by Kit Kyndall
At just the right angle, something caught my gaze. I looked back, realizing one of the books was not quite in order. It was just slightly out of alignment, and I guess that was what caught my attention, because all the other books were as neatly organized as they had been the day they were unpacked and lined up on the bookshelf. I think the only time they’ve been touched was during dusting by the cleaning staff.
Cautiously, I lifted my hand and ran my finger down the spine of “A Tale of Two Cities.” It definitely didn’t seem like my dad’s type of reading material, even if he had suddenly and spontaneously taken up finding comfort in the written word after the death of his wife—an event he barely seemed to have noticed.
I took the book carefully from the shelf, frowning at the weight in my hands. Or rather the lack of weight. It didn’t feel like a book should feel, and when I started to open it, I gave a small gasp as the pages parted, and the book opened to reveal a secret compartment. Inside was a flash drive, and though I didn’t know what I would find on it, I knew it had to be important.
My hands were shaking as I took it from secret compartment and carefully put the book back where it had been. I didn’t want to my dad to know anyone had been in here. I hesitated for a second, trying to decide if I should look at it on his computer, or if I should take it upstairs to use mine. Finally, I slipped it into my pocket and decided I would grab my laptop and take it far away from the house before I ever looked at the flash drive.
Perhaps I was making a mistake, and this was nothing that would ruin him or provide even a small measure of justice, but my instincts told me it was important. If I fled now with a useless flash drive, and he discovered it was gone, he would know it was me, and that would be the end of my attempts to bring down my father.
On the other hand, if he caught me looking at it, and it was something important, I had no idea what he might do to get it back. I had never seen a violent side of him, just cold anger upon occasion, but he was clearly not the man he projected himself to be around me. That man never could have hurt an innocent child. I didn’t know what to expect or how to deal with this unknown side of him.
As I eased from the office, closing the door quietly, a hand fell on my shoulder, making me yelp with surprise. I whirled to face my father, heart hammering in my chest. Somehow, I managed to smile. “Oh, there you are, Dad. I was just going to ask you what you wanted for dinner?” Thank goodness today was the cook’s day off, affording me a perfect excuse to be looking for him.
He didn’t seem at all suspicious, though he wasn’t terribly warm. Ever since I had threatened to leave with Paxton, my father had treated me in a distant fashion. I appreciated the disconnect, because I hadn’t had to maintain as much of a façade or pretend to be oblivious to his perversities. There had been no spontaneous hugs, which I feared would make me want to throw up or slug him in the face. The idea of letting him touch me turned my stomach. In fact, his hand on my shoulder was enough to make my skin burn.
“Just order in something. I’m not up to another one of your culinary disasters.”
Under other circumstances, I might have been hurt, or might have even made a joke if he had said it in a tender or teasing fashion. Instead, I just shrugged and nodded, adding casually, “I’ll just bring something back. I have to run an errand anyway.”
He shrugged as he entered his office, clearly not giving a damn what I was going to do, or what I brought back for dinner. I don’t think he gave a damn about me anymore, since I no longer fit so neatly into “His Princess” box, but that didn’t bother me. I didn’t want his love or affection. I just wanted him to pay.
My heart was racing in my ears, and I rushed across the entryway to scoop up my keys. There was no time to go upstairs for my laptop, just in case he went straight to his book looking for the flash drive. I had to get out of there, and I had to get out now. I felt a bit like a spy on a secret mission, except I wasn’t furtive, nor was I confident in my abilities to escape.
I basically ran as quickly as I could to my VW convertible, got inside, turned on the engine, and reversed down the driveway as fast as possible. There was no sign of anyone emerging from the house, but I still pressed my foot almost to the floorboard for the first quarter-mile before I even pulled over to put on my seatbelt.
My hands shook, and I double-checked my pocket at least three times to make sure the flash drive was still there as I drove away from the city, at first uncertain where I was going. It was only as I took the interstate and started programming my GPS that I realized I was headed to Vegas.
