Reveal

by Bromberg, K.

  My bluff is immediately forgotten as my heart stumbles in my chest, but only because it stops beating momentarily. “What?” That’s not what I meant to say, but it comes out anyway. “You fucking—”

  “Now you’re getting the hang of it. Fucking is indeed on the menu.” He laughs. “And I know you think you have shit on me, sweet Vaughn. I know you think you can play this game as deftly as me . . . but you can’t. Not a single thing will matter once I make that call.”

  I don’t speak. Can’t. My stomach churns, and my heart is lodged so far into my throat that it’s all but suffocating me. I hate that my skin becomes coated with sweat at the mere mention of Greenwich.

  “What do you want?” I ask for what feels like the millionth time.

  “Call whoever you need to call to get my stuff. I’ll be requiring an NDA to be signed by the person doing the safekeeping. You’ll sign it, too, of course . . . and if you don’t, we both know how hard it would be for Lucy to lose who she considers her mother now. Jail is an awfully scary place for a pretty little thing like you.”

  Go to hell.

  “So I turn it over and then what?”

  “We’ll see what kind of mood I’m in. How long you make me wait.”

  “What?” He’s making no sense. “I’ll be giving you what you want.”

  “Wants change.” He laughs. “Oh, I’ll reiterate the same thing I said before, but maybe this time you’ll actually listen. It’s best Ryker knows nothing about this little conversation. He seems to have a hero complex—how cute, trying to save the whore—but if he interferes again, I make the call. No warnings. No questions asked. I’ll call Priscilla in that little cubby where she sits in the back corner with her fake plants hanging from the ceiling. I’ll let her know where your money to pay down your debt really comes from. And of course, I’ll make sure Ryker goes down with you. The little audio recording I have of him doesn’t exactly paint him in the best light. Why do you think he’s been so obedient? He’s just as scared as you are.”

  Without another word, he ends the call, and I’m left staring at the television. Splendor in the Grass is on, but I don’t remember a single scene.

  And for the first time since the Hamptons, I understand Ryker. Why he did what he did. His need to protect me when someone threatened me. My need to pick up the phone and call Carter back to find out what he has on Ryker so I can try to help fix it owns my thoughts.

  My urge to call Ryker and ask him myself.

  But Carter’s threat was loud and clear, and the stakes are so much higher this time around. His mention of the detective’s name. His threat against Ryker. His admission that my handing over my blackmail material might not appease him.

  All I can focus on is that I have no way out of this. Who knew coming to Lola’s rescue months ago would cause this domino effect in my life?

  His threats about Greenwich unnerve me. How he connected me to the Dillinger name. But it’s the unknown that worries me even more. It’s not like Samantha was exactly forthcoming with me about what happened that last night.

  But I remember the snippets from my dream the other night. The bag of jewelry and cash that she said was his payoff. The speckles of blood on her shirt that she later told me was from a nosebleed she’d gotten after he’d slapped her while in a drunken state.

  And then I remember the details that have always been there. Stealing away in the dead of night to the Greyhound station and the promise she forced me to make: to never look back at Greenwich or him. That if I searched anywhere for him on technology, he’d find us.

  Are the Dillingers looking for us now? Did Samantha lie to me? Did she steal the valuables, and the police have been looking for us since that night?

  Or is it something more nefarious than that?

  A chill chases down my spine, and all the while I know damn well that whatever Samantha did that night, she had to. Knowing what I know now, she had to.

  Is that what Carter Preston is alluding to?

  But if that’s the case—if we’re technically fugitives—then why haven’t the authorities found us? It’s not like we’ve been in hiding.

  I sigh and just sit in the silence as I try to rationalize my way through each and every scenario.

  The tears fall without me ever realizing it. Salt on my lips, wetness on my eyelashes, fear in my heart.

  It takes everything I have not to call Ryker. Carter’s threat is more real to me now than it has ever been. I pick up the phone and begin to dial him more times than I care to count during the hour I sit numb to everything.

