Problem?” Psalter asked, turning to look at me.
He sat in one of the two guest chairs, across the desk from Erin, twirling his hat idly in one hand. Vikram sat in the other chair, eyes locked on me warily.
“Yeah,” I said, shutting the door behind me. “Problem.”
As I crossed the room, Erin started to get out of my chair, but I raised a hand, motioning for her to stay seated.
“Reynolds called. He wants to talk.”
“Ugh,” came a familiar grunt.
I didn’t bother looking behind me. I could see the image in my head—Chloe leaning against the wall near the entrance, arms crossed as she watched the entire room like any one of the people in here would attack me.
“What does he want?” Helen asked, retreating from the window, concern etched in every line of her face.
“I don’t know. He wants to meet in person. He said he’d be here in an hour and a half.”
“Why didn’t he call me?” Helen asked. “How did he get your number?”
“I don’t know why… or how.”
“It happens,” Charity said. “Leaks… hacks… bought information. A lot of famous people frequently change their numbers.”
It was my turn to groan.
“I’ll deal with it,” Erin said, already making a note on her mental to-do list.
“And I’ll deal with Reynolds,” Helen added, pulling out her phone.
“Don’t run him off,” I said.
That gave her pause, and she looked up at me, an unasked question in her eyes.
“I want to know what he’s thinking,” I said. “See if I’m about to get arrested, or if someone else is on his radar.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something I don’t know?”
I hesitated before saying, “I talked to Roger yesterday.”
Helen's expression turned to stone. “Ah. What did he say?”
It was my turn to study her. I’d told her about Roger yesterday, and she seemed to shut down a little. While I could understand her need to take time to process the fact that her husband was in the same building, I couldn’t help but wonder if she needed to talk about it. Still, I didn’t want to press the issue—especially in a room full of other people.
“He said a lot,” I confessed. “Some of it we can talk about later, but Helen… Ashlee might have planted the vial Reynolds found when she showed up here.”
“During the party?” Helen asked.
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “The one in August.”
The air around her shifted a little, becoming less tense as she exhaled.
“Roger told me that she went to Tyler after she left Vegas,” I continued.
“I remember us taking her home,” Helen said softly. “She looked awful that day.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
Helen shook her head. “Nothing that made sense. She mostly screamed at her father… said he’d ruined everything. There was more, but not much that made sense.”
“And you didn’t know that she was involved with Tyler?”
“I knew she was spending time with someone bad for her, but we wrote each other off years ago. Roger never told me much after that night, and I never saw Ashlee again after she left. I asked after her once, but he just told me he was handling it.”
“Okay,” I said, still eyeing her.
I had to will myself not to fall into suspicion. She’d proven herself several times. She’d saved my life, for fuck’s sake.
“Well,” I said, moving on, “as far as I can tell, she might have come here to plant something in my house, and the only time we left her alone was in Erin’s office, so she might have used that as her opportunity.”
“Chloe,” I said, turning to look at my bodyguard. “I want someone making absolutely sure we have a list of every possible person going in and out of Erin’s office. I want to be as sure as possible that it’s Ashlee. It almost feels like I’m grasping at straws, but unless anyone here has a better idea…”
“Chloe nodded.
“You’re right,” Helen said. “It’s not much to go on, but I recommend we tell Reynolds… show him some good faith.”
“If you think that’ll help, but I’m not sure how seriously he’ll take it without any proof. I get the impression that he really has it out for me.”
I scanned the room, weighing trust as I considered my other Reynolds question. The darker one.
Almost everyone here had a stake in the VistaVision fraud and would share my fate if it came crashing down. If that didn’t earn them my trust, nothing would.
Even Emiko. She hadn’t touched the deal, but she knew I was holding two men hostage. If I went down, so would she, and even if that only meant deportation, that would take her back to Japan… where the Tanakas held the most influence.
Still, I held back.
There was no point dragging anyone deeper than they already were—especially into something that had the potential to cross some serious lines.
I moved on for the moment.
I looked at Erin and Helen. “Where are we on VistaVision?”
“Good to go, boss,” Erin said, giving me a thumbs-up. “We have a deal.”
I was floored. “What?”
