“What’s with the one-on-one meeting?” Nate asks, his gaze idling between Dante and me as he enters the office, Ryder hot on his tail, followed by Jackson, Rookie, and Koby. “Getting a head start?”
“You could say that,” Dante admits, settling behind his desk from where he always commands the meetings.
“Before we get into the briefing…” Jackson takes a seat opposite mine, jutting his chin at me, blissfully unaware the shit’s about to hit the fan, “…is Hailey still a priority?”
“Have we found her?” Dante asks, his eyebrow arching in silent challenge.
“No, but—”
“That should answer your question. Hailey’s a priority until otherwise ordered.”
“Just checking,” Jackson mutters. My head’s only half in the conversation. The other half is preparing a list of names.
Who, other than Hailey, could be dead? Whose murder am I being charged with?
It can’t be my girl. She’s alive. I don’t know how I know, but I do. Maybe because my heart’s still beating, which I bet wouldn’t be the case if hers weren’t. Or maybe it’s my naivety and hope clinging to the idea.
Dante always says hope dies last but… he also says it’s the mother of fools.
My eyes dart to the screens every few seconds, waiting for Jeremy. He doesn’t keep me waiting long. Before anyone can start their briefing, the show begins.
“Boss?” Nate says, glaring at the wall of monitors. “We have a problem here.” He motions toward the flatscreen showing live feed from the main entrance where five uniformed officers stand outside, arguing with Tony—the bouncer my cigarette narrowly missed.
Cops are always raiding Delta. They’re called in by partygoers spooked by seeing the lines of cocaine on silver trays, or the small bags brimming with colorful pills that waitresses sell alongside shots and drinks. Some call over a brawl, others when they’re denied entry. It’s the same story at Bravo.
Normally, those raids are resolved with the cops spending an hour or so in Dante’s or my office, sipping top-shelf Bourbon and smoking finest Cuban cigars. That’s why they eagerly assemble in fucking legions whenever they get a call about our clubs.
Chicago’s finest dance to whatever tune Dante plays, so at first glance the police uniforms crowding the main entrance aren’t an issue. Nate could easily think this raid is irrelevant if not for one little detail.
He’s a perceptive guy. Everyone in this room is. It’s part of the fucking job. They all notice said little detail and it instantly becomes the main cause of concern lining everyone’s foreheads.
It’s not Chicago’s finest requesting access tonight. Other than Jeremy’s familiar face, the other four aren’t from around here… and that makes this raid unlike any other.
Jeremy stands back while the man I expected to see makes the blood in my veins flow faster. Vaughn’s front and center flashing his shiny badge and a sheet of paper in Tony’s face.
The arrest warrant for sure.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Ryder mutters, watching Vaughn grow red in the face the longer Tony keeps him from crossing the threshold. “He’s out of his jurisdiction.”
“I assume that’s why Jeremy’s with him,” Nate says. “He has a warrant.” He pokes at the paper in Vaughn’s hand on the screen. “At least I think that’s a warrant.”
It sure is.
Tony finally caves, unhooking the red rope that keeps the line of partygoers at bay. He pulls it back, stepping aside, and lets five police officers enter the club.
“Boss,” his voice fills the office, coming from a speaker on Dante’s desk. “Cops. They’re here for Carter.”
Koby’s focused gaze cuts to me across the office. “You need to get out.”
I smirk internally. It’s good to know my men are all on the same page. Running would be a wise choice given what the warrant represents, but I’m not moving. The spring in Vaughn’s step and unwavering determination painting his face tell me Hailey’s alive.
Every bunched muscle in my body unwinds, the tension hissing out so fast my shoulders slump. I’m so relieved not even the fact Vaughn undeniably connected the dots and knows my identity can rattle me.
He linked Nash Wright and Carter Beckett, and then—I’m sure—tied me to Carter Willard. He must know I spent two months with his daughter at Lakeside. And if he knows, it means Hailey painted a vivid picture of her time there, including her flashbacks, putting me on Vaughn’s radar.
He has her.
“Carter,” Koby urges, holding the office door open. “Come on, we need to move.”
“And fast,” Nate adds, still focused on the screens, eyes trailing the cops’ route through the crowd. “You have maybe three minutes. Move.”
I lift the glass to my lips, savoring how the amber liquid warms me up from the inside.
Now I’ve seen Vaughn’s determination and lack of agonizing grief, I could leave, but… he’s my only chance at finding out where my girl is. I want her back. If I play my cards right, he’ll tell me where he’s hiding her.
