Wicked Fortune (Wicked Nights #5)

Chapter 24

TWENTY-FOUR

As far as I know, the roof was never intended to be a dining area, but there are several metal tables bolted to the floor and I’ve come here a few times to sip coffee and clear my head, always upwind from the building’s few smokers who come here when they’re desperate. It’s not well-maintained like the rest of the building, but it’s functional, the breeze is nice, and there’s a lovely view of the lot and the mountains across the Valley.

Today, it’s not crowded at all, which is good because that means that Clive and Jonah and I can grab a table where we’re sure not to be overheard.

The guys drove through In-N-Out on their way here, and now we’re settled at a table, a spread of cheeseburgers and fries in front of us. I take a sip of Diet Coke, letting the fizz settle my nerves, then look between the two of them. My friend, who I’ve trusted for years. And Jonah, the guy I’ve just been introduced to. But who I’ll trust since he has the Clive seal of approval.

“So spill it,” I say to Clive, unwrapping one of the burgers. “What’s so urgent?”

He glances around, then leans in. “Two things,” he says, his voice low. “The first is Hardline’s Thirsty Thursday meet-and-greet.”

I lean forward. “Tonight?”

“Yup. And guess who has a ticket for himself and a plus one?”

“Ryan Gosling?” I quip.

He tilts his head and looks down his nose. “Me. It starts at eight. I’ll pick you up at seven-forty-five. We’ll be there by eight-fifteen. Never good to seem too eager.”

“Yes. Fabulous. Casual? Dressy?”

“Casual, but go with flirty. The more you get noticed the more Hardline folks will talk to you.”

“Okay, okay.” I nod, mentally inventorying my wardrobe. “This is great. Thank you.”

I’m supposed to hang with Matthew later tonight, so I’ll tell him that Clive wanted to spend some time, and that I’ll head to the treehouse after. Since Matthew didn’t say when he’d be back from Redlands, it makes sense that I’d make plans.

“Yeah, this is great,” I repeat. “You win the friend of the year award.”

“Well, good.” He fidgets with his straw. “But after I tell you the rest of it, you may want to take a few points off.”

I ease back in my chair, then narrow my eyes at him as I cross my arms. “What did you do?” Surely he didn’t tell anyone why I took this job. Panic bubbles inside me as I think about the squinty-eyed stare that Lila’s always aiming my direction. If she learns my true motive …

He glances sideways at Jonah, then winces. “I told him.”

I flash a half-smile at Jonah, then speak with clipped precision. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you taking a Hardline employee to one of the parties. I think it’s part of my job to understand all facets of the business. I’m sure Jonah doesn’t care that I’m really not supposed to be there.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t care about that,” Clive says, as I stare him down with the kind of glance that would kill if this were a superhero movie. “I might have mentioned that you’re trying to figure out what happened to Jenny.”

“For fuck’s sake, Clive. You promised.” My stomach twists as I turn to Jonah. “Whatever he told you, please, please don’t?—”

“It’s fine,” Clive says, holding his hands up as if I were pointing a gun. “Seriously, it’s okay. I’ve known Jonah forever.”

“And I knew Jenny, too,” Jonah says. “I liked her.”

I take a closer look at Jonah. I hadn’t given him much thought at first. All I’d really thought about was how to talk to Clive in a way that didn’t give my mission away.

I hadn’t expected that Clive had gone and done that already.

Now that I’m sitting here potentially exposed, I take a longer look at the guy whom Clive swears I can trust. He’s tall and skinny with wild red hair. Something about him tugs at my memory—a familiar set of freckles, a crooked, endearing smile.

Then it hits me—he looks a bit like the kid from that sitcom everyone watched back in the day, the one who played the wisecracking, trouble-prone little brother.

“Yeah,” he says, apparently realizing where my thoughts have gone. “I used to be on We’re All Family.”

“I remember you. But wow—you’re all grown up.”

