CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Twenty-four hours later, Amelia had gone from standing in one gorgeous home to standing in another.
Everything in Beth Tourne’s condo apartment was either white, luxurious, or a work of art.
In most cases, it was all three.
Amelia was scared to breathe the wrong way and accidentally shatter some thirteenth-century vase on loan from the Smithsonian or the Met.
Despite all that, she figured Beth was about as laid back as Beth could be.
She hovered between the makeup artist and the stylist charged with readying Amelia for the night.
“Damn, Amelia, you are hot to trot, lady.” Her lips pursed as though something was missing.
“We need wine.”
“Good idea.”
Wine might’ve been about the only thing that could get Amelia to Beth’s level of chill as she readied for Esme’s party.
Esme’s party . Her stomach bottomed out for the hundredth time.
Any time she thought of the looming night, crash went her stomach.
The stylist turned Amelia around to face the mirror.
“And you worried that I would buckle you into latex, paint your lips black, and scoot you out the door like a vamped-up Elvira on her way to a ball.”
“I didn’t say that—oh…” Amelia stared in the mirror.
“I look like a different person.”
Black lace was painted over her arms and shoulders and down a deep V-cut between her breasts with a base material that perfectly matched her skin tone.
It was completely sheer and melted over her body like a black shimmering glow that cupped her curves.
Still, the dress somehow covered her modestly as the lace became a black sheath dress that reached to midcalf.
The unusual hemline would’ve been discreet except for two slits that ran up her thighs.
“I didn’t know dresses like this existed in real life.”
The stylist hooted and tossed her head back, making her braids click.
She reached around and patted herself on the back.
“I knocked it out of the park.”
“Yeah, you did. I don’t even recognize myself.” Then Amelia eyed the makeup artist, who had painted her eyelids with champagne shimmer and added feathered eyelashes.
She used a lipstick that glimmered every way that Amelia turned her head.
“Even my face glitters.” Amelia turned to the two women, who were now packing up their bags.
“You two are magicians.”
“Va va va voom.” The makeup artist studied the stylist’s work, pleased, and said with a laugh, “You should see what we can pull off when we’re tasked with turning you into the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
Beth returned with two glasses of white wine in hand.
“Wow, Amelia.”
“That’s what I said.” She took one of the wineglasses offered.
She waited for Amelia to take a sip.
“Do you like the wine?”
It was fresh and citrusy.
Beyond that, the intricacies of its flavor and taste were lost on her.
“I usually enjoy a nice glass of wine, but maybe a shot of something that burns would be a better choice for tonight. You know, a little liquid courage.” She suddenly realized how ungrateful she sounded.
“Honestly, you don’t have to waste your wine on me.”
“Pfsh.” Beth waved a hand.
“You’ll do fine, and I’ll waste what I want on you. You deserve it.”
“You’re only saying that because your colleagues had me thrown in prison.”
Beth snorted.
“Good point. I should break out the really good stuff.” But then she shrugged and held the wineglass up to the light.
“But kidding aside, I have to know this for work. It’s research.”
“Here’s to research.” Amelia took another sip.
“I would say I wish my job was dresses and drinking, too, but it sort of was. Is ,” she corrected.
“I taste-test menus for events. Why do you have to know about this?”
Beth hummed.
“I have to know about the Clos de Vougeot, a French commune in the Burgandy region that produces world-renowned wines.” She lifted her wineglass to the two other women, who had just about finished packing.
“Would either of you like a glass of work research?”
Laughing, they declined, citing other assignments they were headed to shortly.
“Doing hair and makeup for spies. Oh, the lives you all must live.” Amelia fidgeted with her wine glass.
“I’m a little jealous.”
With a wave goodbye, they each pulled wheeled bags out of Beth’s enormous bedroom.
The stylist called, “Don’t forget to have fun.”
Amelia took another sip and thought of the night ahead.
Fun wasn’t what she’d thought about having.
Maybe she would start with not having a panic attack.
Fun…
Beth set her wineglass down, clasped Amelia on her shoulders, and turned her to face the framed floor-to-ceiling mirror.
“You look fantastic.”
“I look like someone else.”
