by Jade Astor
THE THRILL OF THE CHASE
by
Jade Astor
Published by Jade Astor at Kindle Direct Publishing
Copyright 2019 Jade Astor
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.
Other titles by Jade Astor:
Snow Bite, Blood Red
Bachelor and the Beast
Pete and His Werewolf
The Werewolf Tutor
Night of the Satyr
Ebb Tide
The Baron’s Gargoyle
Artemis Gardens
Passionate Lessons
Passion Unmasked
Kiss of the Dark Prince
The House on the Cliff
At first, hard-nosed private eye Geordie Chase thinks his case will be simple and run-of-the-mill—an aging millionaire wants him to tail his sexy young boytoy to see if he’s been cheating. Expecting to be bored even more than on most surveillance missions, Geordie trails his target to a private nightclub and manages to slip inside. What he finds there turns his perception of not only his chosen career, but the entire world around him, upside down.
All the same, he’s got a job to do, even if it’s not as routine as he first anticipated. To be unmasked as a detective in this environment could mean instant death. Finding himself attracted to the smoking hot owner of Club O-Neg only makes things more difficult. In order to come out alive and still complete the job he was hired to do, Geordie will have to use every advantage he has, including his own highly desirable body.
Chapter 1
Geordie had done work for well-to-do gentlemen before, including high-ranking politicians and even a blue-blooded college vice-president. His current client’s abode, though, took the proverbial seven-tiered designer cake. This guy had sprung for it all—gated entry, uniformed guard who checked for his name on an appointment list, penthouse, glass elevator that seemed to float through the sky and leave the grime-encrusted streets to the peasants far below. Geordie was glad he’d had the presence of mind to wear his best suit to the interview, though his client probably owned boxer shorts that cost more than his entire outfit put together. He supposed the guy’s name, Orville Pennington III, should have tipped him off about what he’d be dealing with. Who else but the spoiled rich had Roman numerals after a five-syllable name, anyway?
A handsome, broad-shouldered guy with a military-style buzz cut let him in. Geordie wasn’t sure if he was The Great Orville’s butler, bodyguard, or some combination of both. Whatever he was, Geordie figured that with calf muscles like the ones filling out his yoga pants, the guy could kick some serious ass. Speaking of that, his ass wasn’t too bad, either.
“I’m Geordie Chase,” he said when the guy just stood in the doorway, looking him up and down. “Mr. Pennington’s expecting me.”
“I know that. The gate guard already called your name up.”
Geordie tried not to feel foolish, even though the guy obviously considered him a simpleton. He was practically rolling his eyes. “Okay. That’s cool. Nice to know he’s on the ball.”
“I’m Rex. His bodyguard.” Rex seemed to issue the information as a warning rather than an introduction, but at least he stepped back enough so Geordie could enter. “This way.”
Geordie glided through a virtual showroom filled with white leather furniture, spotlessly clean silver rugs, art that looked like it came from a museum, and even stained glass windows overlooking the city. Through a glass door, a rooftop pool sparkled with bright blue water. The place looked like a movie set created to house some fastidious Bond supervillain.
Without a word, Rex led him down a short hall and into an office space that smelled like citrus aftershave. A gleaming mahogany desk with a high-backed leather chair took up more space than Geordie’s entire office even had. Small mesh baskets and wooden cubbies held pens, papers, and gold paperclips sorted by size.
“Geordie Chase, Mr. P.” Finally, Rex spoke up. At first Geordie couldn’t tell whom he was talking to. Then he saw Orville Pennington III standing in the corner with his arms crossed, taking in a jaw-dropping view of the harbor while a huge maroon drape half-obscured him.
He was a trim man of medium height, probably about 60 with stiff white hair cut in a nondescript conservative style. Shallow lines framed his mouth and gave him a vaguely puppet-like look—but it was the look of a scheming, malevolent puppet from a freaky late-night movie, rather than a jovial one from a kids’ show.
“Thank you, Rex.” Stepping away from the window, Pennington motioned Geordie to an upholstered chair on the other side of the desk. He took the fancy swivel one for himself. By the time Geordie had seated himself, Rex had vanished.
“I hope you didn’t have too much trouble getting through the security,” Pennington said. No other greeting and no variation of “thanks for coming.” He wanted to put Geordie in his place right away. That was okay, though. Geordie knew how to play the game.
“No more than I expected. Your staff is very efficient.”
“They’d better be.” Pennington’s eyes and voice turned cold. He tapped his fingers on a protective sheet of glass atop his desk. “Let us come straight to the point, Mr. Chase. I asked you here because I have a somewhat delicate matter to investigate. Some friends of mine have vouched for your confidentiality, discretion, and efficiency.”
“Glad to hear that. Might I know who…?” Geordie figured it would give him a sense of the type of case if he knew the people referring him. Industrial espionage came to mind. Sometimes people asked him to do things that were borderline illegal. Better to walk away right up front if that were the case.