As I drove, common sense asserted itself over the adrenaline rush from my panicked flight, and I knew I had to slow down and make some plans if I wanted to get seventeen hundred miles from here without being intercepted by my dad or anyone in his employment. At the next exit, an electronics store caught my attention, and it was next to a branch of our bank. I figured that was a fortuitous development, so I got off the freeway and parked in the parking lot.
I used my father’s credit card without a flash of guilt to buy a brand-new laptop, and then I went to the bank to withdraw a hefty portion of my savings. Some of that money had come from him, though the larger part was from geographically distant relatives on my mother’s side and even an occasional summer job. I didn’t feel any remorse for taking his money, especially since it was going to the worthy cause of getting me to Paxton and hopefully enabling us to destroy my father. It seemed fitting that he should pay for his own downfall.
I was back on the road within half an hour, and I drove steadily for several hours. My phone rang twice, both times showing my father’s number. I ignored it and the voicemails he left, knowing I would need to deal with it all soon enough, but not ready to cope with hearing his voice just yet.
When I grew too tired to drive, I pulled off the freeway into a small town and found a hotel. I had no choice but to use my ID to register, but I didn’t use my credit card. Perhaps I was being paranoid, or maybe I had read a few too many thrillers, but I knew he could track me that way if he was determined to do so.
In the small room that was as far from luxurious as one could get, though it was clean, I plugged in the new laptop and started updates so I could use it. While I waited for the computer to be ready, I took a brief shower, even keeping the flash drive with me on the back of the toilet so it wouldn’t get wet, but was within reach at any moment.
By the time I emerged from the bathroom wrapped in one of their thin towels, since I had no other clothes and hadn’t thought to acquire any, the laptop was ready. In my nervousness, I fumbled with the flash drive, finally getting it to fit into the USB port. I held my breath as I clicked it open, finding files that were grayed out with strange names.
Shit. I needed a password to access those files, and I was stumped.
I tried a few variations of my birthday, Laura’s birthday, and my father’s, but nothing worked. In desperation, I tried Paxton’s birthday on the off chance my father was a sadistic bastard who would get a thrill out of using Paxton’s numbers that way. It was also a dead end. I was reasonably proficient with technology, but I was no hacker, and I definitely needed someone who knew what they were doing.
I kept the flash drive beside me when I lay down in bed. Reluctantly, I listened to the voicemail from my father. The first was simply inquiring when I was getting back with dinner, but the next and was a different matter. His voice was hard and cold, and he demanded I bring back the thing I had taken. Those were his words, and nothing else. Still, I shivered at the threatening tone. I knew he had to be looking for me, and I assumed he wouldn’t be searching alone. It seemed prudent to ditch my car and make it with cash from here on out.
Though I had been tired, I was no longer able to sleep. I dressed in my dirty clothes, scooped up my things, and left the hotel room. I was back on the road hours before sunrise, and I drove with single-minded determination, stopping only once for gas. When I entered a large city later that morning, I left my car parked a
t a busy airport. Then I took a taxi across town to the bus station. I didn’t feel safe until I was on the bus, and we were on the road.
It was a nightmare journey that lasted twenty-two hours. Every stop made me fearful, especially when I was forced to disembark the bus to change to a different one at one point. I was certain my father or his men would find me, but I never had a hint of trouble. That didn’t mean there wasn’t trouble following me, and I wasn’t naïve enough to think I was safe as long as I had the flash drive.
Finally, we entered Vegas, and I got off at the main station just down from the Strip. Rather than head toward the nice hotels on the Strip, I made my way toward Fremont Street. I figured I might have better luck getting a hotel room with just cash in that part of town. As I wandered, I found myself on Main Street, which appeared to be a decrepit area full of criminals. It wasn’t a safe place to stay, but it wasn’t the kind of place my father would expect me choose.