“That’s the problem,” he says with a sigh, leaning back and giving Clive a quick grin. “Aging out of the cute-kid roles hasn’t exactly done me any favors. Transition’s been … let’s say ‘bumpy.’”

Clive nudges him. “Jonah here’s the one who told me he was shocked when he heard about Jenny.”

Jonah’s easy smile fades. “The Jenny I knew wouldn’t kill herself.”

“Not my Jenny, either.” I blink back tears. “How did you know her?” I dab a fry in ketchup as he answers, but I don’t eat it. I’m not hungry anymore.

He shrugs. “Oh, you know. We crossed paths at auditions and at the Hardline parties. Had coffee a few times and bitched about the industry. You know how it is. Banged a couple of times, too,” he adds with a blush. “Nothing serious, but I liked her. We had fun together.”

I wipe away a tear that’s escaped. “She mentioned you,” I tell him. “Not by name. She called you her Hardline FWB. Said you were a lot of fun.”

He nods, his shoulders hunching. “Thanks. Hearing that … it helps.”

“Is that why you came today? To meet another friend of hers?”

He shakes his head. “Listen, she wanted to make it, no matter what. Like, seriously ambitious. But if Moses appeared in front of her and said it wasn’t happening, she’d go off and do something else. Not kill herself over it. That girl had backbone. And she loved her life, her friends, all of it.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, though I know exactly what he’s saying.

“I’m saying that someone killed her. I’m certain of it.”

For a moment, his words sit heavy between us. Then I nod. “That’s what I think, too.” I consider telling him about the anagram letter, but I don’t. Maybe later if I can’t figure it out. But I need to stay under the radar, and if too many folks are poking around in Jenny’s death …

I look at Clive, then back to Jonah. “Any idea who?”

He shakes his head. “Not a clue. Except …” He trails off, looking to Clive, who nods. “Well, when Clive said you were working at Hardline, I thought I should say something.”

I look between the two of them. “Why?”

Jonah rubs the back of his neck. “So here’s the thing—I’ve been going to the meet-and-greets at Hardline for years now. Got a few guest spots from them, some decent leads, so they’re legit. But …”

He looks down, biting his lip. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

Clive nudges him. “Just tell her.”

Jonah draws a deep breath. “Okay, so … like, a year ago, this girl I used to see at every event just stopped showing up.” He shrugs. “No big deal, right? I figured she’d either booked something or decided to give up acting.”

I lean forward. “But that wasn’t the case?”

“No idea. But a few months later, another girl stopped showing, too. The last time I saw her, she told me she’d landed a gig in London. She was totally stoked.”

“What was the gig?” I ask.

“Don’t know. But here’s the thing. My uncle’s from London, and my cousin was getting married, and I was going to be over in London just a few days after she flew over. So I called Hardline’s London office to see if they could get a message to her. Talked to two different folks. Nobody’d heard of her.”

I feel cold all over, but I lean back, determined not to assume the worst right off the bat. “And you’re sure the gig was with Hardline?”

His brow furrows. “I—well, no. But she did tell me she got the gig through one of the meet-and-greets. So I assumed it was a Hardline job. But maybe she met someone who introduced her to someone and on and on.” He looks between me and Clive. “I guess that’s possible,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

Honestly, neither am I.

“And you couldn’t find her at all?”

He shakes his head.

“Did you call the government? Like, whoever keeps track of passports and stuff?”

“I didn’t think of it,” he says. “I guess someone still could. Her name was Tamra Keane.” He spells it out for me, and I type it into my phone. “She lived in Santa Monica and was born in Oklahoma. We had the Okie thing in common.”

For a moment, we’re all silent. Then he draws a breath and says, “There were others, too. Another girl I knew who stopped coming. And this guy I’d see all the time—Todd—we’d have a beer and shoot the breeze. He—well, he killed himself.”

My eyes cut to Clive, whose expression looks as harsh and disturbed as I feel.

“Anything else?” The question comes out in a whisper.