  It takes even more to get ready for work, one methodical step at a time.

  And even more so, it takes everything I have not to want to pick up and leave without a trace.

  But there’s Lucy.

  And Ryker.

  The only two people I have ever loved in my life besides my mom and Samantha.

  The only two people I’ve ever needed and allowed to need me in return.

  I can’t leave them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Vaughn

  I put the finishing touches on my makeup and wig. It’s weird to don these clothes, this personality, when it feels like I’ve become such a different person over the past few months.

  Madam Vee feels like a ruse more than ever before. Sure, the money is coming in faster now, but it’s like I’m selling my soul for it.

  That’s not a good place to be.

  Add to that Carter tonight. His ultimatums owned my thoughts during my entire shift. Ahmed even noticed something was off, and I let him assume I’d had a tiff with Ryker.

  And when I stare in the mirror of the hotel room I rented after work to make my transformation to Vee, I see everything I hope my potential client, Noah, doesn’t. Uncertainty instead of resolve. Fear where there should be strength. A lack of identity when I should own the red lipstick and perfectly stylish ensemble, complete with sky-high heels.

  My phone alerts a text, and I force myself to ignore it. I can’t talk to Ryker right now. I need to get through this appointment—the man I’ve blown off more times than is professional—and then I can break down.

  And then I can be weak.

  And then I can ask Ryker what I should do.

  “Get it together, Vaughn,” I mutter to myself as I check for lipstick on my teeth before lifting my head high and walking from the room.

  The lobby bar isn’t crowded, but it’s New York City at ten o’clock on a Thursday night, so it isn’t exactly dead either. I’m not immune to the glances that shift my way, the nudges between men as they debate whether to approach me or not, but I make sure to stare at them with my resting bitch face to let them know I’m nowhere near interested.

  A man slides next to me at the bar on my left. A few moments later another on my right. I catch the eye of the man to my right and offer a smile. His hair is reddish brown, his freckles prevalent.

  “A gin and tonic, please. Bombay Sapphire,” the man to my left says, pulling my attention to the phrase we’d agreed upon over the phone. The one that lets me know he is the man I am supposed to be meeting.

  “Noah?” My voice is throaty, my smile warm as I turn to face him. He has dark hair with a subtle wave to it and killer gray eyes highlighted by his light-brown skin tone.

  His eyes flicker to the other patrons of the bar, and his fingers fidget on the glass that is pushed in front of him before he finally turns to face me. “Vee?”

  “Mmm.” I in turn take my own sweep of the bar crowd, looking for anyone who gives me bad vibes, fooling myself into believing that I’d know a cop or a setup if I saw one. “Would you like to head somewhere a little more private to discuss what needs to be discussed?”

  He takes a sip of his drink and nods slowly. “Yes, I would.” He slides two twenties across the bar to pay our tab without ever asking the total. “There’s a sitting area in the lobby, just to the other side of the elevator banks. It’s private. We can talk there.”

  I lic
k my lips and nod. I’d prefer to stay where we are, but he’s explained to me how crowds unnerve him, so I oblige.

  We move from our spot at the bar, and Noah places his hand on the inside of my elbow as if we’re a couple and he’s escorting me on our date. Nothing out of the ordinary. Laughter echoes across the lobby and accompanies the click of my heels on the tiles.

  Just as we pass the bank of elevators, I’m more than startled when he tightens his grip on the inside of my arm at the same time as someone takes my other one. It’s the freckled man from the bar.

  I try to jerk my elbows away as fear and panic and confusion course through me. “What—”

  “FBI,” Noah says beneath his breath, flashing a gold badge he holds in the palm of his hand. “I suggest you don’t fight us.” I stiffen my arms as my mind tries to catch up with how this is happening. With how I’ve let this happen.

  “This is a mistake—”

  “All we want to do is talk,” the freckled one says as they both steer me toward the elevators.