I checked into a small hotel, where the desk clerk accepted an extra hundred dollars in lieu of identification, taking a room that smelled like someone’s ashtray, and spent twenty minutes moving the heavy dresser that doubled as a TV stand to block the door. In addition to cigarette holes in the bedspread and a giant dead roach in the corner, the room had a lock, but I didn’t trust it.
When I was slightly assured that I might be at least partially safe in this hellhole, I plugged in the laptop and began to search. I already knew I wouldn’t get hold of Paxton, at least not easily. Instead, I had to find someone else, someone who I’d hoped never to meet. Even typing her first name into the Google search bar, along with the words “nightclub owner” and “fighting” made my stomach twist with jealousy. Still, what other choice did I have? Lila-whoever was my best hope to locate Paxton. If I could just find her.
It didn’t take long for me to discover a Lila Barrett, who owned “SINuous,” a local hotspot nightclub. She was also listed as a sponsor of several fighters, including Paxton LeChance. There was no mention of her less-than-legal fighting endeavors, so either she was careful to keep that part separate from her lawful life, or maybe she had moved into legitimate circles along with Paxton.
I stared at her picture, nausea churning in my gut. She was fucking gorgeous. I’d guess she was old enough to be my mother—Paxton’s too—but she carried her age well. If she was involved with Paxton, I couldn’t imagine why he’d ever even looked at me. Maybe I was being too hard on myself, but I couldn’t compare to her.
I firmed my lips, doing my best to push away my jealousy. It wasn’t productive, and it didn’t matter. If he’d chosen her over me, or even if he’d just decided he didn’t want me at all for whatever reason, I still wanted to get the flash drive to him. If it held the key to destroying my father, he had the right to it.
After another strenuous bout with the heavy furniture, I left the room, flash drive shoved into my bra and laptop secured in the bag I’d bought at a small shop during a layover on the bus trip. I was literally shocked not to have more trouble than a couple of lewd comments as I hurried from the area. I didn’t know if I would return to the room I’d rented. The key—an old-fashioned kind on a chain, not the electronic swipe style—was in my pocket, but I was reluctant to come back.
It all depended on Lila.
I hailed a cab to take me to “SINuous.” My heart sank at the line extending around the corner. I glanced down at my dirty clothes and tangled hair before leaning forward to ask the driver, “Is there somewhere you can take me that I can get glammed up?” I hated to waste the time, but I knew the bouncers would never let me past the velvet rope looking as I did now. There were stunning women far more attractive than me being forced to stand and wait, so I’d need every advantage to get inside.
With a nod, he drove away from the club and took me farther down the Strip. I quirked a brow when he stopped in front of a two-story salmon-pink building with a foreign word I didn’t recognize as the sole means of identification. “What’s this?”
“Spa. Ask for Abibi. Tell her Hamal send you.”
With little choice but to trust him, I nodded and showed my thanks with a generous tip. I tried not to think about how quickly my cash was dwindling as I slid from the car and walked to the glass doors. It was after dark, but the door opened easily, and there was a discreet “Open” sign in the window.
I stepped inside and was immediately met with a tropical scent. A second later, a stunning Middle Eastern woman came forward, and I told her Hamal had sent me. She introduced herself as Abibi and straight away escorted me to a scented oil bath. I didn’t want to linger, but she insisted on at least thirty minutes.
I spent the time agonizing, torturing myself with images of my father bursting into the private spa with some nameless goons. As far as I knew, he didn’t actually have any goons, but I didn’t know anything about the real him.
Finally, Abibi returned for me, and I persuaded her to speed up the rest of the process. Less than an hour later, I was primped, polished, and dressed in a sexy black dress and moderately high heels. I paid her exorbitant fee with a small swallow and emerged to find Hamal waiting for me.
I slid into his cab, my eyes darting to the meter. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”
He smiled. “I did not. My sister called when you nearly finished.”