Jonah shakes his head. “I just … sometimes I think I should have called the police, but I didn’t really know anything. Folks give up on acting all the time, you know? Hell, folks give up on LA all the time. It’s expensive as shit out here and breaking into acting is hard. So someone not coming to a party? Not really breaking news, right?”

“Guess not,” I say. “Who officially sponsors the parties? Hardline, right?”

“Yeah. Well, I guess so. The invites come from the Talent Relations department, and?—”

“ Elias Trent,” I say, thinking about the snippets of conversation I’d overheard between Joel and Matthew.

“Yeah. He didn’t come all the time, but I met him once or twice. And his name was always on the Hardline Christmas card.”

I nod, feeling a little sick at the thought of Matthew in the midst of all this. “So you met him? Trent?”

“Well, you know. A handshake. Welcome to the party, and all that.”

“What’s he like?”

“Don Draper type. It’s not like I got to know him or anything.”

“What about Joel Carradine? Have you heard of him?”

Jonah nods. “Yeah. He’s been to several, too. I think he works with Trent.”

As I nod, Jonah leans forward. “Listen …” He trails off, then takes a deep breath. “Whatever you do, can you leave my name out of it? I don’t want to get the rep of being a troublemaker or a paranoid freak. Despite appearances, this really is a small town.”

“I get it,” I say. “And I promise.”

He nods. “Okay. Good. And, you know … about Jenny. I hope you find the fucker who killed her. She was a good egg.”

“Yeah,” I say. “She really was.”

I know I should go back to the office after Clive and Jonah leave, but I can’t quite bring myself to head back there yet. Instead I go to my car and just sit. I need to think. To plan.

And the first step of my plan is clearing my schedule for tonight. I pull out my phone, then tap out a quick text:

Clive sucked me into a party tonight. I’ll hit ur place after? 12am or so?

I re-read it, add a kiss emoji, then hit send.

His answer comes within seconds. Tell C to be on best behavior.

I tag it with a laugh, then exhale. One problem conquered.

A million problems—aka questions—left to go.

I find Jenny’s letter on my phone. I want to look at it with new eyes. Eyes that have heard what Jonah said. Because even though he never used the word “trafficking,” the missing girls and the invite to London all sound like something out of the Taken franchise.

I AM THESE TORN LINES.

JG

PS: I’m driving on, driving out. Forgive me, this tangled knot.

Torn lines?

I have no idea what that could mean. But the line about driving …?

That one’s poking at my gut.

Driving .

That and another line— Forgive me .

Forgive her for what? I have no clue. Maybe she knew something was funky, and she didn’t say anything, and the note is all about guilt?

Or maybe it really was suicide, this is her farewell note, and I’m trying too hard.

Maybe not every word in the note has a double meaning.

I don’t know. I’m not even sure I can know.

But my eye keeps going to the word tangled .

Tangled. Driving. Knot.

Tangled knot.

Driving in a tangled knot.

Traffic.

I suck in air as I sit bolt upright. She’s describing a snarl of traffic.

The note is more than a clue, the note is an indictment.

Human trafficking.

Elias Trent and Joel Carradine are tied in with human trafficking, and somehow Jenny got sucked into the middle of it.

That’s what the note means, I’m certain of it.

What I don’t know is Matthew’s role. Is he aware? And if so, is he complicit? Or is he trying to shut it down?

Most of all, did he have anything to do with Jenny’s death?

The last thought sends a wave of bile up into my throat, and I shake my head, unable to believe it. I know Matthew. It hasn’t been long, but I’ve come to know him intimately. People I respect know him, too. Damien, Nikki, Bree. He’s a good man. A talented man who built a business by clawing his way up from nothing.

And yet there was that conversation with Joel Carradine.

I tell myself not to jump to conclusions. I don’t have all the facts. The only truly concrete thing I have is Carradine’s resume and the strange feeling that there’s something funky about it. But what?

I have no idea, and I don’t know how to figure it out without going to the FBI or whoever is in charge of shutting down traffickers. But I can’t do that without dragging Hardline into all of this … and I can’t drag Hardline in unless I’m one zillion percent sure.