  They push the button to summon the elevator. One of them nods at a couple who glance our way. Another pulls out his phone as if he’s reading messages.

  But me? I stand between them with my pulse pounding so loudly in my ears that I don’t think I could hear a thing if they said it. My legs feel like they are going to give out—my knees act as if I have no tendons holding the joints together.

  My chest hurts in the elevator. My hands tremble. My breath is shallow and doesn’t draw in enough oxygen to give my body what it needs. My head swims to the point I feel like I’m going to faint.

  “Steady there, Vaughn,” Noah murmurs as we exit the car, and the sound of my name on his lips—the fact that he knows who I really am—makes my breath catch. “Here we are.”

  Within seconds, Noah and Freckles have me in a hotel room much like the one I rented for myself to get ready in. “Would you like something to drink?” Freckles asks as he motions for me to take a seat on the couch.

  “No. I’ll stand,” I murmur, my feet needing to move.

  “I suggest you sit,” Noah says as he takes a seat in the chair across from where I slowly sink down. In fact, there are two chairs—one for each of them—set up opposite the couch.

  They had this all planned out.

  Something about that has tears springing to my eyes, and I fight them back. “What’s going on?” I ask, knowing that I can’t play innocent when Noah’s been to the client access portal on my website, but I try anyway.

  “I’m Special Agent Noah Barnes, and this is Special Agent Abel Grossman,” Noah says as Abel tips his head in acknowledgment, “and you’re in some serious trouble.”

  “But you said you were a referral. You said—”

  “I lied.” There isn’t an ounce of remorse in his tone.

  The tears I fought well up and spill over now. But as soon as the first two fall, I shove them away and straighten my shoulders. “I’d like to call my lawyer, please.”

  “It’s probably best if we don’t involve anyone else yet,” Abel says as he moves about the room.

  “I don’t care—I want my lawyer,” I assert.

  Noah chuckles as I feel a rivulet of sweat streak down the line of my spine. “Solicitation, moving money offshore—”

  “I don’t have the slightest clue how to move money offshore!” I all but shout.

  “You seem to be getting your money from somewhere, then, because we know Apropos doesn’t pay you enough to make the big payments you’re making against your debts.”

  “I don’t have—I’m not—”

  He whistles a long, low note. “Those all hold pretty tough penalties.”

  “Jail time,” Abel interjects. “Lots of jail time. In fact, Lucy wouldn’t even get to see you anymore. Time would pass, and her memory of you would fade, and eventually she’d think of you like her mother—a ghost she can’t quite remember but can’t quite forget either.”

  The claws of panic close around my throat as my synapses fire again at the mention of Lucy. At the fact that they know enough about me they can even say her name.

  I struggle to breathe. To not throw up. And then I realize they want something from me. What? I have no idea, but this is too coordinated, and they were too patient when I canceled time and again on Noah, for this to be an ordinary bust.

  “Wicked Ways only sells time, companionship,” I say, repeating my company line. “Anything that happens after the money is exchanged isn’t—”

  “Save me from your bullshit lines,” Abel says and laughs. “Ain’t no one got time for your lies.”

  “I want my lawy—”

  “Who’s your lawyer?” Noah asks.

  “Ryker Lockhart,” I say as calmly as possible.

  Abel’s laugh rings out and startles me. “Not a chance in hell.”

  “What do you mean?” What’s wrong with Ryker? “I want my lawyer.”

  “Not one who has ties to this case you don’t,” he says.

  I stare at him, eyes narrowed, pulse pounding. “What do you mean, ties to the case?”

  Abel looks at Noah and says, “To think we could tie this up with a pretty little bow all at one time.” Noah laughs.

  “What does this have to do with Ryker?” I ask again, every one of my senses in overdrive.

  “We’ll get to that,” Noah says, and the sound of his Sprite can cracking open as he lifts the tab fills the room. He takes a sip and then sets it down before squaring up his papers on the table. When his theatrics are done, he leans back and stares at me much the same way Abel is.