That’s an opportunity I can’t pass.
“Close the door, Koby,” I order.
“Carter,” Broadway warns, jumping on the bandwagon, his tone pleading. “Don’t do this. Vaughn’s not under Dante’s influence. If he has solid evidence no one will get you out.”
“Do not underestimate Michael Foley,” Dante clips.
“It’s been seven days,” I tell my men. “Vaughn’s here because he figured out who I am. And that means Hailey told him. He knows where she is.”
“Close the door.” Dante flicks his wrist at Koby.
“You’re fucking crazy, Carter,” he snaps, letting the door bang. “If he has anything solid, you’ll end up doing time.”
“Let me worry about that.”
I’m not doing time. Even if Foley can’t brush this shit under the carpet, my father most certainly can. Rhett thinks I’m on his side and he’s as desperate to find Hailey as I am.
Even if for entirely different reasons.
Broadway pinches his nose, still not on board. Good job he’s smart. He knows when to back down. He knows he can’t sway me if Dante and I are on the same page.
With an exasperated huff, he takes a stance behind me, both hands gripping the back of my chair as we watch the cops climb to the VIP area.
Dante clicks a button on his comms system. “Let them through,” he tells the bouncer guarding the back office.
We never used to have a bouncer there but after Dante had a few interruptions while alone here with his wife and—more importantly—after the shooting a few years back, we tightened the security.
“Yes, Boss,” comes Bruno’s reply.
On the screen we see him open the door, inviting Vaughn, Jeremy, and three rookies inside. A second later, their footsteps echo down the corridor.
“Fuck… Carter, this is bad,” Ryder grits out in the corner of the room where he leans against the wall, eyes cast downward, the bright light of his phone screen illuminating his tired face. “I know why they’re here. I just found—”
He doesn’t finish.
The office door bursts open, slamming against the wall like a clap of thunder but startling absolutely no one.
So much for a grand, intimidating entrance.
Vaughn leads the charge, his bulky frame filling the doorframe as he stalks in and I see him. Face to face, in the soft glow of LEDs, I see… and I don’t like it.
He looks like death itself. Dark bruises under his eyes hint that he hasn’t slept in days. His skin is ashen, hair thinning and completely gray, the wrinkles around his eyes so deep he looks fifteen years older than he is.
My insides tie into elaborate knots so fast I feel fucking sick. He doesn’t look composed. He doesn’t look calm, smug, or confident. He looks destroyed; my belief that Hailey’s alive shatters like fine china.
The atmosphere thickens, a volatile mix of hostility and unspoken threats. Vaughn’s gun shakes in his hand until he gets a better grip, pointing it directly at my head, the wrath in his blue eyes making me pause.
Those eyes… they’re so much like Hailey’s it’s uncanny. My heart squeezes while all those times I stared into her gorgeous blues flash at the forefront of my mind.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Dante says, still sitting at his desk. He may look relaxed, but the tension winding his shoulders betrays the fact that, no matter what Vaughn thinks, he is in charge here. All hell might break loose at any moment if the cops aren’t careful. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Spare me the niceties, Carrow,” Vaughn barks, briefly snapping his eyes from me to the boss. “Though I admit, you got one thing right. This sure is a fucking pleasure.”
Jeremy stops on Vaughn’s left, lips sealed, eyes darting between Vaughn and me. The other cops take strategic spots, covering the exit, their guns drawn and pointed down.
“Carter Willard,” Vaughn denotes, pulling a piece of paper from his jacket pocket.
If not for the fear cinched around my throat, I’d have a hard time suppressing a smile. Joke’s on him, the old fucking fool…
The warrant is fake.
Vaughn doesn’t know as much about me as he should. I might be Rhett’s son, but my legal name is Beckett. Even if Vaughn came up with decent, plausible charges, he’s used the wrong surname, rendering the warrant useless.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Officer Jonathan Matthews,” he adds, smugness creeping into his voice.
He doesn’t faze me. Neither does the gun aimed between my eyes… but the fact Matthews is dead does.
My head whips toward Ryder who’s staring at me with wide eyes. He was trying to tell me something before Vaughn barged in, cutting him off.
“You were saying?”
“You have the right to remain sile—”
“Use it against me in court,” I snap, shutting Vaughn up, then pivot back to Ryder. “You. Were. Saying?”
“They fished Matthews’ car out of a lake in Ohio a few hours ago.”
