Chasing Frost

by Isabel Jolie

  “Believe it or not, some very connected folks are members. It’s all about connections in this town.”

  “Was this some sort of BB&E meeting tonight?”

  He rubs his jaw. “No. It’s just a night out. I didn’t know who all would be here. Speaking of, Mitchell didn’t look thrilled to see you. But I wouldn’t worry about it. He was pretty lit. As long as you act normal on Monday, I don’t think there’ll be any issues.”

  “So, it’s kind of a boys’ club at BB&E? Women aren’t allowed in the places where the men like to hang?” There’s obvious disdain in my tone, but it works with my cover. Any woman working in a corporation would be upset to find out about this kind of boys’ club networking. It’s bound to give men in the firm an advantage for getting ahead.

  “What? No.”

  I set my drink down and stare, waiting.

  “Maybe. Maybe it is a bit of a boys’ club. But I didn’t join here for BB&E. I came here for a side hustle first. Mitchell and Bennett coming here…I had no idea.”

  “Do a lot of the men from work come here?”

  “Some.”

  “Why did you have to come here tonight?”

  “Sometimes clients need to remind you they own you.” He tosses back the remainder of his bourbon.

  “And which client owns you?”

  “They all do, Sydney. They all do. Now, you ready to get out of here?”

  Eleven

  Chase

  * * *

  “Sleep tight, beautiful.” That’s the smooth move I pulled last night outside Sydney’s door. Maybe I could have pushed to be invited in, but I think she was reeling from the whole sex club thing and BB&E executives being there. And, to be fair, she shocked the hell out of me by following me. That’s a blaring red flag if I ever saw one. I made sure she got home safely, but I think we both needed some cooling off time.

  That kiss, though. I can’t shake it. The way she moved that tight little body right up against me. How she zeroed in for the kiss. I forgot where we were. Hell, I forgot everything. Lost in her.

  Our chemistry is smoking. But she’s still an enigma. Definitely one to take with caution. On the outside, Sydney’s sexy as fuck, but she’s also rocks a steep wall. The all-work-no-play vibe has never been my thing, but maybe she’s one of those who you have to put in the time, dig a little to figure out what’s underneath. After all, someone centered solely on work wouldn’t follow me to Jersey to see what I’m doing. She can’t be all work.

  The sun is shining, and Post Malone blares through my earbuds. A few sailboats are off in the distance, circling the Statue of Liberty, and the subtle blow of a ferry horn skims the beat of my music. The wind blows in gusts, creating minuscule whitecaps on the river. Overhead, the sky is blue, marred only by a few clouds and the random passenger jet flying in the distance.

  It’s a gorgeous day, and my fellow Manhattanites are out in droves. Running along the Hudson River Greenway might be my favorite New York activity. The running paths go right along the river, so you can choose to watch the boats, check out apartments in the skyrises that line the edge of the city, or people watch. On a normal day, I like to watch joggers in tight Lycra with bouncing breasts. Today, though, my brain’s on a nonstop sexy Sydney loop.

  A motorboat follows a big tanker and jumps the wake. I watch the small boat chasing the big one. The tanker can’t stop on a dime and bears a strong undertow. The move strikes me as unwise. Much like dating a woman who followed me before we’d ever gone out on a date could also be unwise. Maybe I’ll give Anna a call later and get her take.

  I run harder, pounding the pavement, pushing until my lungs burn. Before I know it, I’m dripping sweat and I’ve arrived at my gym.

  “Hola.” Frankie’s sitting behind the counter, but in an instant, he’s grabbing a towel and tossing it to me.

  “Maitlin. How you doin’?”

  “Good. Gorgeous fucking day.”

  “I know it, man. I’m taking my lunch break outside. They’re saying next week temps are gonna drop. Fall, man, it’s coming.” His eyebrows rise as he talks. He’s got the shaved bald look going on, so his bushy eyebrows stand out.

  “Seasons gonna keep changing. See ya, man.” I shoot him with my finger and head down to the weight room. The crisp sound of iron on iron clangs down the hall. It’s one of the best sounds.