“That’s all part of the game.” Beth picked at an invisible lint piece and smoothed her hand over the fabric.
“Do you remember what to do if you’re uncomfortable?”
Her heartbeat jumped.
She was uncomfortable now .
Before Camden set eyes on her, before they’d walked into Esme’s crazy party, her nervous system was shouting: danger ahead.
Still, she wouldn’t get answers if she stayed home and buried her head.
Amelia nodded. “Defer to Camden.”
“Exactly. Someone asks a question you don’t like? Look at Cam. See something you don’t understand? Look at Camden. Don’t have a damn thing to say? Camden is your golden ticket.”
Her throat ached.
She nodded and must’ve looked unconvinced or ready to throw up.
Beth continued, “No one will know your dynamic or lack thereof. This will be the kind of party where subs defer to their doms, partners need permission, et cetera, et cetera. Okay? Just stay calm and quiet, and Camden will handle any rough patches.”
Amelia could do that.
Beth stepped back and assessed Amelia from head to toe.
She flushed. She tried to clear her head, but all the uncertainties and unknowns bubbled into her glitter-and-lace-covered chest.
“I know what Esme explained, but I don’t entirely understand what we’re doing tonight.” She bit her bottom lip.
“These might be people Hailey and Jonathan worked with. They might be a lead. But how will I even know if it is?”
“Don’t eat your lipstick,” Beth chided.
“Have you ever gone to a party where you don’t know anyone—” Beth caught her expression.
“Right, professional event planner. Of course you have, which means you know that situation where you have to go in and make a friend. You make small talk with people you might never see again. Do that until Esme tells you otherwise. She’ll know who Hailey and Jonathan circulated with.”
“But how will I know if someone says something important?”
“You won’t. You take information and debrief it with analysts.”
That actually made sense.
She bit her lip again but stopped at Beth’s chiding voice in her head.
“Do you think the people who took Hailey will be in the room?”
Beth laughed.
“Absolutely not. These won’t be the people who get their hands dirty, but the employers of the people who took her? Yeah, maybe.”
The possibility jackknifed her heart.
“Maybe…?”
“It’s a safe bet that several party guests have their own goon squads on their private payrolls.”
That didn’t settle Amelia’s nerves.
“I don’t understand how no one at the CIA knows who Hailey and Jonathan were focused on. I don’t get it.”
“There was someone who knew,” Beth reminded Amelia.
“But that person is dead.” The brightness in her expression faded to somberness.
Her shoulders dropped as though that was simply the price they paid for an office mishap.
Wasn’t that all the more reason the CIA should be storming Esme’s party?
The murders and abduction were obviously connected.
Why weren’t federal agents attending tonight?
Or maybe they were, but no one had told Amelia.
She recalled what Esme had said: There were many ways to find a solution to a problem.
The doorbell rang.
Beth shook off her grimness.
“That would be your handsome partner in crime.” She leaned in close like she was about to share a secret.
“His stylist sent me a couple pics. Dark suit. Dark shirt. Matches his dark eyes and hair. He looks like one of those movie stars who plays schmexy Italian mobsters.”
Amelia looked away and laughed, certain that Beth and her CIA skills could sense her stuttering pulse and rising internal temperature.
Camden was already a fantasy.
Throw him in a well-fitted suit, and Amelia might pass out.
“Wait here,” Beth directed, “and I’ll grab him.”
Amelia took another long sip of her wine as Beth disappeared.
She never drank before a work event.
That night was different.
She had many reasons to be nervous.
Beth squealed at her front door.
Amelia’s stomach base jumped into the abyss.
Their chatter mingled with Camden’s approaching footsteps.
Her insides vibrated with anticipation, then Camden entered the bedroom.
She nearly melted into a puddle of sheer lace and feathery eyelashes.
Hollywood actors had nothing on Camden.
He was leading-man material: tall, dark, and handsome with a lethal dose of danger.
Camden stopped short, like he’d run into an invisible wall, and pulled in a sharp quick breath.
“Damn, Amelia.” His eyes ran from her head to her heels and back to her face.
“You’re about to steal the show.”