  “What do you want?” My voice is barely a whisper as chills blanket my skin, fear of what their answer is going to be the realest thing I’ve ever faced.

  “See, Abel? I told you she was intelligent. She’d figure out she can help herself while helping us,” good-cop Noah says as he smiles over to bad-cop Abel.

  “We’ll see just how much she wants to help before I make a decision on that,” he replies and leans against the wall, folding his arms over his chest.

  “So is it Lucy that matters the most here?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t understand—”

  “Well, when we called good ol’ Priscilla to report a hotbed of activity at your house, you jumped right into action.”

  “That was you?” I say the words as if I have a hard time believing them, and yet I’m here, right? That’s hard enough for me to believe too. “You were watching me?”

  “FBI.” Abel holds up his badge. “We watch everything.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You see, Vaughn, we were rather impressed with you and your ability to hold things close to the vest.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask as confusion ratchets to an all-time high.

  “Lucy is one thing. You sprang into immediate action. But then there’s Carter. He isn’t exactly the subtlest of men, is he?” Noah asks.

  “I’m not following.”

  “All it would take is one anonymous call to highlight those pictures you have of your friend there.”

  “Carter Preston is not my friend,” I assert.

  “Oh, we more than know that.” Abel’s smile is tight and knowing and makes all the blood drain from my face, the other part of his statement hitting my ears and registering.

  “You’ve been listening to my phone calls?” I ask, each word louder than the last.

  “It’s easy to get a warrant for things like a wiretap when you have a madam catering to a dirty senator,” Abel says, his stare unwavering, his smile chilling. “You can imagine the leads we can chase there. Each one of your clients getting calls by the feds, one by one, until your reputation is ruined . . .”

  The panic humming through my veins jumps to new heights as I think of all the phone calls I’ve made. To my clients. To Archer. To Ryker. The ones I’ve received from Carter, like tonight’s, for instance.

  The mention of Greenwich.

  “Wait—”

  “Yes”—No
ah smiles—“all of them.”

  I press my fingers to my eyes for a moment as I try to gather myself and think five steps ahead to know where this is going. To figure out what they want. To . . . fuck if I know.

  “Is this about the underage girls, then? I have no problem giving you the pictures so you can pursue that avenue and charge him.” My words come out in a rush, my desperation to find an out in this situation all-consuming. Then it dawns on me. “You knew about the pictures, about the underage girls, and you did nothing? Isn’t your job to protect and serve?”

  “Our endgame is much bigger,” Abel states without any emotion, and I hate him on the spot.

  “You let young women be manipulated by him and—”

  “Yes.” No apology. No anything. “Much the same way we knew about your operation and did nothing about it.”

  I open my mouth to say something—anything—and then shut it without speaking a word.

  “The senator,” Noah continues. “Why didn’t you release the photos when he was obviously threatening you?”

  “You’ve seen how these stories end, right? The senator has a few months where he hides his head from the world, and then all is forgotten. But the woman? She’s ruined. Her name a joke. Her life in shambles. Her reputation the constant butt of jokes.”

  “So you have blackmail information, but you refuse to use it?” Noah asks with an astounded shake of his head.

  “I have it on all of my clients, but it has to be played very carefully or else it can backfire. The threat of it is typically enough to keep my clients in line.”

  “But Carter isn’t your typical client? Is that your reasoning? Why you didn’t do anything more than just threaten?”

  “Because I’m scared of him.” My voice wavers, and I don’t think I realized until now just how fearful I am of Carter and what he could do to my life.

  “Understood,” Noah says. “Can I speak with you a moment in the other room?” he asks Abel.

  “One moment,” Abel says to me with a smile. “No phone calls or texts, please. We’d know.”

  I can hear the low murmur of their voices as they step into the other room, door open. Their discussion is heated for a moment while my head spins and my ears strain to try to catch what’s going on.