“A contingency deal,” Helen clarified. Hiro Tanaka’s lawyers have drafted an agreement—as long as all the criteria listed are met, they commit to buying the shares you’re selling at the agreed-upon price.”
“What are the criteria?”
“The ones we’ve already discussed,” she said. “If they don’t spot any red flags, they’ll move forward. Don’t celebrate yet, though. We’re not ready to sell, and we’ve already had two close calls. There’s still a decent chance they catch on.”
“It’s a good sign, though, right?”
Helen allowed herself a faint smile. “Probably.”
I punched the air. I’d take whatever win I could get.
“What about Astrid? Has she shown any sign of interfering?”
“She hasn’t met with Hiro or the daughter in person,” Psalter said.
“And I haven’t seen anything to indicate that Miss Håkansson’s involvement,” Vikram added.
A tiny spark of cautious optimism in Astrid bloomed deep within. “You really think she’s stayed out of it?”
“I think that’s why she’s inviting you to this party,” Helen said. “She’s probably going to try to convince you not to sell to the Tanakas.”
“I think Astrid’s coming to New York might be doing her more harm than good,” Erin chimed in. “Even if she hasn’t approached the Tanakas, they know she’s here. Hiro knows that Ryo tried to kill her, and I think they’re afraid that Astrid might convince you to change your mind about selling to them.”
“Really?”
Really,” Erin said. Helen nodded in agreement.
Regardless of how I felt about Astrid, if she helped me close this deal, even accidentally, I’d take it. I would almost consider her a welcome presence.
“What about Amber?”
“She approached Tanaka a few days ago, but we don’t know what was said,” Erin reported.
“Could it mean they’re working together? Some kind of deal?”
“It could mean anything,” Helen said.
I mulled over the possibilities. Part of me hoped they were working together so the proverbial bomb would go off in both their faces. However, that would dilute the effect, and I wanted Hiro to take the full impact. As much as I wanted to ruin Amber’s life, I hated him more.
“Okay… just keep an eye on her and let me know if anything changes.”
I turned my attention to Charity. “How’s the image rehab going?”
She looked up from her phone. “Well, we couldn’t have timed it better with the Homeless Vets Initiative. We’ve already delivered the initial twenty percent, and the proof of concept’s looking strong.”
“What city did they choose for the test?” I asked.
“Pittsburgh—smaller concentration of displaced vets with a decent infrastructure in place. It’ll cost less, so they can be more aggressive. They’re hoping that they can build a good case study to bring to other investors… plus use it to help sell others on the idea that you aren’t a bad guy.”
I suddenly found it hard to swallow. “That’s… nice of them.”
“They’re really grateful,” Charity said, offering me a soft smile.
I nodded and took a moment to get myself under control.
Charity continued, “The visits to some of the companies hit hardest by the economic upheaval have done more good than you’d think. It makes you look like you actually care. You’re doing well in front of the camera. You look like you have a cool head next to all these sweaty CEOs. Some are saying it’s because you’re not feeling the hit your people are taking, but those voices are largely being drowned out.”
I’d been to a handful of high-profile locations, but it had been like pulling teeth every time—facing all of those people whose jobs had either been lost or were in serious jeopardy didn’t feel good.
“Thanks for teaching me how to fake the confidence,” I said. “I’ve come close to throwing up every time.”
“Well, it’s made a huge difference, and it’s a good first step,” she said.
I hesitated. “What do you mean, ‘first step?’”
“You need to do a sit-down with a serious journalist,” Charity said. “A pre-vetted, one-on-one profile. Get your story out while letting them ask a few tough questions.”
“Hell no,” I said.
“Boss, it’s a really good idea,” Erin added.
I didn’t miss the appreciative look Charity shot her.
“Can I be shoved in a burlap bag and beaten on national TV?” I asked. “I might prefer that.”
Charity shook her head.
I swore. “Who would we get to do it? Julia?”
“I wish,” she said. “She’s a big name, but we need bigger.”
“Do you think anyone that big would be interested?”
Charity balked. Erin snorted.
“Are you kidding?” My PR girl said. “We get hundreds of requests to interview you. From some very big names.”
“There’s Morgan Grey,” Erin said.
“Yeah,” Charity said, “but a podcast like that runs long. We’d lose control over the edit. A real interview with a legit outlet gives us tighter runtime and more say.”
