Chapter 15 Beckett
Velocity Ridge Airfield is not a place I can picture Paul being.
He was too warm. Too happy to fit in with these people here. Everyone we pass has their nose so high in the air I’m surprised there aren’t more people tripping over each other. The men barely notice us as we pass, though the women—they all look back at Shawn.
It makes my skin crawl, and unwanted jealousy sours my already strained mood.
With his fingers threaded through mine, we follow Charlise, a woman wearing a short, pin-striped skirt and white button-down, as she guides us through the club areas.
She’s been talking pretty much solid for the last thirty minutes, her tone chipper, hungry gaze eating up Shawn every chance she gets.
Even with me standing beside him.
“These are our private men’s quarters,” she says, gesturing toward a frosted glass door to the left. “You can book a massage from any of our talented staff, all of them trained in every method of relaxation.”
I’m going to hurl.
That’s going to be what breaks our cover.
Me puking all over her ridiculously expensive shoes.
Disgusting.
“We also offer a sauna and a private poker room if you’re feeling lucky.” With a wink, she turns to me, and her smile loses some of its luster. “And for you, Mrs. Andrews, we have our private women’s quarters, complete with a full spa, sauna, and lounge.”
“No poker room or private masseuse for me?” I fake a pout. “Sad.”
The woman’s phony smile falters. “You can absolutely take advantage of our staff of trained masseuses,” she says quickly. “We have quite a few. Both men and women alike.”
“Thanks. But I’m not big on sharing,” I whisper toward her.
She nods. “Understood. Please, come this way, and I’ll show you our gym and swimming pool.” Charlise turns to leave, and Shawn pulls me close.
“You okay?” he whispers as we follow.
“Fine. Just not appreciating the special attention you seem to be getting. We are married after all.” And all it does is make me wonder what Paul was really doing here.
Was he having an affair?
Was he taking advantage of all the offers this same woman is throwing out to Shawn like free samples in a grocery store?
Nausea churns in my belly. We haven’t been left alone long enough to get any actual information. But I get the feeling we’re going to have to separate in order to do so. Him in his corner of the club, I in mine. And that makes me feel sick all over again.
“Through here, you’ll find our completely indoor, temperature-regulated tennis court.
” She shoves open a large glass door, and we step out into a huge glass dome.
Three of the courts are currently occupied, while the other three are empty.
“Presently, we have open reservations, but in the future, it would be a good idea to book them in advance.”
“We love tennis,” Shawn says with a smile toward me. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yup. Love it.” It’s true. I even played in college. Does he know that? Or is he simply playing the part?
“Good. Then I bet you’re going to have plenty of fun here.
” With another icy smile, she veers off toward the left.
The stench of chlorine fills my lungs before we’ve reached the entrance to the pool.
“This is our largest indoor pool. We have two larger outdoor pools, though they are currently closed and won’t re-open until late spring. ”
I look inside, surprised that I don’t see bikini-clad waitresses waiting on the rich members of the club as though they’re on the menu, too.
Instead, it looks rather unoccupied, only two women in one corner, their feet in the water as they chat about who knows what.
This entire place makes my skin crawl.
Does Shawn feel the same?
“And that about sums up our club,” she says as she turns toward us. “The dining halls are on the second floor, but they’re closed until dinner.”
“We can find those easy enough,” Shawn replies smoothly.
“We’d like to see the hangars before we fully pledge our membership.
A lot of clubs like this have great clubhouses, but the airfield itself, as well as the hangars, lack security and amenities.
” His tone is cold, calculated. Which, based on her reaction, is doing exactly what he’d hoped for: disarming her.
“Mr. Andrews, I assure you that Velocity Ridge Airfield takes every security measure, even as we offer the best amenities—both inside and out—of any private airfield in the world.”
“I’m sure you do, but I need to be sure,” he replies. “Otherwise, I’ll assume there’s a reason you don’t want us to see them and take my money elsewhere.”
Charlise’s cheeks flush with color. “Very well. If you follow me, I will guide you toward a tour of the airfield.”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
“Of course.” Her agitation is present in both her tone and expression, but she plasters on a smile before turning on her heel and heading back the way we came.