“Isn’t she?” Beth squeaked.
“I thought the dress was gorgeous, but when I saw it on Amelia, I died…”
She continued, but the words went fuzzy when Camden stared at Amelia like that.
His gaze wrapped around her like his large warm hands had before.
He covered her, caressed her, floated her to the highest possible place before her body would combust.
Camden held out a hand.
Amelia placed hers in his palm and let him pull her close.
Dark heat simmered in his eyes.
Desire ticked in his jaw, and the corners of his luscious lips curved.
His mouth dipped to her ear.
“You take my breath away.”
“Mine is already gone,” she whispered.
Beth prattled on, oblivious to their sizzling chemistry, which was making Amelia’s knees weak.
He side-glanced toward Beth and cleared his throat.
“Maybe I should have stopped for flowers or something. This is like we’re headed to an adults-only prom.”
Beth stopped as though he’d sprouted two heads.
“What? No. Flowers would detract from the dress.”
He grinned.
“Nothing would detract from this woman.”
“Honestly, Amelia,” Beth chided, “if he wasn’t so handsome, I’d shake him.”
Handsome indeed.
The man made the suit.
That was true. And this man…
larger than life. Broad and towering and absolutely irresistible.
Amelia rested her hands on his lapels.
“If I freak out and don’t know what to say, I’m supposed to look at you.” She stepped back as his eyes dropped to the slice of her leg now showing.
“Okay?”
Camden did a double take on the slits at her thighs.
“I’ve been read in and will handle it,” his voice rumbled.
“No sweat.”
“If I freeze up—”
“I’ll handle it, Amelia.”
She nodded, nervous but trusting him with her life—and her sister’s.
“We might meet someone tonight who knows where Hailey is.”
“And if you think that’s the case,” he said quietly, “keep it to yourself. We’ll debrief later.”
She nodded again.
Her nerves were getting worse.
“That’s what Beth explained.”
“You ready to go, beautiful?”
Sweetheart.
Beautiful. The way he said those words made her feel important.
A quake of tenderness skipped over her senses.
She would go anywhere with him.
“Absolutely.”
The sound of her confidence was surprising, but by his side, she supposed she could believe anything was possible.
Camden slipped his hand around the small of her back and turned them toward Beth.
“We’re heading out.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
“Will do.” Calm and collected, Camden led the way out Beth’s apartment door.
They were alone, and in a heartbeat, this unflappable man had spun Amelia to the wall.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Amelia. We are not getting out of this building until my—”
The elevator dinged, and voices entered their floor.
They both held their breaths, not knowing if people would come their way.
The voices grew louder.
Camden growled, and the intoxicated flutter in her chest flittered.
He inched back, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Beth’s hoity-toity neighbors approaching with a fluffy white dog.
“You don’t want to mess up my lipstick anyway,” she said.
“The hell I don’t.” But Camden took her hand with a deep, tested breath.
They passed the neighbors.
Even the fluffy dog gave Camden and Amelia the once-over, as though they didn’t approve of the way he had her pushed against the wall and how, with her head tipped back and lips parted, she’d been ready for anything he’d wanted.
He didn’t release her hand on the elevator ride to the lobby until they reached the CIA-chauffeured car service that waited in the horseshoe driveway of Beth’s fancy building.
“Ma’am.” The driver opened the door for Amelia to slide in.
Camden joined her from the opposite side.
Between them was the night’s invitation.
It was midnight blue with engraved lettering on thick card stock.
Delicate silver constellations were etched around the intricate silver words.
The Sapphire Accord cordially invites you to
A Night under the Stars
Share a Celestial and Sensual Evening
on the Third Saturday in November
Black Tie Attire with a Touch of Stardust
No Weapons, Cell Phones, or Recording Devices
No weapons?
That wasn’t something she’d ever added to an invitation before.
“Are you unarmed?”
“I don’t need a gun to keep you safe.”
She understood that and hadn’t thought he carried a knife or a gun on his person regularly.
But maybe that was a foolish assumption.
Their safe houses were practically decorated with weapons.
Maybe Amelia was oblivious.
She certainly had been with Hailey and Jonathan.