  I grab a mat to stretch before hitting my circuit and almost fall on my ass.

  “Sydney?”

  She’s stretching her quads and twisting her torso, but I’d recognize that blunt, dark ponytail anywhere. She’s got a light layer of perspiration along her chest, but she’s not drenched like I am with telltale black sweat marks under her pits or stomach. Shit, I probably reek.

  “Chase. I should’ve known I’d run into you here. Do you ever take a day off?”

  “The gym? No. Use it or lose it.”

  She alternates legs. “But you’re not supposed to lift every single day. That can’t be good for you.”

  “Different muscle groups.”

  “Ah, you’re one of those.” The corners of those pale pink lips turn up. She’s teasing me. Two can play.

  “One of those? What? Men with a six-pack?”

  She looks up to the ceiling while pulling her foot up to her firm buttocks for a deeper quad stretch. Sydney might like to tease about my gym time, but she’s lean and strong. She works it, too.

  At least she’s acting normal. After last night, seeing my other club, it wouldn’t’ve shocked me if she’d been in avoidance mode.

  “Maitlin. What’s up, man?” Tim Rothman calls across the gym, fist in the air. I wave back and scan the weight area to see who else I know. I’ve got a wide range of friends and business associates, and some walk on the skankier side of life. Hence the reason I joined that voyeur club in the first place. It’s like a strip club on steroids. One of the best networking investments I’ve made, actually. But I’d like to try to get Sydney to go out with me, and if she thinks all I hang with are guys like Rothman, who go to clubs like that, well, any chance I have might combust.

  And yep, now I’m waving to Johnny P, Matty, and a business partner from my uptown venture. It’s Sunday. The gym’s packed.

  “You finished working out?” I ask, positioning myself so anyone here can see I’m busy.

  “Yeah. I did the nine a.m. boot camp. Came in to round it out and stretch. What class did you do?”

  “I went for a run. Came in to stretch. Can I talk you into an early lunch? Brunch? A walk?”

  “You’d skip weights?”

  “Nah. I’ll come back this afternoon. It’s Sunday. I got all day.”

  She stands and leans down and touches her toes. Her legs remain straight, zero bend in the knee. Baby’s got flex. Then she rises, stretching her palms to the ceiling, exposing a slim middle and smooth, soft skin above the line of black Lycra leggings. I take it all in.

  She shifts her head and catches me gawking. “Let’s go for a walk. I’m not up for a greasy meal. I ate out too much last week.”

  “I hear ya. Last night’s food alone was probably at least four or five thousand calories.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s why we work out, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s why,” she says with a daydreamy expression.

  On our way out of the gym, Frankie calls, “Maitlin? You leaving already?” He’s all drama, looking at his wrist like he’s telling time.

  “I’ll be back. Breaking for lunch.”

  He nods, a shit-eating grin as he eyes the hot chick walking out the door with me. I slow my pace so I can step behind her and block his view of Sydney’s ass. Yeah, I know what he’s looking at.

  We’re barely past the Chelsea Piers building when Sydney’s phone rings. She answers and listens while we make our way along a pedestrian packed sidewalk to the jogging path.

  She doesn’t say much on her end. Listens a lot and makes affirmative noises. Not many of the women I know act like that o
n a phone, so I can’t help but wonder who she’s talking to.

  “Two p.m.?” She flicks her wrist, checks the time. “See you then.”

  I match her pace on the sidewalk and wait for an explanation.

  “I need to run. I have to meet a friend later.”

  A friend, huh? “Gotcha.”

  We stop next to a bench on the sidewalk. She’s not acting clingy. And I dig her. Take the shot.

  “You know, I meant what I said about wanting to take you out on a date. This coming weekend, though, is the wedding. I know the girls and Maggie would love for you to come. Any interest in joining? You could get to know the crew better. You know, my normal friends.” I lift my shoulders, unsure. She might shoot me down. I hate this part of asking chicks out.

  “Normal? You mean not like the gym rats? Or not like the guys from the voyeur club?”

  They’re actually largely one and the same, but no reason to get into the nitty-gritty. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll think about it. See you tomorrow at work.”