Ah, so Abibi was his sister. The information was trivial, but it gave me something to focus on—as did the uncomfortable press of the flash drive against my breast, still tucked securely in my bra. Soon enough, we were back at the club, and I paid my fare with a small wave.
I eyed the line uncertainly, knowing I didn’t have time to waste standing in it. Firming my shoulders, I sauntered to the bodyguards at the front. I ignored the catty comments about waiting my turn and other less polite things as I shook my hips and smiled up at the two large men.
The first one didn’t even bat an eye. “Get to the back of the line.”
That would have been a blow to my ego if I hadn’t already realized there were even more beautiful girls than me who hadn’t gotten through. I turned my attention to the other one, who at least had a gleam of interest in his eyes. “How much to let me in?”
He arched a brow. “You talking money or something less tangible?”
I barely held back a grimace. I would do a lot for Paxton, but not sleep with a stranger. “I have some cash,” I said demurely.
His interest faded. “Back of the line.”
Shit. With a sigh, I moved closer to the other one. He was older and probably easier to convince, since he didn’t find me attractive. I stretched upward, putting my hands on his chest for support so I could whisper in his ear. “I need to see Lila. It’s about Paxton.”
He stiffened, and his gaze shot to mine. Finally, I had his attention, and it wasn’t sexual. “Nice try.” He sounded bored, but his expression betrayed his curiosity.
“Please just ask Lila to meet with me.”
He hesitated for a second before taking out his phone. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Mia.” I didn’t bother with a last name, as I assumed she wouldn’t know who I was. I doubt Paxton had ever mentioned anything about his stepsister, and it seemed unlikely he’d talked about our brief affair with the older woman—especially if they were fucking too.
The bouncer spoke to his boss for a moment before asking me, “She wants to know why she should make time for you?”
“Tell her I might have a way to help Paxton get justice.” If she was as close to him as I thought, she might understand what that meant. Had he told her about his past and the horrible things my father had done? I hoped so. I wouldn’t be jealous of that. It would be a relief to know he’d spoken to someone else about it and hadn’t carried the weight alone for eleven years.
He repeated my words and then hung up the phone a second later. I watched eagerly as he stepped back from me, forcing my hands to drop to my sides, and opened the red velvet rope. “Go to the bar and order a daiquiri. Lila will find
you.”
I nodded, murmured my thanks, and slipped inside amid protests from others waiting in the line. The club was dark and crowded. Cigarette smoke burned my lungs and made my eyes water, and I longed for home, where smoking in public places was illegal. Coughing as inconspicuously as I could, I moved through the gyrating crowd while I made my way to the bar.
Finally, I claimed a stool at the crowded teak and glass expanse, climbing onto it with some modicum of dignity as I strove to keep from flashing my private bits to everyone in the vicinity. My skirt was really short, shorter than I’d normally wear, but I hadn’t had the time to hunt for something else when Abibi had offered it to me.
I ordered a banana daiquiri and searched the crowd for signs of Lila. Mostly, I just saw underdressed, horny people rubbing against each other. Perhaps under other circumstances, it would have been arousing, or made me want to be on the floor with Paxton, but I was just too anxious to focus on anything besides the flash drive in my lingerie.
She kept me waiting twenty minutes before she appeared behind me. I yelped when her finger tapped my shoulder, nearly spilling the two-thirds of the drink still clutched in my hand. I had nursed it slowly, knowing I needed a clear head.
I hopped off the stool and turned to face her, finding she was even more stunning in person. The faint lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes only enhanced her beauty, not added to her age. I wanted to hate her, but I needed her help.
“Come with me.” She turned and began walking without waiting to see if I would comply.
I walked around the bar to catch up with her. She led me through the crowd, which seemed to magically part for her, to a door marked “Private.” It led us down a long hallway with other doors, until we stopped in front of one bearing her name on the plaque. She opened the door and escorted me into a luxurious private office, waving at the brocade velvet seat in front of her desk as she walked around to sit behind it in a massive leather chair.