She picked up the invitation.
Its beveled edges were gilded in silver.
“These were handcrafted.”
“I think the Sapphire Accord has a hefty discretionary fund.”
Amelia tried to imagine Esme’s clientele or her guest list.
He took the invitation and stowed it in his inner suit pocket and took her hand again.
“It will all work out tonight. Try to have fun.”
She snorted.
“You and this dress are about the only fun that will come of tonight.”
“Don’t say that when the party hasn’t even started. Look at it this way: It’s gonna be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.” He shrugged when she didn’t appear to buy into the excitement.
“Or you can pick up party tips for events. This’ll be like corporate reconnaissance.”
She side-eyed him but couldn’t keep her worried scowl when he looked at her as though they were going to an amusement park.
“All right. I’ll try. What type of work do you usually do?”
“Not this.”
“I know. But…” She squeezed his hand.
“What was your last assignment?”
He glanced out the window as they pulled onto the interstate.
His thumb caressed her knuckles.
“An arms dealer in Syria was playing both sides of the fence. Someone found out and took his children. We brought them home.”
She bit her lip but remembered Beth’s order to leave her lipstick alone.
“It doesn’t sound like he’s a good guy.”
“Not at all,” Camden agreed.
“But his kids don’t have a say in their father’s work. And they were young. One wasn’t even talking much.” His lips flattened into a thin line.
“Actually, none had much to say. They were terrified. But now, they’re home.” He gave her a long look.
“I can see the wheels turning, Amelia. What are you thinking?”
“You were probably paid with money earned in…” She paused to think over what she said next, not wanting to offend him.
“Really questionable ways.”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Does that mean his kids should be left to suffer?”
“No…”
“Did the guy learn a lesson?” Camden shrugged.
“No idea. Not my place to play judge and jury.”
She drank in a deep breath.
The world wasn’t black and white.
Hers had been until recently.
“You did a good thing, then.”
“I did my job. We extracted kids that were in a bad place. Not my job to raise them or instill a moral compass. Their father’s an arms dealer. The odds aren’t great they’ll end up as UN peacekeepers—then again, they might because their dad’s facilitating death for profit.”
“Do you remember every assignment?”
“Some, I try hard to forget.” He turned her hand over in his and traced the lines and creases of her palm as though mapping out a puzzle.
“What about you? Any nightmare events that you want to forget?”
She tried to remember standout headaches.
Then she tried to recall her favorite events.
Everything seemed so pointless: the stress over guest lists, menu choices, motifs, and color palettes.
She used to enjoy that part of work, even if she hated the business side of things.
Whether she liked it or not didn’t change the truth—she’d simply been good at it.
“I don’t remember when work changed from something I had to do to pay bills to… thoughtless monotony.” She chewed the inside of her cheek instead of her lip.
“Maybe Hailey knew that and never told me about her other job so I wouldn’t feel as completely uninterested in my company as I do now.” She shrugged, unimpressed with herself.
The driver exited the highway and said over his shoulder, “We’re five minutes out.”
Knowing she needed reassurance, Camden squeezed her hand.
“You ready?”
She made a face.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
She might throw up.
“You’re such an optimistic guy.”
“Baby, I am the king of optimism with you on my arm. Anything can happen tonight.”
His calmness didn’t help hers.
The sheer lace was suddenly too tight.
The feathery eyelashes obscured her vision too much.
She might’ve been teetering on the edge of a panic attack.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
The driver pulled into the warehouse lot, lined with expensive valet-parked cars and a row of idling hired vehicles.
So many people were at Esme’s warehouse.
Her shallow breaths quickened as a sheen of sweat surfaced at the back of her neck.
“Look at me, Amelia.”
But she couldn’t.
Instead, she stared at the ugly, dilapidated industrial building.
It had been transformed into a showy work of art.
Blue-and-purple lights beamed artfully over the imposing imperfections of rusted and barred windows.
Her breath caught. “It’s so…” She couldn’t explain how the transformation changed everything into a sultry fairy-tale ball.
Finally, she turned to Camden.
“Magical.”
Their sedan paused before pulling into the line of vehicles snaking to the front entrance.