Pennington reeled off a couple of names. Geordie nodded. He understood now. High-profile, wealthy gay men with reputation problems, or at least potentially so. Some were trying to cover up indiscretions of their own, and sometimes those of their less-cautious boyfriends. Or both. He knew how to handle such matters—with the required finesse, as Pennington had confirmed.
“Yes, sir. I know those men. You can count on me to keep my mouth shut. My clients’ issues are their own.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Not that I’m closeted, exactly, but what takes place outside the boardroom and inside the bedroom is my own business. No one needs to know the details.”
“I understand completely.” Not that Geordie did, of course—he hadn’t come from either old or new money, so no one cared what he did or whom he slept with. He preferred it that, actually.
“I’m sure,” Pennington said. “I’m sure you get these cases all the time. Simply put, I want you to find out if the young man who slides between my silk sheets every night is also sharing someone else’s.”
Geordie wasn’t the least bit surprised. Jealous, aging sugar daddy, restless young boytoy with a roving eye. Happened every day and then some. “You’re right. That’s not unusual…unfortunate though it may be. In fact, I have plenty of experience with such matters. I know how to handle them.”
Pennington opened a desk drawer and removed a crisp manila folder. He slid it across the desk. “This is a photograph and a preliminary background check on Aaron Johnson, my…ah…friend.”
Geordie nodded. He would run the background check on his own again later, of course,
just to make sure he was getting a complete and accurate report. Any smart PI trusted his own eyes first and what people told him second.
When he opened the folder, he gaped. He’d expected the usual head-and-shoulders wanna-be model-actor shot of some gorgeous twink. Those were the usual types who juggled an older dude and a more age-appropriate squeeze on the side.
The twink was gorgeous, no surprise there. Aaron was lying on a chaise longue in front of the rooftop pool Geordie had glimpsed on his way in. Soft blond curls fell almost to his shoulders, complemented by big blue eyes with just enough storminess that he didn’t look like a vacant-headed himbo. His skin, too, was perfect—creamy and smooth without even the hint of a blemish.
There was also a lot more skin than Geordie really needed to see. As in a full-length frontal nude shot. Embarrassed, he averted his eyes while Pennington smirked.
“Uh…this is a bit more detail than I usually require.”
Pennington seemed pleased at his discomfort. Geordie suspected he’d planned that little visual ambush all along, just to psych him out. “When he’s with me, Aaron is nude most of the time. I prefer it, and he is not at all ashamed of his body. Why should he be? It’s nearly flawless.”
Clearing his throat, Geordie nodded. “I’ll give you that. It sure is.”
“Besides, it emphasizes and celebrates his submissive role in our relationship. He doesn’t find it in the least embarrassing or degrading. He enjoys it.”
Geordie was tempted to ask why Aaron was stepping out on him if that was the case, but instead he merely nodded. “That’s fine with me. The dynamics of your partnership are your own business.”
“Exactly.” Pennington sat back smugly. He seemed to study Geordie’s face. Geordie wondered if he were looking for signs of envy or desire for Aaron. Plenty of men like Pennington liked to know that other guys lusted for their boytoys. They even loaned them out on occasion. It gave them a feeling of power. Aaron wasn’t really Geordie’s type—he liked a bigger, rougher sort of guy, but he played along. Pennington wasn’t the only guy in the room who knew how to run little psych experiments for his own benefit—or protection.
“Well, you’re a lucky man, Mr. Pennington. I’m not surprised you’re worried that someone might be trying to…uh…distract Aaron from you.”
Pennington pursed his lips. For a moment, he looked vulnerable and a little sad. Geordie felt a stab of pity for him. The only leg he had up on the competition was his money. That could only comfort him so much. It had to hurt to know you were getting older and your plaything didn’t love you for yourself, but only what you could buy for him.
“I want you to follow him,” Pennington said at last. “Tonight will be perfect. Aaron claims he’s going to night school, but I don’t believe it. He claims to be interested in photography. Had me buy him a camera—top of the line, naturally. I’ve sent my bodyguard after him when he supposedly goes to the class, but of course he’s wise to Rex’s surveillance techniques. I want someone whom he won’t recognize. Someone professional.”
Geordie nodded. This sounded like the easiest job he’d ever taken on. And he had no doubt it would pay well, too. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“See that you don’t.” Pennington took out a huge portfolio-style checkbook in a butter-soft leather binder. The checks inside were printed on imitation parchment and the writing looked like old English calligraphy. “How much is your retainer?”
On a whim, Geordie doubled his usual fee.
Pennington nodded and wrote out the check. When Geordie got it, he saw that it was almost double what he’d asked for.
“I raised the price to ensure your complete discretion and confidentiality. I want the best, and if I pay for the best I expect it. Go now. You’ll find everything you need in that folder. Follow him from here at six o’clock. He claims the photography class and the required workshop time runs every weeknight from 6:30 to 9:30, sometimes later. It’s within walking distance—that’s how he avoids having me or my staff drive him there. He claims to enjoy the exercise. I think it’s so he can slip away on foot.”
“All right.”
