Chapter 1 #2
I made my way up the wide staircase, my sneakers squelching.
I’d usually want a moment to pull myself together – a mirror to check my mascara wasn’t running down my face or to fix my hair – but I couldn’t make myself care.
I hadn’t put makeup on in weeks and I was cultivating a look …
one that said I didn’t give a shit about anything right now.
I knew that sometimes a reckless disregard for social norms would come across as unpredictable, even intimidating.
Not that I thought I could intimidate Wilson – he wasn’t Marcus.
The inside of the club was overwhelming at the best of times, and tonight it was packed.
The terrible weather clearly hadn’t been enough to keep people away – it was a wall-to-wall crush of bodies dancing and drinking and making out in dark corners.
There was a manic buzz in the air, which was 50 per cent down to the music and 50 per cent intoxication.
I charted a direct path through the dancers to the door of Wilson’s owner’s lounge, and crossed the space in long, determined strides.
People got out of my way. As they should.
The owner’s lounge was purposefully ostentatious – Wilson wanted people to know there was an extra-exclusive area of his already very exclusive club, one that normal people weren’t allowed in.
By the time I’d made my way to the imposing double doors I was irritated, and so didn’t bother knocking before I pushed through.
He wouldn’t hear me over the volume of the music anyway.
The lounge was luxurious. It had its own private bar framed in gold, the wallpaper was elegant and the carpet plush, though it was far from what I’d consider my personal taste.
Wilson was sprawled on one of the leather couches, wearing jeans and a mostly open shirt instead of one of his slick criminal entrepreneur suits.
He was handsome – I could recognize that even though I wasn’t remotely attracted to him – and he always seemed to be surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful women.
I was slightly surprised that there weren’t any women in the room tonight.
It was just him and his personal army of bodyguards.
‘Kendra,’ he said, straightening and looking me up and down. ‘It’s good to see you. You’ve been missed.’
‘Wilson,’ I said flatly. Being polite was too much effort.
‘Sit down,’ he said, and it wasn’t a request. I did, taking one of the purple velvet armchairs and leaning back. ‘Are we not going to exchange pleasantries? It’s been a while since we last caught up, after all. We could discuss the weather? I hear it’s awful out there.’
‘The weather is awful,’ I echoed dutifully.
‘Are you sure everything is okay, Kendra?’ Wilson said, changing tack and now sounding concerned, even sympathetic. ‘Do you need help?’
I lifted my chin and forced a smile onto my face. ‘Everything’s great, thanks,’ I said, hopefully shutting down that line of questioning.
‘And how is the jewelry trade? Anything … new to share?’
I had the feeling I was missing something, like Wilson wanted me to spill a very specific piece of information. I frowned at him for a second, trying to work out what I wasn’t catching on to.
‘Not really,’ I said.
‘I’ve heard a few rumors,’ he said, raising an eyebrow like he was letting me in on a secret. ‘About some exciting new pieces that have come into circulation.’
I gave him a tight smile. ‘I’ve been out of the loop recently, remember,’ I said.
‘Of course, of course,’ he said, the closest to compassion I could expect from him. ‘You’re okay now, I hope?’
No way was I going to show any weakness to Wilson. I gave him a bright, fake smile.
‘I’m great.’
‘Wonderful. I might have to make a visit to the shop sometime. See what you’ve got in stock.’
He’d resumed his sprawling pose, arms spread wide over the back of the couch and one ankle propped on the opposite knee. As he talked he lifted his hand and ran it over his buzz-cut hair. He had a way of drawing attention to himself.
‘You’re welcome any time,’ I said, forcing myself to relax my jaw.
Walker Antiques was an elite, well-respected, one-hundred-year-old business that I’d recently found myself in charge of.
Working with people like Wilson wasn’t new.
My mom, grandfather and great-grandfather had all operated the shop on two levels – the first catering to New York’s high society, buying and trading exclusive and very expensive jewelry, clocks, furniture and art.
Underneath the shine, an illegal trade in stolen goods ticked along.
Wilson needed a respectable business to legitimize and sell on the items that he stole.
Walker Antiques needed frequent injections of new inventory to sell on to our most exclusive clients and private collectors.
It was a relationship that worked for both of us, and had worked well since the business had been founded.
I was sure Great-Grandpa Walker would be delighted to know that, three generations later, Walker Antiques was still operating as he’d always envisioned.
