Chapter Fifteen
H ow dare Chad threaten my family.
I turned to leave.
“A journalist was on a story that involved a member of your family,” said Chad. “Then he turned up dead.”
My heart twisted to think he’d believe we had anything to do with this. His comment was not even deserving of a response. “I have to get back to my desk.”
“Cameron Cole moves in the same circles.”
A silent panic constricted my chest. “What circles?”
“The same circles as criminals.”
“What evidence do you have?”
“It’s in a safety deposit box. Anything happens to me, and it will come out.”
I suppressed a laugh at his paranoia.
This guy was unhinged—and I was fricking working in the same building.
My family had been briefed about moments like this, when the press screamed an accusation, and our response was everything. Recorded for a lifetime of ridicule and inspection. Discomfort at questions can look a lot like guilt, I’d been warned.
Still, if I could shed some light on this and calm him down, that would get this guy off my back.
So, I said, “What’s the journalist’s name?”
“Dean Hersey.”
“Show me what you have.”
He dragged out his phone and held the screen up for me to see. “This is Atticus Sinclair, a doctor at Cedars coming out of a club.” He slid the photo along. “And here he is having lunch with your brother at a yacht club.”
In the photo taken from outside a restaurant, Cameron sat at a round table and appeared deep in conversation with a handsome man with a tattoo on his hand. They weren’t alone—sitting with them was that famous football player, Jake Carrington.
My breath caught in my throat as I looked closer—sitting with them was my brothers’ gorgeous friend, the man I’d spoken with in Cam’s kitchen on Thursday—Greyson. That piqued my interest, because he’d been hanging around my brother’s place.
Maybe there was more to this story.
“When was this taken?” I asked nonchalantly.
“No comment.”
“Where?”
“I told you, at a yacht club.” He lowered his phone. “Which happens to be the last known whereabouts of Dean Hersey.”
“Was Dean at that meeting?”
“No.”
“He took that shot with a high angle lens?” I asked. “Spying on members of a club?”
“He was investigating activity on a yacht.”
“Whose yacht?” I held my breath fearing he’d mention my brother’s.
He shrugged. “A few days later, Dean went back to Marina Del Rey to talk with Lance Merrill, the owner of the yacht. Then he turned up dead.”
“Lance Merrill? The oil tycoon?” I asked, my eyes wide. “Didn’t he die from a heart attack? I saw it on the news.”
“Yeah, people turning up dead. The common denominator being your brother and his friends.”
“I don’t see the connection.”
“Atticus Sinclair talked with Dean, right before he got in the car with Lance. I was there.”
“Dean got in the car with Lance Merrill?”
“Yes, then he turned up dead.”
I mulled over the facts. “Why are you investigating this?”
“If you call yourself a serious journalist, you’ll work that out.”
“What’s your last name? Are you related to him?”
“No.”
My intuition kicked in and I ran with it. “He was your boyfriend?”
Chad looked surprised and then a look of regret crossed his face.
“You followed Dean?”
“I thought he was cheating, but he was working.” Guilt flashed in his eyes.
“You thought he was meeting another man?”
“He was acting strange. But now I realize it was fear.”
I swallowed hard at that. “My brother Cameron is a psychiatrist. He’s a good man.”
“Dean got too close to something.”
“To what?”
“Prove I can trust you.”
“Maybe I can ask my brother if he’s heard that name. Maybe he can shed some light on this. But I can assure you, he would never harm anyone.”
“Right, because he has people who do that for him.”
My jaw dropped at his arrogance. “I’m offering to help.”
“You’ll bury the truth.”
“Why do you think I want to work here?” I said sincerely.
He held up another photo. “Your brother’s friends coming out of a club. Dean took this a month before he died.”
There they were again in another photo: Three handsome friends. Atticus, Jake, and Greyson, each dressed in sleek black tuxedos, an image so perfect it could’ve graced the cover of a magazine. They exuded charm, glamour and effortless allure.
Greyson looked so damn handsome I couldn’t drag my eyes away.
Just behind them, looming tall and imposing, was a grand, intricately carved door. The question hung in the air: Where did it lead? What lay beyond that threshold, hidden from view, waiting to be discovered? What did they do in there?
That, too, piqued my curiosity.
“Where is this?” I asked.
“Dean traced Lance Merrill there. And followed him from that place to his yacht in Marina Del Rey.”
“What do you know about the place?”
“Nothing, but there’s something nefarious happening there.”
