Chapter 4
Chapter Four
SEBASTIAN
Tony: Would you please talk to me?
Tony: Come on, Sebastian.
Tony: I’ve explained. I’ve apologized. What more do you want me to do?
I’ve refused to respond until now. Not wanting to give Tony the satisfaction of my anger, not wanting to give any of my thoughts and feelings away. But this string of childish texts is wearing my patience thin.
Sebastian: Telling me you didn’t think escorts counted as cheating is neither an explanation nor an apology. Sign the divorce papers.
Tony: We can work this out.
Sebastian: I got the lobby footage from building security. You’ve had that same kid come to our building three times in the past month. What would I have found if the security footage went back further?
I’ve spent more time than necessary reviewing the footage of the escort entering and leaving our building. Everything from the kid’s confident strut and his tight-looking ass in his vintage suits to the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck during week two’s visit because he needed a trim.
On one of the visits, Tony met him in the lobby. His stiffening posture and him turning his head when Tony attempted to kiss him pleased me immensely, all because they made Tony look foolish.
The whore may have been there for the money but he didn’t like it—or he didn't like Tony.
Tony: He’s not an actual kid. He’s twenty-two. He’s only a few years younger than us. Old enough to drink, even!
Me: Do you honestly think that's helpful?
Tony: I won’t sign the papers if you don’t meet me. Maybe we’ll just have to take this to court.
“Dammit.” I toss the phone on my desk and shoot to my feet in frustration, knuckles braced on the desktop. Tony knows I’d rather pull my fingernails out than go to court. I don’t have the time, and won't risk a judge taking his side. He’s already proven he doesn’t deserve anything more from me.
I silence my phone, slamming it face down for good measure.
“Trouble in paradise?”
I settle back into my chair as Agatha walks into my office, holding a cup of coffee. She’s eyeing me warily as if I might go utterly unhinged at any moment. Fair.
“Tony’s throwing a tantrum.”
She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You’re looking plenty keyed up yourself, boss. Maybe you don’t need more coffee. Perhaps you could use a nice scotch or some warm milk.”
The growl that comes from me only prompts her to narrow her eyes. In the end, though, she puts the coffee on the desk. And gives me a several-seconds-long look of judgment before finally backing away.
“At least drink it before you end up wearing it this time.”
Agatha has worked for me since I started Pierce Consulting. The good news is, I trust her. The bad news is, when she isn’t startled she’s not actually afraid of me.
Lehman strides in and pushes the door shut behind him. “They found Cameron Blakely.”
His expression is grim, despite the news that the missing son of one of our clients has been found.
“They found his body?”
I hate to think of the shy young man I met at client mixers having his life ended too early. But Lehman’s body language tells me the news isn’t good.
“He’s alive.” Lehman lands in the chair across from me with a weary sigh as Agatha quietly exits.
“The team we hired found him on a private island off the coast of Brazil—some big-time drug dealer’s house.
Aside from being high on something, there were no significant signs of physical damage.
He was dressed in clean clothes and looked well-fed and hydrated.
No scars, cuts, or bruises. Can’t get a word out of him, though. ”
“Shit.” I press my knuckles harder into the desk. There’s nothing to hit in here, but damned if I don’t want to. “God only knows what that kid might have gone through.”
“Exactly. The team landed back in Florida a little while ago. Kid’s on his way to a hospital to get checked out, but his parents are planning to ship him off to rehab the second he’s cleared to leave.”
That can’t happen. If they ship him off, we’ve lost our chance at information.
“Just because he was on something when he was found doesn’t mean he needs rehab.”
Lehman shrugs. “It’s not up to us.”
“We need to get him to tell us what happened.”
“That’d be ideal,” Lehman agrees. “But it’s not looking good.”
Dammit. That was the plan. Or at least, that was the hope. When people who happened to be our clients had started going missing, I’d decided to foot the bill for a private investigation team.
Perhaps we made the decision too late.
When Cam initially disappeared, it seemed likely that a bored rich kid had decided to go off-grid for a while.
Then, another young entrepreneur client vanished a few weeks later.
More recently, a fashion influencer who had just signed on with us somehow disappeared in the hubbub of a friend’s beachside wedding.
“There's got to be something we can do.”
The Belle Argo police seem to be doing nothing but jerking each other off.
They brushed off every disappearance, even after it started looking like a pattern.
My gut tells me this is more than kids with too much money chasing after shiny objects.