“What if I did the one where they eat the hot wings?” I asked. “At least then I have a good reason to sweat.”
I thought it was a decent joke. Charity and Erin didn’t even look at me… they were too busy tossing names back and forth. At least Vikram cracked a smile.
“Fine,” I said. “You get me the right interviewer and the right questions, and I’ll do it. What about Karly?”
“Karly’s *********** is coming along. She’s looking at directors but wants your sign-off before locking one in. She also wants you to approve the final draft. We’re already looking at marketing strategies. Using the sympathy angle—”
“No,” I said.
Charity blinked.
“If Hiro realizes that the bad guy is coded after him, he’ll kill the deal. No marketing until the VistaVision deal is done. I mean completely done.”
“I guess I can see where you’re coming from…”
“I’ll do whatever interviews you want, Charity. I’ll sit up and bark if it helps, but I won’t risk the deal.”
“You’ll do anything?”
“Within reason, yeah. Find the interviewer, set it up, and get me those questions. I’ll look them over.”
“I’m on it!”
“Good. Now, if you guys wouldn’t mind, could you give me the room? I need to talk to Psalter.”
Charity slid off the desk without protest, already on her phone as she walked out. Vikram and Emiko followed, the latter giving me a look I couldn’t quite read.
Erin lingered.
I met her eyes, flicked my gaze toward the door.
She caught the cue, rose from the chair, and circled the desk. As she passed, the back of her hand brushed mine. A touch—nothing more.
But it had said so much.
Helen started to move, but I touched her on the arm, my voice low as I said, “I need you here.”
She nodded, and we waited as Emiko closed the door behind her, leaving the three of us in the room.
Chloe hadn’t moved from her perch, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. My request to have the study slid off her like water off a duck.
“Henry? Helen? Can we… buy Reynolds? Is that a real thing?”
“Oh yes,” Psalter said. “It’s very real. Capone. The Harlem drug kingpin, Frank Lucas. The Winter Hill street gang in Boston… all cases of police bribery and corruption.”
He peered at me from over the rims of his glasses, “But I’m afraid it won’t be that easy with Detective Reynolds.”
“You’ve already looked into it?”
“It’s part of what you pay me for,” Psalter said. “Detective Reynolds is a third-generation cop. He went straight into the force after high school.”
He tilted his head. “He’s a crusader. Cut him, and he bleeds blue.”
“If he even suspects a bribe, you’ll have a real problem,” Helen warned.
“Dammit,” I muttered.
“Of course, there are other ways,” Psalter said.
“There was a man I knew in Phoenix—Martin Finch. Dealt in stolen art. He got a little ambitious and caught the attention of a very persistent detective. Darrow, I think his name was. No family, but a cocker spaniel he absolutely loved.”
Psalter’s eyes glittered faintly. “Marty sent a man to steal the dog. Then mailed a Polaroid once a week… just to remind him who had it.”
“It worked, for a time,” Psalter went on. “Until the dog ate an entire chocolate bar and died. Martin tried to replace the dog, but Darrow knew. Finch got as close to a maximum sentence as possible, and the detective was able to bury his beloved spaniel.”
“You’re suggesting that I kidnap Reynolds’ dog?”
“Absolutely not!” Henry said. “Besides, the good detective doesn’t have a dog. He is, however, a divorcee who pays child support.”
My stomach twisted, and I suddenly felt cold.
“There are other options as well,” Psalter said.
I locked eyes with Henry, who had suddenly lost the need to blink. There was no remorse behind that lizard gaze.
The implication behind those words…
God, he’d done this sort of thing before.
I glanced at Chloe, who looked completely unaffected.
These two were a different breed.
“No,” I finally said. “I’m not killing a cop because he’s too clean to take a bribe… and I’m sure as hell not kidnapping his kids either. That’s some villain shit.”
I had my own collection of sins, but there were just still some lines I wouldn’t cross.
“Fair enough,” Psalter said, seemingly unfazed by me calling his suggestions villainous. “There are plenty of other places where his investigation can fail. Just say the word.”
I started pacing around the study, exhaling as I ran my fingers through my hair. “And you’re sure he’s not working for Tanaka?”
“Nothing’s ever completely certain, Macus.”