The driver asked over his shoulder, “Are you ready, ma’am?”
If she were to freeze, if she forgot what to say, she was supposed to turn to Camden.
Their eyes met. Tonight was her first step to finding Hailey.
Amelia would be that much closer to answers if she walked into Esme’s party.
The queasy storm in her stomach continued to protest, but she nodded to the driver.
“Yes, I am. Thank you.”
They rolled into the queue, and with the driver’s quick reminder of their exit instructions, they stepped into the chilly night.
Nothing seemed out of place as they were dropped off.
Their invitation was checked as though it was any other tony Washington, DC, gala.
The dark entryway that Beth had led them through days before was lit with long silver tapered candles in sconces and alive with laughter and voices.
She walked in on Camden’s arm.
Just like when Amelia had first met him in person at the prison and when he melted into the kitchen crew in a back alley, Camden breezed into the party with enough chill to get them both through the evening.
The candlelit hallway opened into the main hall.
Guests wore breathtaking dresses and titillating costumes.
Many were naked or wore only collars and nipple clamps.They socialized as though it were any other party, unaffected by the various levels of undress that surrounded them.
Waitstaff passed flutes of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
It could have been any charity gala that Amelia had organized if not for the various levels of undress and signature touches that Esme had to have overseen.
Black silks hung like erotic ropes amongst the chandeliers.
Aerial performers dangled from them, wearing masquerade masks and not much else.
Their glittering bodies twisted and twirled high overhead.
Camden snagged two drinks from a server and handed her a flute.
“Want to make a lap around the room?”
She sipped the bubbly champagne.
“You’re asking me like I have any idea what we should do.”
“Mix and mingle and see who we meet.”
What if Esme introduced them to someone who was essentially naked?
She would blush and stammer and not remember anything of importance.
Thank God for Camden, patron saint of chill.
They eased along the outskirts of the room.
The guests were a mixed lot: old and young; vanilla and dressed to the nines; kinky and barely dressed.
Enough black leather and latex were in the room that Amelia was right to worry that Beth might’ve dressed her like a BDSM princess.
But those who donned the leather and latex looked as though it was a choice that defined them.
Amelia would have looked like a plastic-wrapped copycat and was happy to let the sheer black lace and double slits announce to the room exactly who she was.
Maybe the dress was her—or at least who she wanted to be.
Nothing in her closet had ever been that thrilling.
They eased by two women having a lively conversation.
One of them haphazardly petted a third woman, naked and on her knees, as if she were a submissive pet.
They reached the far wall.
What Amelia had thought were provocative performers posing against the wall were women and men covered in paint with their hands tied overhead by ropes and wide satin sashes.
They didn’t look uncomfortable and were mesmerizing.
Next to each person on display stood an immaculately and fully clothed partner.
Some partners ignored the people tied at their sides.
Others spoke with onlookers, discussing their subjects as one might at an art gallery.
Still others interacted.
They touched and teased.
They played. Amelia’s blood raced.
She couldn’t look away but didn’t know where to let her gaze land.
“Doing okay?” Camden asked.
She swallowed and wanted to make sure of her answer first. Her body was reacting to what she saw.
It wasn’t fear or aversion but curiosity.
Bondage was being presented as living art.
He stopped them. “Amelia?”
“I’m fine.” And she meant it.
Amelia glanced behind Camden’s shoulder.
He turned toward the couple that had captured her attention.
The woman wore a blindfold just like Amelia’s.
Other than the sashes binding her hands overhead, shoulders to the wall, and legs apart, she was naked and squirming under the soft torture of a feather.
Camden dipped his mouth against her ear.
“Guess their box came with ropes.”
Breathy laughter was her only answer.
The idea of Camden tying her in place and touching her made arousal twirl in her stomach.
She would be completely at his mercy—no decisions to make, nothing to think about except the pleasure he would pull from her.
She shivered.
“We should keep walking.” His palm smoothed down the sheer lace.
A trail of sensitive goose bumps thrilled at his touch.
“Where to next?”
She glanced at his face.
Camden scanned the room.
His eyes never stopped moving as though cataloging every person around them.