‘Do you have anything for me?’ I asked, hoping to move the conversation along. ‘Your messages sounded urgent.’
Wilson got up and went over to an ostentatious safe that was already open, revealing stacks of cash inside.
From the back, he pulled out a small jewelry box and walked halfway over to me, forcing me to stand up to collect it from him.
I hated these ‘alpha male’ bullshit displays, but I bit my tongue.
‘You’re lucky I didn’t already sell these on to someone else. Old European cut diamonds,’ he said with a little dramatic flourish. ‘I know how much you like them.’
I took the box and sat down on the couch, my gun digging into my ribs.
I worked hard to cover the sudden jolt of discomfort as I popped open the box’s velvet lid.
Inside, a pair of earrings were nestled in the silk lining – teardrop style, with clusters of smaller diamonds surrounding the big one in the middle.
Was this it? One pair of relatively inexpensive earrings?
It seemed nowhere near important enough to justify the number of messages and calls I’d had from him, and it made me suspicious of his true intentions.
Could this just have been a ploy to try to lure me out of hiding?
I pushed away the niggling concern and took a loupe out of my jacket so I could study the diamonds, quickly assessing the cut and clarity.
Well, I could confirm that they weren’t fake, which was a good start.
The big diamond in the middle was a solid two carats, and the gold holding all the smaller diamonds in place had been kept in good condition.
‘Early 1920s,’ I muttered. ‘Art deco style.’
‘Sounds about right.’
I nodded and checked over the other earring, just to be sure. They really were very pretty. I was sure someone was quite upset that they’d been stolen. Or, they would be as soon as they realized.
I’d learned, a long time ago, to shut down the part of myself that felt instinctive empathy for people who’d had expensive or sentimental items stolen from them, as well as my guilt for my part in this seedy, underground trade.
I’d been born into this world, and I knew my role in it.
Feeling sorry for victims didn’t help me pay the bills.
‘Six grand,’ I said, snapping the lid of the box closed.
Wilson snorted derisively. ‘The insurers valued them at twenty-five.’
‘I can’t sell them for twenty-five,’ I replied. ‘The market for items like this is slow at the moment.’
‘You can sell them for fifteen, at least.’
This back-and-forth haggling was familiar territory – another thing I’d learned from my mom.
She’d introduced me to Wilson years ago, but recently he’d started to prefer working with me.
People paid less attention to a teenage girl in jeans and a hoodie than an elegantly dressed woman.
I could slip into places my mom couldn’t, and Wilson had been one of the first to appreciate that about me.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Eight.’
‘Twelve.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m not going higher than eight, Wilson. I have overheads.’
He didn’t answer immediately, and I watched a muscle twitch in his jaw.
‘Eight and a half.’ Then he gave me a long, slow smirk. ‘Remember, Ms Walker. You owe me.’
A flash of anger flared in my chest at the reminder of my most vulnerable moment, when I’d been forced to ask him for help. I lifted my chin instead of cowering, wanting him to think that his little jab hadn’t gotten to me at all.
‘Fine.’
He held out his hand and I shook it, understanding that the deal was more about him having the last word than five hundred dollars.
‘I don’t have cash with me,’ I said, and he waved that concern away.
‘Transfer it,’ he said airily, referring to his foreign bank account that would make it difficult to trace the transaction.
‘I’ll do that tomorrow,’ I said. Right after I’d moved on the earrings for at least sixteen thousand. I had a buyer in Italy who loved this kind of style.
‘Pleasure doing business with you, as always,’ he said with a smile. ‘By the way, Kendra, those earrings are hot. I wouldn’t hang onto them for too long if I were you.’
‘Thanks for the tip.’
Wilson’s expression grew serious. ‘I’m surprised you’re still focusing on Walker Antiques, Kendra. After all the tragedy you’ve suffered …’
The statement was supposed to hurt, which was why I couldn’t let him know that his fake concern felt like a slap around the face.
I gave him a small, tight smile. ‘It’s in my blood,’ I said. I stood, tucking the box of earrings into my pocket. ‘See you around, Vance.’
The noise of the club hit me in the solar plexus as I left the owner’s lounge, and I wished – not for the first time – that there was another way of getting in and out of this place other than the main staircase. If there was, I had never been invited to use it.