The thought that my brother knew about any of this scared me. Their behavior could rebound onto him, onto my family. It could affect the business. Affect everything in our universe.
“Have you visited the place?” I asked.
“There’s no record of it.”
That made no sense. “What do you mean?”
“The address turns up on another street. The place is unfindable.”
“Can you show me Dean’s files?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Give me the general location of the club.”
“Huntington Beach.”
“What street?”
“Off the Pacific Coast Highway, 21101.”
“I’ll check it out.”
He sighed heavily. “I don’t need your help. I need you to tell your brother to call me.”
It was annoying to have another person wanting access to Cameron through me.
“First, I need everything you have.”
He drew his mouth back in a snarl. “As if.”
“Fine, I’ll find out more myself.”
I read the sadness in Chad’s eyes, and for the first time since meeting him I realized I’d taken his pain for anger.
“I’m sorry about Dean,” I said gently. “I’ll do what I can to get you the answers you need.”
His expression softened. “Just don’t go there alone. To that club.”
“Why?”
“People connected to that place are turning up dead.”
I wanted to encourage him to keep digging, but from the photos I’d seen, all roads led back to Cameron.
“I probably wouldn’t be able to get in.” I needed to get back to my desk.
Whatever possessed me to believe Chad’s accusations, I couldn’t say. Perhaps I just wanted to resolve this mess before it reached my brother.
The club’s door featured an elaborate, intricate knocker. The arched entryway to that secret place piqued my interest. I had to know where Greyson and his friends were spending time together. If I knew that, it would shed more light into what kind of man Greyson was.
That kind of motivation fired me up.
I gave a nod of acknowledgment that I’d heard what he had to say, and I would give it all serious consideration. Then I left the breakroom, that sugary scent stuck in my nostrils, accompanying the sense of dread I felt that this puny guy was investigating my brother.
I’d dig around myself for more information, then warn my brother.
Staying at Pulse360 felt more important than ever. This was the reason I needed to eradicate the guilt.
Back at my desk, I uploaded the address he’d given me into Google images, and felt a rush of excitement when I saw the image zero in. The location overlooked the beach.
The rest of the day dragged on; mostly, I delved into HR training videos and tried not to die from boredom.
The conversation with Chad continued to bother me. Perhaps if I found out more about his friend Dean, I’d be able to soothe his grief.
At 6:00 P.M., I rode the elevator down with several other staff members who mostly ignored me, chatting amongst themselves to prove I was still an outsider. Starting somewhere new resulted in feelings of loneliness.
Proving myself would grant me respect and, hopefully, I’d make some friends.
I rode the elevator all the way down to the parking lot, waiting for the crowd to disperse before I claimed my brother’s Ghost.
After driving along the side streets for a while in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I eventually navigated onto the southbound lane of the 605 freeway. Heart pounding, I followed my lead towards that alluring building, my mouth going dry in anticipation.
Of course, Cameron could track me via his car, so there was no way to prevent that, but hopefully, he respected my privacy.
After an hour, I pulled up to the address I’d researched.
It was a great location, with the golden sandy beach opposite. A building rose majestically on the corner, its facade a blend of modern and classic architecture. The outside was illuminated by soft yellow lights casting a warm glow over the mysterious property.
I parked a little way down the street so no one could see me and stared at the fascinating guests who were arriving, which included women in elegant gowns, proving this wasn’t a gentlemen’s-only club.
Men in tailored suits came in groups or alone, climbing the steep steps and soon disappearing through the ornate front door with the impressive knocker.
It made me wonder if it was a prestigious private event.
I wasn’t dressed formally enough to enter, so going in tonight wasn’t an option. I’d have to come back.
I started the engine.
Several women rounded the corner, their laughter echoing down the street. Two of them wore trench coats, but as one unfastened her belt, she revealed a bodice and stockings, the most daring, seductive outfit I’d ever seen. Without missing a beat, they all scurried up the stone stairs to the grand doorway, their heels clicking against the steps in a playful way.
What kind of place was this?
A sudden blur darted directly into the glare of my headlights; the tall figure’s features distorted by the harsh beam. Broad shoulders filled out a suit, his shadowed face partially revealed as he squinted through the windshield at me.
I gripped the steering wheel, palm poised on the horn, ready to attract attention to get help.
Before I could react further, the guy stalked around to my driver’s door, his steps sharp and purposeful. His tall frame loomed over me as his fist, knuckles tight, rapped against my window.
“Open the door,” he commanded, his voice low and urgent, cutting through the tense silence.
Oh, my God, it was him.