“As certain as you can be, though?”
“Yes. Reynolds is a Boy Scout.”
“How the hell did he find that vial, then? Was it really just some really dumb luck?”
I glanced at Helen. “Could Ashlee know Tanaka? Could she be working with him?”
“No,” Helen said. “She’s devious in her own way, but she’s not a strategist. Playing multiple sides like that requires a level of foresight that she doesn’t have.”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. I could mull over the puzzle that was Tanaka, Ashlee, and Detective Reynolds all day, but I didn’t think it would get me anywhere. I needed real answers to real problems.
“Alright,” I said. “What else can we do to get rid of this Reynolds problem?”
Henry gave me a few options, each one accompanied by caveats that they might fail. Since buying him off wasn’t an option the easiest and surest way would be to get leverage on him… or make him disappear.
I was willing to accept the risk of failure rather than explore either of those options.
Eventually, I sighed and said, “Let’s hear what he has to say first, I guess. Maybe none of this even matters.”
“It’s my experience that detectives don’t make official house calls without good reason,” Psalter said, doubtfully. “But I hope for your sake that he’s the first.”
“Thanks,” I groused. “In the meantime, there’s something else I want.”
He simply stared at me, waiting for me to continue.
“Ashlee.”
I could almost feel the air tense around Helen.
“I can guess all day at what she was doing in Erin’s office, but it’s better to hear it directly from the source.”
“You want another guest in your house?” Henry asked, referring to Ryo and Roger. He had a good point—each addition to the secure apartments meant more of a threat that light could shine on the fact that I was holding people against their will.
“No,” I said. “I don’t. Do you have other places, like the one where you stashed Roger?”
“I do.”
“Then I want you to take Ashlee the first chance you get and hold her at one of them.”
“Marcus,” Helen said. “I know she probably has answers, but you can’t just keep kidnapping people.”
“Certainly not if you don’t intend to keep them indefinitely… or make other arrangements,” Psalter added.
“If I can’t do it, then who can?” I asked.
Helen looked concerned.
“Look,” I said. “I’m not turning into the bad guy. I’m not signing off on killing a detective… but I need to protect myself. And I can’t do that if I don’t know everything. If that means someone disappears for a while, I can live with that. Especially when that someone’s been making my life hell for months.”
Nobody said a word. They just stared at me like they weren’t listening to me, but watching me walk myself through the moral implications of what I wanted to do.
Hell, maybe that’s what I was doing.
“Do it,” I finally said to Psalter. “Take her. Preferably without Tyler knowing who did it.”
“Consider it done,” Henry said without hesitation.
I nodded.
“Last thing,” I said. “The Wyns.”
“Ah. Nicholas and Aurelia Wyn,” Psalter said, shifting gears seamlessly. “They primarily live in Hot Springs, Arkansas, but love to come to New York regularly for fundraisers. They have a vacation home in Martha’s Vineyard, where they love to host regular gatherings among the elite—a manor with rather sprawling grounds. Rumors suggest their gatherings can get a little wild.”
“Rich people parties. Got it.”
“What do you want with the Wyns?” Helen asked.
“You know about them?” I asked.
“The Bernadine Foundation is one of YVP’s clients. It’s a non-profit that spearheads relief operations worldwide. The Wyns make a fortune off philanthropy.”
“She’s right,” Psalter said. “They’re very involved in aid work across the globe, but there are rumors surrounding the foundation. While there’s never been any proof, some have accused the Bernadine Foundation of trafficking in weapons and humans.”
Helen cut him a sharp look. “I doubt that’s true.”
We both looked at her expectantly.
“While I’m sure they’re not exactly saints, there have never been any actual charges against the foundation. There would have been something—accusations… settlements. There’s nothing but a few rumors.”
She leaned against my desk, her vest shirt tight across the front, drawing attention to her pleasant curves.
“Why the Wyns?” she asked again.
“Astrid wants me to accompany her to a party at their place tonight,” I said. “I told her I’d go.”
“Consider yourself lucky,” Psalter said. “Many of the ultra-wealthy don’t get to attend a Wyn party. It’s rather exclusive.”
“Am I in any sort of danger by going?”
Psalter waved the question away. “They maintain tight security—no weapons allowed. One Texan rancher tried to sneak in a derringer. They were never invited back, and within a year, a third of his clients bought beef from his competitors.”