  “One night this week?” I doubt she’ll actually go on a weekend away with me. I should probably drop pursuing her. We work together. She followed me. There are solid reasons to drop it. But here I am, chasing her anyway.

  Her pink lips, glossy in the sun, lift into a small smile. She pushes a flyaway strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I’ll think about it.”

  Her teasing smile has me mentally fist bumping the air, and she didn’t even say yes.

  Twelve

  Sadie

  * * *

  Since I’m in the middle of an undercover op, I throw on an outfit I believe Sydney would wear on any given Sunday afternoon. Cargo shorts and a lightweight navy sweater with sandals. This outfit also happens to be what I’d wear in real life, too, but most importantly, if I happen to bump into Chase Maitlin or any other suspect, they won’t think twice about my weekend outfit.

  As I head up Park Avenue, I can’t help but scout up and down and across the wide avenue for any sign I’m being followed or anyone is watching me. I thought being undercover would feel like the movies, that I’d be the up and coming Jamie Bond or something. Instead, it’s more like I’m the one being hunted. Every moment makes me feel like a small child again. Everything I need to treat as ‘normal’ is unnerving, and I couldn’t feel further from a kick ass world-class spy. I take a breath…and remember my training.

  With one last glance up and down, I push the door open. Once again, there’s no indication any of the offices on the hall are occupied. The door at the end of the hall opens, and Agent Hopkins smiles in greeting.

  He’s wearing khakis, dress shoes, and a button-down dress shirt with a jacket. On a Sunday afternoon, Hopkins is dressed like more of a businessman than Chase Maitlin on any given workday.

  “How was the first week?”

  “Interesting.” I open my handbag and pull out my thin laptop.

  There are manila files sitting on the table, and he already has his laptop open and set to review the new information the team came up with over the past week.

  “Interesting on our end, too. SEC may be getting involved.”

  “Why?” The SEC gets involved when there’s suspected stock fraud, but the companies we’re investigating are private.

  “Titan Pharmaceutical announced they are acquiring South Fork Research.”

  “That’s not particularly suspicious. South Fork has been making progress on alternative cancer treatments. It was only a matter of time before they’d be purchased.”

  “True. But do you remember who the biggest shareholders of South Fork are?”

  He’s dribbling the information out like I’m a slow learner. I refrain from rolling my eyes as I answer, “The guys we’re investigating. The Stanford crew. That doesn’t explain the SEC interest.”

  “Well, those same guys also happen to be significant shareholders in Titan. For the most part, the men all acquired significant shares within the last six to twelve months.”

  I can see it’s suspicious. But these are wealthy men, and they’re heavily vested in the bio-med space. Regardless, it’s good for me to be aware of, but I won’t be the one investigating that angle.

  I pick up my phone and make a few notes in my app as Hopkins continues. “South Fork Research is also the biggest beneficiary of funding from the McLoughlin Charity. And, coincidentally, BB&E does their accounting.”

  “I’ll prioritize looking at South Fork’s books on Monday. I’ll need to anyway. BB&E will expect me to double-check everything given due diligence will be coming.”

  He nods as he peruses a yellow notepad. “Tom Bennett’s wife didn’t necessarily come from money. Middle class background. She doesn’t work. We didn’t find anything particularly interesting. We also located Tad Johnson. He died two months ago.”

  “How?”

  “Drunk driving accident in upstate New York. He plowed his car into a tree. No suspicions of foul play. No autopsy completed, and he was cremated.”

  “That’s…interesting.”

  “Yes. But the agents who drove up there to investigate further didn’t find any leads to suggest anything other than Tad got behind the wheel of a car when he shouldn’t have. We also gained access to Chase Maitlin’s financial records.” He slides a folder over to me, and I flip it open as he continues to talk. “Maitlin has brokerage accounts with over $12 million in them.”

  “Wow. He didn’t earn that from BB&E.”

  “No, he did not. He’s a real estate investor and apparently also what’s called a domainer.”

  I write the word down and wait, hoping Hopkins expands. If he doesn’t, I’ll have to ask, and I’d rather not admit I’m not familiar with the term.