If I’m being accused of murdering the fucker, I guess his body was in it. Dread fills my veins when Ryder still hasn’t blinked. My heart drums erratically in my chest, an off-key counterpoint to my ringing ears.
Given the state of Vaughn, the crazy in his eyes, the fact Hailey disappeared with Matthews…
A boulder settles in the pit of my stomach, my hold tightening around the glass bit by bit until it explodes, sending crystal shards all over the polished wooden floor. Blood drips down my fingers, but I don’t register the pain. It’s no match for the disorder dominating my mind.
Facts. I need facts.
“How many?” I ask, pushing the words past clenched teeth.
The atmosphere changes so fast it’s as if an arctic blast breached the walls, chilling the room to an unbearable temperature. I don’t have to spell it out for Ryder or anyone else.
They know exactly what I’m asking.
Everyone shifts. It doesn’t alarm the cops but I recognize the gesture I see on Nate with the corner of my eye. He’s gaining a better footing, angling his body so it’s easier to grab his gun at a moment’s notice. He knows that if two leaves Ryder’s lips I’ll fucking lose it.
“Ryder,” I seethe, my blood running cold the longer he stalls. “How many bodies?”
“Two…”
The word hits me like a bullet between the eyes. Everything he says afterwards is a low, incomprehensible buzz. Two sounds fucking abstract. Unbelievable but my mind grabs the idea, and the breath is knocked from my lungs. They constrict around my spine, deflated and useless like punctured balloons.
My entire world crumbles. Anarchy takes the spotlight. With a brutal flip of a switch inside my head, I’m up on my feet before my brain registers it. The cold metal of my gun weighs heavy in my hand, index finger twitching against the trigger. Blood surges through my ears to mute the world.
Everyone’s moving, shouting…
Guns gleam in the dimmed lights, trained on me. I’m shaking. Physically fucking shaking down to my core, and my heart thumps like a countdown, every beat resonating inside my breaking mind.
There’s no slow-motion feel to this. The chaos is in full swing. Inside me, around me, fucking everywhere.
I blink, and my arms are wrenched back. Broadway’s right there, obscuring my line of sight.
He grips my head, gouging his fingers into my scalp hard enough I feel the sting above the agony spearing through me. He’s so close his forehead almost drops to mine.
Two comes back like a recoil, and the image of Hailey’s lifeless body seizes every muscle in my body.
Broadway’s talking, but his words oscillate into a monotone hum. I thrash, trying to shove him away, but someone’s clamping my arms and Broadway’s using his body to keep me in place.
Struggling against whoever’s behind me, I realize my gun’s no longer in my hand… and I fight that much harder.
Until I’m slapped across my face with such force that my head swings left.
“Carter!” Broadway booms, spit flying past his lips. “Fuck! Snap out of it!” he booms again. “She’s okay, she’s alive. It’s not Hailey. Stop fucking fighting!”
Not Hailey.
She’s alive.
She’s okay.
Those three short sentences breathe life back into my system. I focus on Broadway. On the frenzy in his eyes searching mine. He’s still in my face, too close for comfort, still gripping the back of my head.
“It’s not Hailey,” he denotes. “You hear me?”
I nod once, taking a deep centering breath. Hailey’s alive. It’s not her body.
“Who?” I grit out, a raw throb in my teeth from clenching my jaw. “Who was with Matthews?”
“His daughter,” Vaughn says as Broadway steps aside, offering me a shred of breathing room. “She’s the second body.”
“The coroner estimates they’ve been dead about a week,” Ryder adds, loosening his grip on my back.
I glare at him over my shoulder. “You should’ve fucking led with that.”
“I did but you didn’t listen.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Hailey’s not with Vaughn.
She never got home.
She never reached the hiding place.
Unless… unless Matthews got killed on his way back from dropping her off. Maybe it was just a car accident. Maybe she’s fine and Vaughn’s trying to fabricate a murder to pin on me so I can’t get my hands on Hailey ever again.
My attention focuses on Vaughn’s narrowed eyes studying my reaction. “You and I need to talk.”
His index finger trembles on the trigger of his gun, barrel aimed at my head. “I should fucking kill you right now.”
It takes a long symphony of heartbeats before he weighs the consequences and redirects his aim at my shoulder, to merely wound me if I make one false move. He angles his head toward the cop on his left.
“Cuff him.”
Cracking my knuckles, I hold my hands out. “Get on with it. We’re wasting time.”