Which means I need to find someone who knows about this stuff. Someone who would recognize the signs of a trafficking operation but isn’t part of the government. Someone who?—

And then I remember.

Ryan Hunter.

The new dad who was one of the guests of honor at the party where I’d almost drooled over Matthew. He’s the head of Stark Security, a private security firm he owns with Damien. He’d been a huge help when Bree was kidnapped. And I know he’s done lots of international security work.

Surely he could help me.

And even if he can’t, I have no better option. So I do a quick search for the main number, then dial.

“Stark Security. How may I direct your call?”

“Um.” It’s only as the line is answered that I realize it would have been smarter to ask Nikki for an intro call. Odds are that my cold call isn’t going to get me anywhere close to Mr. Hunter himself.

“Hello?”

“Right. Ryan Hunter, please.”

“One moment.”

There’s a brief hold-tone, then a male voice. “Mr. Hunter’s office.”

“Right. Um, hi. This is Aria Parker. I was at the party for little Maia. I’m Bree Bernstein’s old roommate, and, well, I really need to speak to Mr. Hunter.”

“Can I tell him what it’s regarding?” The voice is sharp. Efficient.

“I’m not sure. That’s kind of why I need his help. If I could just explain it to him. I think—well, I think my friend was murdered, and I think?—”

“Hold on for one minute.” The voice is gentle now, the “busy office” tone traded for one of compassion.

“Um, yes.” But by the time I speak, the hold-music is humming again. But only for a moment. Then the line clears and I hear a firm, confident voice saying, “Aria? What’s wrong?”

A wave of relief crashes over me with such force I have to shut my eyes. “Mr. Hunter?”

“Call me Ryan. What’s wrong?”

“I think—I’m not really sure how to say this, but I think someone may be using Matthew Holt’s company as a front for human trafficking. I think my friend Jenny found out. And I think someone killed her.”

He’s quiet for at least thirty seconds. “All right,” he says. “Go on.”

“There’s a guy who heads up one of the departments at Hardline. I think he’s involved. And he has a new guy working under him. I got a hold of the new guy’s resume. I—I took a picture of it. On the surface, it looks impressive, but …”

“But what?”

“This is going to sound stupid, but I read a lot of thrillers and watch way too many movies. Some of the stuff on his resume … well, it just sounds dicey. I took a picture. I was hoping I could text it to you and you could tell me if I’m being paranoid. Or if I really have stumbled into something bad.”

“I see. And have you spoken to Matthew?”

“I—no. Not yet.”

The line is silent for a good thirty seconds. “I assume you’d rather not bring him in on this yet? Just in case it turns out to be nothing?”

My entire body sags with relief. “That’s it exactly. I feel a little silly worrying as it is, and?—”

“What’s the employee’s name?”

“Joel Carradine.”

There’s another pause, and I wonder if he’s heard the name before. Then he says, “Text me his resume.”

He gives me his cell number and I send the image. He’s gone for several minutes before returning to the line. “I don’t see anything on his resume to be concerned about, but I did have my assistant call two of his references and they checked out. I also did a search with Homeland Security and Europe. Nothing popped there.”

“Oh, good. I—I’m glad I didn’t bother Matthew. Please don’t mention it to him. I feel kind of ridiculous now. Too many movies, I guess.”

“Don’t give it a second thought. Everything looks fine. Your first time working at an international company?”

“It is.”

“It’s a much bigger canvas. Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”

“I get that,” I say, then thank him again before we end the call. I feel better about the human trafficking paranoia, but I’m still troubled about Jenny. And confused by her cryptic note. Because unless I’m misinterpreting it, Jenny did think there was trafficking going on at Hardline.

But I suppose that between Jenny the flighty actress and Ryan the hard-boiled security expert, it’s Ryan on whom I should bet.

So I do.

But even having made that decision, I can’t shake the feeling that something just isn’t right.