Yet he did it in a way that no one would notice his roaming search.
Looking at their surroundings was perfectly expected.
She should try to take it all in the way he did.
“Toward the bar?” she suggested.
He lifted his chin in agreement.
Amelia took his elbow as the crowd became denser.
She focused on the costumes and dresses.
Diamond necklaces were as plentiful as bejeweled collars.
Eyes fell on her too.
Her dress was appreciated.
Her body was as well.
The attention didn’t feel good.
She clung closer to Camden.
“I like the shadows better.”
“Got it.” Camden maneuvered them toward the outskirts again.
They approached the other way, which was lined with living sculptures on pillars.
Her breath caught. Camden slowly ran a hand down her spine and pulled her closer.
His chin dipped to her ear.
“Still doing fine?”
The way the man kept checking in on her would keep her grounded.
She swallowed hard and nodded.
“Yes, thank you.”
With the cadence of her breath under control, Amelia was able to face the pedestals again.
Each one held a person posed and immobilized by intricately tied knots.
Artfully arranged spotlights lit the displays, casting them in silvers, purples, and blues.
Some were blindfolded.
Others were gagged.
All were utterly motionless.
The time and talent necessary to tie each knot…
the surrender and submission to be tied…
Amelia couldn’t fathom but couldn’t look away.
Esme appeared at her side.
“Welcome.”
Amelia shouldn’t have been surprised at how easily Camden greeted Esme.
Their easy conversation flowed before she managed to say hello.
Esme’s attire reminded Amelia of her usual event clothes, though they weren’t the same.
With diamonds and a black bodice dress, Esme dripped sensuality.
But she was also not on display like her guests.
“Esme, thank you for inviting us.”
“In this setting, you’ll call me Mistress Esme.”
“Of course.” There was so much to absorb.
Camden had said Mistress.
Amelia would have to do better on picking up details for tonight to go smoothly.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Esme asked her of the pedestalled display.
“More than I could have imagined,” Amelia breathed.
“Shibari. A form of Japanese rope bondage. It takes a very intimate, trusting partnership to create such beauty. Some subs will pose for a few minutes. Others much, much longer. The ones joining us tonight have been chosen for their experience and abilities.” Esme gestured to the people standing to the side of each pillar, just out of the spotlights’ focus.
“Those are the riggers responsible for their care and well-being. They watch for distress and have tools ready to release them if there’s a problem.”
“They’re artists.”
“With ropes and knots in place of plaster and paint.” Esme grinned devilishly.
“You two should try it sometime. There are lessons.”
Camden’s eyebrow arched with interest.
Amelia balked.
“I’m not the sit-naked-on-a-pillar type.”
Esme laughed.
“No one jumps into calculus without first learning how to add.” She pointed a finger at Camden.
“Don’t let her say no without learning all the possibilities.”
Amelia opened her mouth to protest but didn’t have a reason other than fear of the unknown.
She turned toward Camden and let him handle Esme.
Before he could, another woman joined their conversation.
“Mistress, what a wonderful gathering,” the other woman said.
A naked man followed on her heels.
Esme’s face lit up and warmly greeted only the woman.
No one acknowledged the naked man.
Er— almost naked. Something leather and metal was wrapped around his cock, and Amelia wasn’t sure where to look.
“Mistress Marissa,” Esme said, “let me introduce you to Michael and Briana, who I’ve recently become acquainted with.”
“Lovely to meet you.” Marissa didn’t mention the man with his chin tucked by her side.
Amelia wondered if Marissa was her real name.
Briana didn’t seem to fit Amelia.
The name Michael didn’t work for Camden, either, but she supposed that wasn’t the point.
Why hadn’t anyone told her they’d have secret code names?
“Marissa is an art importer.”
Amelia’s focus fell entirely on Marissa.
Elephants could’ve been dancing around a naked orgy, and she wouldn’t have noticed.
“An art importer?” Her voice might have sounded too eager.
“Do you have a specialty?” Hailey had once told Amelia that was the easiest question to rely on when socializing with her professor friends.
That probably worked for her bondage-party friends too.
Why not?
The other woman beamed.