As we walk down the hallway, it’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other. I’ve always known places like this existed. Twisted hideouts for people who have no moral compass and believe they are above all law.
But it’s one thing to know and another to walk the halls.
A man clearly in his seventies strolls by us, a woman no older than late twenties glued to his side, a large ring on her finger, a wide smile on her face.
Lord, please be with us. This whole place is wrong. I don’t know that I can keep this up. Please be with us. Please keep us armored against the darkness in this place. I pray this in Jesus’ name, Amen.
In my line of work, I’ve had to walk the halls of places that still give me nightmares.
I’ve sat across the table from killers.
This world is full of darkness, and sometimes we have to go there in order to spread light. In this place, I’m not here to spread light, but I am here to find the truth. But maybe, once this is over, we’ll have enough evidence to shut this place down, too.
To force these monsters to scatter into the light, hopefully bringing some of them to justice as we do.
Which brings my thoughts back to Paul.
Did I even know the man I married?
Was anything he told me true?
“Please wait here,” she says as we reach the lobby. “I will have our Director of Member Flight Affairs meet you. She can answer your questions in better detail and take you on that tour of our airstrip and hangars.”
“Great, thank you, Charlise,” Shawn replies smoothly. As she leaves, he wraps both arms around me and pulls me against his chest. “You’re trembling,” he whispers in my ear, keeping his voice low enough that no one can hear him.
“Why was he in this place?” I whisper back. “Was I not enough? Was that why he was here?” Is it possible he wasn’t murdered? That he did have an accident?
“You’re more than enough,” Shawn growls in my ear. “And like I said, we don’t have all the pieces. You have to stop trying to put them together until we do.”
I bury my face in his chest to compose myself. Inhaling deeply, I savor the scent of his aftershave, letting the pine scent fill my lungs and soothe my nerves.
God, be with us, please. Guide our steps, and lead us to the truth. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.
“Mr. and Mrs. Andrews?” a soft, feminine voice greets as soon as I’ve finished my private prayer.
Forcing a smile onto my face, I turn to face her. The petite brunette looks to be only in her early twenties, but the heaviness in her blue gaze speaks of a woman who has seen far more than her fair share of horrors.
There’s a familiarity about her, though I’m certain we’ve never met.
She pales slightly when she sees us, but color returns to her cheeks mere seconds later, and I can’t help but wonder if I imagined it. “I’m Lauren, the Director of Member Flight Affairs here at Velocity Ridge Airfield.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Shawn says as he reaches forward to offer her his hand. “Shep and Rebecca Andrews.”
She turns to me and smiles sharply. “Yes. Well, shall we go, then? I’ve been told you wish to see the airfield and the hangars?”
“We want to make sure the security is present, as well as the amenities in the actual hangars themselves.”
“Of course.” Her smile is cold as she turns.
“This way.” We stroll out the front doors we entered through to find a white Mercedes SUV waiting outside.
I expect our hostess to climb inside that; instead, she veers off to the left and opens the door on a black utility vehicle with the airfield’s logo—a tall mountain peak with clouds in a ring beneath it—painted on the side.
Shawn opens my door for me and lets me climb into the back, then walks around to get into the front seat. As he does, I do what I can to steady my racing heart.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Yes,” Shawn replies.
Lauren smiles coldly again and pulls away from the curb. She remains silent as the club fades from view, and she veers onto a paved road on the right.
She stops about a half mile from a row of large hangars, most with private planes tucked away inside, then shuts off the engine. Turning, that fake smile is completely gone. “You shouldn’t be here,” she tells me.
“What?” My stomach flips.
Shawn glares at her. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything,” she snaps. “Now, I don’t know who you are,” she adds, pointing to Shawn. “But you’re Beckett Wallace, and you’re not supposed to be here.”
My blood runs cold.
“How do you know who she is?” Shawn asks. I can see the fight prepped on his face.
“Because I’m likely the reason you’re here.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “But I expected you to be smart enough to know how risky it was to come here.”
“It was you.” I all but whisper it, hope and a million questions battling for the centerfold of my mind. “You had the photo delivered.”
“Yes.”
“Why? How did you know Paul?” I almost hate asking the question. She’s young, but what if—
“Paul was my father,” she replies. “And I’m trying to find out why he was killed.”