“Jesus,” I said.
“Yes,” Psalter agreed, “The Wyns value discretion and peace of mind. Their guests indulge freely, but safely.”
“Indulge?” I asked. “As in…”
“Only speculation. Wyn parties are like Fight Club—or Vegas. You don’t talk about them.
“Guests are usually allowed a plus-one,” he said, looking at Helen. “Are you going?”
Helen looked a little taken aback. “I…”
“I didn’t get a choice,” I interjected. “Astrid wants me to bring Natalie.”
“Natalie?” Helen asked. “Why?”
I shrugged. “She said she likes her.
“I can also bring an attendant. I considered Erin, but Chloe insists on going.”
“You want to walk into a viper’s den without someone having your back?” Chloe asked.
“Erin knows how to navigate these scenarios, though,” Helen said, “even better than me. That’s not something to be ignored.”
“Well, we’re going to ignore it,” Chloe said. “I’m going, so pick or choose—Erin or Natalie.”
I turned to regard Chloe, who looked as uncaring and immovable as a boulder as she met my stare.
I weighed my options. If I was going to try and make friends at this thing and expand my influence, taking Erin was the right move. If I was going to ensure my safety, taking Chloe was the right move.
The only question was… which was the smarter choice? Investment or insurance?
*****
Friday, October 10th, 2:20 pm
The elevator doors slid open, and Detective Reynolds stepped out into the mid-afternoon sun. He raised a hand to shield his eyes as he scanned the rooftop and found me standing next to the poolside bar, rolling a tumbler half full of whiskey in my hands. Helen stood next to me, looking relaxed but professional as she kept her gaze locked on the detective.
I watched as Reynolds glanced at the two men standing on either side of the elevator, sunglasses covering their eyes as they stared straight ahead. Then he stepped toward us, glancing over his shoulder again to see if they were following him.
“Detective Reynolds,” Helen said as he approached.
“Miss VanCamp,” Reynolds said.
Now that he was close enough, I noticed that his eyes never really seemed to stay still. They roved up and down Helen’s body, lingering on her bare shoulders… her collar. It wasn’t an act of lust, but of a man who was constantly on the lookout for details.
He glanced at me, my drink, the fact that the pool was still open and still cared-for despite the cooler weather. I could tell that he was good at his job.
“Mr. Upton,” he said. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I know this was short notice.”
I gave him a nod and took a sip of my drink—Helen had once again implored me to let her do the talking.
“What can we do for you, Mr. Reynolds?” Helen asked.
Reynolds’ eyes lingered on me a moment longer before looking back to my lawyer. “I was hoping to have a simple conversation with your employer, Mrs. VanCamp, but I’m guessing this is as good as it’ll get.”
“I’m afraid so, Detective,” Helen said. “If you were meeting for drinks, it would be a different story, but the NYPD has decided to come after my client for something he hasn’t done. This is as good as it’ll get.”
His lips pursed, the only sign of frustration he gave.
“How’s Miss Nanford?” he asked.
“Detective Reynolds,” Helen chided. “I hope you haven’t taken time out of your busy day to go on another goose chase.”
“No ma’am,” Reynolds said. “Just checking up on a troubled young woman to make sure she’s okay.”
“I can call her for you, if you’d like.”
“Yeah… I think I would,” Reynolds said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He glanced out at the New York skyline as if he had all day.
Helen pulled out her phone, sighing. “My client has a full schedule today. If you don’t need to speak to him, can we let him go? I’m sure a wellness check is something you and I can handle without him.”
“While we’re waiting, I do have a few questions, if you don’t mind. I know your time is valuable, Mr. Upton, so I won’t beat around the bush. Can you recall where you were on July ninth between the hours of eight and eleven at night?”
I looked up from my drink and tried to remember what I’d been doing around the beginning of July. It’d been before Jessica’s visit, sure, but…
Why on earth was he asking…
And then I saw something in Helen’s eyes. Something about that date seemed to catch her by surprise.
Helen was visibly rattled… enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if Reynolds had clocked it, too.
“Detective Reynolds,” Helen said. “Why do you want to know what my client was doing when Colin Gerrard Sr. died?”