Some bully is taking advantage of these kids; kids whose only crime is being wealthy and partying too hard.
I hate bullies.
I also refuse to let this destroy the business I’ve been building since high school graduation.
Since the first few clients fell off the grid, we’ve had a dozen others pull out.
While there’s no proof that Pierce Consulting is involved, people are still getting spooked.
At the very least, this makes it look like we can’t keep our membership roster secure.
“What’s the word on the drug dealer who had Cam?”
Lehman glances at the printed report in his hand.
“Robert Ballantine, a.k.a. Bobby Balla. Arrested four times for drug trafficking, but there were no convictions. A little pimping and pandering to boot, but I hear the sex trade isn’t so much criminalized over there.
The guy’s currently in the wind. Nobody else was on the island when the team found Cam. ”
“Why the hell would he clear out and leave the kid behind?”
Lehman gives me an impatient glare. “Gosh, if only we’d thought to ask him before he disappeared.” He shakes his head. “Rumor has it Balla’s got some local officials in his pocket. Someone could have gotten wind of the operation and let him know.”
I press my fingers into the desk. “Okay. Anything that might help us get to the bottom of this shit?”
“When there was no ransom request and no body washed up on shore, the investigation team decided to follow up on the possibility of trafficking. Usually, traffickers take people who won’t be missed, but one guy on the team had seen a case where rich sorority girls would disappear from parties and get shipped across the border.
They got a lead on Cam by putting feelers out to their black-market contacts but ran into a dead end when they tried to go up the chain.
It seems to be a similar case of trying to ‘move higher-end products.’ Their words, not mine. ”
“That sounds…” So many words. Twisted. Disgusting. Mercenary.
The simmer in my blood cranks up to a boil.
“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re probably right. Ballantine was heard bragging in a club in Rio about his ‘pampered pet.’ Might mean he’s got one of those little dogs you can carry around in a purse, but the team figures he was talking about Cam.”
“So someone is taking affluent kids and, what, selling them to the highest bidder? Why?”
“Trophies. At least, that’s the working theory. We just don’t know who’s behind it all.”
Great. Cam is too traumatized to speak, so we’re no closer to clearing our names in all of this. I refuse to sit here and do nothing.
“We need to talk to Cam’s parents,” I say.
“Already tried. Lots of weeping and requests for privacy at this painful time. I pushed as hard as possible, but they closed ranks.”
“Screw that.” I scrub a hand over my face. “The guys we hired. Who’s the team lead?”
“Liam Masters. Former military guy, supposedly specialized in stuff he couldn’t discuss. Why?”
Because I’m not about to let some faceless villain hurt these kids, and hurt my business, without consequences. People who don’t think accountability applies to them need to be taught a lesson. And because dragging a person off against their will is just plain wrong.
Lehman sucks in a breath. “Bas, this isn’t your mystery to solve. If this is about your father—”
“Not now.” I’m already grabbing my phone and keys. “Call Liam and find out where they are. If they’re coming from the airport, we can meet with the team before they get Cam to the hospital.”
“Bas, you’ve got the warmth and personality of a saltwater crocodile. You'll get nothing if you scare this kid. Never mind the ass-kicking we’ll get from his parents if you cause him further trauma.”
“Then you can be the one to talk to him. His parents wouldn’t even know where he was without us having hired Liam’s team. That gives us the right to ask some questions.” I stand and head for the door. “He knows something. You know I’m right.”
As we leave, I flip my phone over—more messages from Tony, asking to meet. Since I didn’t answer immediately, he followed up with: Tonight at nine. Our usual place. Just one talk, okay? Please be there.
I won’t be there, but Tony’s not above lying, and neither am I.
Sebastian: I’ll consider it if you tell me his name.
Tony: Who?
Sebastian: The escort.
Once again, I revisit the mischief on the escort’s face. I prefer whore.
Tony: Ugh. It’s Simon. Why do you care? It’s probably a fake name, anyway
Simon. For the briefest moment, I let my eyes drift shut. This time, when I picture my hand in his hair, my cock sliding into his mouth, I hear myself whispering his name.
Simon. Simon.
He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m coming for him.
I smile and slip my phone into my pocket without answering Tony. After all, it’s none of his fucking business.
Besides, I’ve got more pressing concerns. Like trying to get information from a traumatized abductee.
“Come on.” I gesture to Lehman. “Time to get some answers.”