“Yes. Venetian glass. I helped Esme source her chandeliers.” Marissa caught Amelia’s gaze drifting toward the ceilings.
“No, not these. Too southern Gothic for my taste.”
“Every room can’t be adorned in crystal flowers and gold leaves.”
Amelia laughed because Esme did.
Camden cracked a smile.
Oh, the small talk of the rich and powerful.
Amelia wished the conversation would shift to anything that would help find Hailey.
Esme gestured to Camden.
“Michael recently purchased the rights to the Vidalario collection, making him the very lucky owner of a Bouvant that I would very much like access to.”
“Oh, a Bouvant.” Marissa pressed her jewel-encrusted hand over her heart.
“I wasn’t even aware there was one out the wild.”
Again, someone could’ve told Amelia what stories Esme would use ahead of time.
If she’d had time to memorize the details, she would be less likely to screw up.
But Camden fell into the back-and-forth schmoozing with little effort, as if he brokered Vidalarios and Bouvants in his sleep.
Esme pivoted the conversation.
“Briana orchestrates events that make my little shows look like shindigs at the county fair.”
Somehow, the schmoozing came to Amelia almost as well as it did to Camden.
Listening to herself was almost an out-of-body experience.
“I wonder if I’ve ever been to one of your productions.” Marissa raised her brows at Esme.
“If you haven’t, you—and your buyers—would…”
Esme’s words turned into static.
Amelia laser focused on a man fixated on her.
She was sure she knew that man.
But she couldn’t see him anymore.
He’d disappeared into the party.
Where had she seen him before?
The funeral? No. Maybe at the reception hosted by the Dumonts?
Her heart raced. Her skin prickled with a warning.
Someone was watching her.
Camden needed to know.
They needed to—
“Briana?” Camden asked.
Her long, feathery eyelashes batted.
“I’m sorry—”
Another man—a scarier man—was speaking with the man she’d just seen.
They both turned toward her.
Amelia jumped back and ducked behind Camden.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Camden offered Marissa.
“I think we need to get some air.”
Amelia glanced over his shoulder.
Had that been the man who chased her that first night when life had turned upside down?
But she didn’t see either man anymore.
“There’s a lovely rooftop garden,” Esme added.
“Fresh air under the stars if you haven’t been upstairs yet.”
That was all the excuse Camden needed as Esme guided Marissa away with expert finesse.
“Cam, I—”
“Not here.”
She took his hand and threaded past the human sculptures and under the aerial acrobats.
She didn’t look over her shoulder but could feel the men watching her.
Or maybe she’d made it up in her head.
Why would they be here?
Beth had said the people who did the dirty work wouldn’t be at Esme’s party, only the people who employed them.
She tried to remember what they’d been wearing.
Perhaps she could describe the men to Camden.
But she couldn’t recall details.
Maybe the problem was all in her head.
The stress of the night, the made-up cover stories, and bondage art had tricked her mind into danger.
Amelia’s stomach bottomed out.
God. She’d screwed up a potential lead.
Maybe Marissa was Hailey’s contact.
“Maybe I didn’t see what I thought I saw.”
“Don’t say anything yet.” Camden pressed her closer to his side.
“Wait until we’re alone.”
A glass elevator with a uniformed operator carted them to the top of the three-story warehouse.
They walked out into the cool air.
Many guests had had the same idea as they did.
Camden pushed them through a throng of people.
His hand was at the base of her spine.
Camden took her partially drained champagne flute and handed his and hers off to passing waitstaff with such elegant coolness that she could imagine him as James Bond.
She pushed onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his ear.
“We need to leave.”
Worried, Camden dropped his gaze to her.
“What did you see?”
“Beth was wrong.” Her gaze bounced over the large space.
The cold weather hadn’t kept most people inside.
They gathered around the outside heaters surrounding a bar.
Others were using the more secluded space to enjoy their private activities out in the open.
“I can’t be here.”
Camden checked their surroundings.
His eyes skimmed over laughter and fornication, searching for what spooked Amelia.
“Amelia, honey.” He caught her cheeks in his hands and forced her to focus on him.
“What did you see?”
“The man who chased me.”