  “A domainer refers to someone who buys and sells domain names for websites.”

  “Ah. I’ve read about that.” I snap my fingers. “Buying and selling website domains would be a great way to receive legitimate payments for illegitimate services.”

  Hopkins snaps his fingers right back at me. “Bingo.”

  “Who is buying domains from him? Are they at inflated prices?”

  “Valuing domains is largely subjective. It’s not like real estate where it’s more obvious McLoughlin Charity was paying inflated prices on properties to Cooper Grayson’s company. But the team is researching prior sales now.”

  Damn. Chase Maitlin’s friends are going to be shocked when they find out everything he’s into. I had thought he was a small player, but looking through this folder at his financial statements, he’s not looking like he’s such a low-level component anymore. I set the folder down.

  “Last night, I went out with Maitlin. At first, with his friends. I didn’t find any of them to be suspicious. They aren’t related to BB&E or these Chicago firms. Actually, one of his friends, Maggie Thompson, used to work for McLoughlin Charity. She and her fiancé recently moved to Chicago. You may want to look into both of them.”

  I jot down the names for him.

  “I have some pics on my phone of them that I’ll send you. Also, Sam Duke, one of the founders of Esprit Corp, is one of Chase’s close friends.” I write down his name as well. “I don’t see a connection between his company and these guys, but—”

  “He’s a billionaire. Got it. Anyone else we need to look further into?”

  “Jackson Hendricks works for Sam. He’s a lawyer. His focus is on M&A. If I remember correctly, they’re solely focused on tech, but given what’s going on with South Fork, it might be worth researching exactly where they’ve been investing.”

  Shit. This case has far-reaching implications. It no longer feels like an in-and-out case.

  “Oh, and after we went out with Chase’s personal friends, he left to meet a client. I found it suspicious, so I followed him.”

  Hopkins snaps to attention.

  “EJ Mason is the client who insisted Chase come out and meet him. They met at a private club. He called it a gentleman’s club. I would call it an underground sex
club.”

  “You weren’t wearing a wire last night.” He frowns. “Did they discuss anything incriminating?”

  “I wasn’t around them to hear. I did see both Evan Mitchell and Bennett. Mitchell had had a lot to drink. I didn’t get a good look at Bennett.” Fidelity is none of the FBI’s concern, but given we’re trusting Mitchell, at least in my mind, it speaks to his credibility, and I strongly suspect based on his open fly he’d been partaking in some way, but I don’t say anything because I don’t have proof. “Mitchell did not look happy when he saw me.”

  Hopkins gets on his laptop and clicks the keys.

  “If you followed them—”

  “Chase saw me first. I acted like I had been following him to see if he was meeting up with another woman.” Hopkins stops typing. “He bought it. I think Mitchell assumed Chase brought me.”

  Agent Hopkins returns to typing.

  “Are you letting Agent Blakely know?” I ask.

  He peers over his laptop. “I’m setting up a meeting to update the team tomorrow morning. Blakely will be there. What’s the name of this club?”

  “I don’t know.” His eyes narrow. “There were no signs. It’s private. Illegal. I had to hand over my phone to enter. Members only.” Thinking back, I’m glad I wasn’t wearing a wire. The music was so loud they wouldn’t have gotten anything, anyway, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted to risk getting caught with a wire by those bouncers.

  He clacks a few keys more slowly. “Where was it?”

  “Jersey City. Backstreets. Warehouse district. Off Grand Street. I could locate it if you want.”

  “Probably not necessary. Did they discuss business at all?”

  “No. Sex act on center stage. There was a back room, and I suspect the men were with prostitutes in the back. Chase mentioned EJ was busy being entertained with a private lap dance.”

  His fingers light up the keyboard.

  “All of the men participated?”

  “I don’t know. I felt limited in terms of what I could ask, given I followed Chase there and he found me. But I’d guess Evan Mitchell participated in something. At the very least, he was drunk. I didn’t get a good look at Bennett. As a matter of fact, he was standing far enough away I couldn’t testify it was him.”