“I want photographic proof of an indiscretion. Something I can confront him with.”
“Today’s technology will make that part of it easy.”
“Good.” Pennington got up, signaling it was time for Geordie to go. Like magic, Rex reappeared to walk him out. Geordie stole a longing look at that shimmering pool as they headed for the door.
Six o’clock found Geordie at the upscale cappuccino bar across the street from Pennington’s residence, sipping a mocha latte with a shot of espresso and trying to blend in with the rest of the after-work commuter crowd. He kept an eye on Pennington’s gatehouse. Right on cue, Aaron, thankfully wearing more clothes this time, as well as a blue student-style backpack that presumably held his camera and other school supplies, stepped out into the crisp fall air and started walking up the street. Geordie hung onto the cup of coffee he’d ordered and started walking as well, casually falling into step a safe distance behind him. The cup had two purposes aside from administering an always-useful shot of caffeine. It made him look like someone strolling home after a hard day’s work in the city, and with a quick tilt upward, it could hide his face if Aaron happened to glance back.
They walked up one street and down another without incident. Presently Aaron approached a metal-and-glass storefront vocational school Geordie had often seen advertised on late-night TV. He paused as Aaron used a student ID swipe card and went inside the door. That surprised him. Maybe Aaron really was taking a class here. Geordie spent a few moments wondering if he should slip inside under the pretense of wanting to sign up for a class when the door opened again and Aaron came back out. This time, he turned down another street and went to the T station. Geordie again followed at a discreet distance as Aaron paid his fare and hopped on a subway train.
They emerged in a part of the city Geordie wasn’t especially familiar with. By now it was dark, which he preferred since it helped him hide his identity while he followed a bit more closely. So far, Pennington’s suspicions seemed justified…why else would Aaron have ditched his class and headed to a totally different part of town instead?
Cheerfully oblivious that he was being watched, Aaron strolled toward an old red-brick building that looked like it had once held some Victorian-era industrial enterprise. A factory of some sort, perhaps. It didn’t look rundown, exactly, as the street in front looked swept and clean and the bricks were in reasonable repair. The street was dark and unoccupied, though, and the place seemed to have no functioning windows. There were curved bays where windows may once have been, yes, but every space was bricked up seamlessly with bricks that blended perfectly with the rest of the façade.
Casually, Geordie leaned against a nearby building, took out his smartphone, and pretended to check his messages. While he did, he snapped a few photos of the place with Aaron opening the dingy side door. Again there was no sign or bell. Those who knew about the place also knew just where and how to get in.
He saw Aaron pause upon entrance, obviously being approved by a doorman. Geordie watched with one eye while he pretended to be reading a text. By now it was fully dark out. A few more figures, all male, strode toward the building and slipped inside. Geordie drifted closer, too. Discreetly he angled his phone and snapped a few more photos.
He was close enough now that he could hear music coming from inside—the usual heavy electronic urban beat—but there was no sign anywhere around or other way of identifying the building. So the place had clearly been turned into some kind of private club. Geordie could pretty much imagine what kinds of activities the patrons got up to. Was Aaron moonlighting as a pole dancer? Maybe he was socking away a little cash in his g-string in case Pennington dumped him. Then again, maybe the place just turned him on—or someone inside did. Could he be playing the field with the customers, looking for a replacement sugar daddy, or meeting with another dancer?
&
nbsp; Geordie had always prided himself on being aware of his surroundings. His attention to detail and his instinct for the way a place should look, as opposed to how it really did, had saved his ass on more than one occasion. He rarely let anyone sneak up on him.
Yet this time, for some reason, his instinct failed him. He froze when he heard a man clear his throat. When he turned around, a tall guy was standing right next to him. The guy was dressed in a suit, but it was all black—even the shirt and tie. In stark contrast, his collar-length hair shimmered dark gold. The streetlights and the light from Geordie’s phone caught it in a way that made him and his high-cheekboned face that much more dramatic.
“Good evening, sir. Can I help you?” The voice was gentlemanly, but Geordie heard the undercurrent of warning, too. His eyes were a dark, dark blue, like the purplish-black of a bruise. They didn’t look the least bit friendly. “This is private property, you know.”
“Sorry. I just…well, I got lost. I was just checking the old GPS.” Geordie held up his phone and shrugged. He’d always been a fast talker, almost a con man. He’d had to be. That kept him safe. Something about this guy’s gaze drilling right through him, though, made him feel tongue-tied. For a moment he almost forgot why he was there. He gave up trying to create a convincing story before he’d even tried. That wasn’t like him, either. “I’ll…uh…I’ll go now.”
Geordie tried to back away. The man’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm, pinning him against the grubby wall behind him. His words came out slow, deliberate, and menacing.
“Not so fast. You and I are going to talk first.”
Chapter 2
“We need to talk? What about? You can let go of me. I won’t run.”
“It wouldn’t do you any good if you did.” The tall man in black released Geordie and casually stepped back. “I’d have you down on the ground before you got to the other side of the street.”