Chapter 12
Cora
The shower I just climbed out of does nothing to make me feel any less skeezy than I did when I got in.
After I manage to get the overly fluffy towel around my wet hair, I swipe my hand across the mirror to clear the fog coating it.
I hate what I see, and I don't mean the small lines forming at the corners of my eyes or that one sunspot near my left temple that has been stubborn to every treatment I've attempted. I'm disappointed as if I've wasted so much of my life doing nothing. I know I was sheltered. I know there are terrible things in the world. I know the news glosses over a lot of stuff. If I were to believe the conspiracy theorists, there's a whole lot worse stuff going on that a lot of us have no idea about, but I also feel like I should be capable of making more of a difference in this world than I actually have so far.
Chapter One is a great program, but are we doing enough? Are we teaching kids to read and offering program assistance to children who still end up in a position where they have to strip naked and offer to finger older women just to go to college?
I hate that I even darkened that door tonight. Maybe being unknowledgeable about these things is better, but then doesn't that make me part of the problem ?
If Sadie is connected to that place somehow, did she go there as a customer like I did tonight or did she have to be the one someone selected from a menu?
A sob escapes my throat before I can stop it because I already know the answer to that question. I didn't see "hurt a junkie" on the list of options, but I can't help but think that might be on a different list, one reserved for a different type of clientele.
I swipe angrily at the tears dripping down my face.
Look what that young man Ben chooses to do so he can go to college.
Sadie has been offered everything in the world, and she still chose to burn it to the ground at every single turn. She has squandered so many things that others would take and turn into a success story. There's a glaringly obvious difference between someone willing to do anything they must to be successful and one who has never appreciated a thing.
Before I can dive deeper into the reasons my sister behaves the way she does, the doorbell to the suite sounds.
It's so late, but I'm starving and ordered a bowl of soup before I got in the shower.
Only when I pull the suite door open, Mr. Yarrow, the man working on Sadie's case, is staring at me instead of room service.
Instead of stating why he's here, he walks right past me into my hotel room, as if he has every right in the world to do so.
I glare at his back as I snap the door closed.
Before I can demand he give me answers, the doorbell rings again.
The room service man doesn't deserve the attitude with which I open the door, but I'm so irritated I can't curb the emotions.
I sign for the soup, leaving a generous tip because I'm a jerk, before standing to the side so the service cart can be wheeled into the room.
Mr. Yarrow seems patient enough to wait until the man leaves before he speaks, but even after the door is closed again, he just continues to stand across the room, glaring at me.
The man has a lot of nerve. If he was doing his job or had any sense of urgency in finding my sister, I wouldn't be here right now.
When I open my mouth to yell at him, he's in front of me in a flash, his hand covering my mouth. Now is not the time to notice how warm his touch is against my skin.
Leaning in close, he bends his head down to my ear.
"Where's your purse? Your cell phone? Your car keys?"
I take a step back, brows knitting together in confusion, but the unrelenting look on his face makes me wave my hand toward the bedroom. He doesn't hesitate to turn and walk in that direction. I follow, watching in horror as he takes my things, carries them to the bathtub, and proceeds to run water over them, letting the water pool in the tub until all of it is submerged. He leaves the water running in the tub before turning on the water in the sink, as well as the overhead fan, before grabbing my wrist and urging me out of the bathroom. He closes that door, and then the door to the bedroom, as he drags me back into the sitting area.
"What is your problem?" I growl, pulling my arm out of his grip so fast, it leaves me rubbing the soreness with my free hand.
He glances down at where we were connected, a flash of remorse in his eyes, but then they're slow to meet mine once again, stopping a second too long on my chest.
I pull my robe tighter, but when he swallows, I know I've done nothing more than give him an even better look.
"Explain that!" I demand, pointing toward the bathroom. "Do you have any idea how expensive Hermes is?"
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" he asks rather than explaining himself.
"You were dragging your feet," I argue. "Someone has to find her."
I get a little distracted when he runs his hands through his silver hair, wondering what the difference between that and his thick beard would feel like on the tips of my fingers.
"We're working on locating Sadie," he says, and as much as he frustrates me, I can sense that the man has been through the details of her case forward and backward more than once.
He doesn't say your sister or Ms. Preston.
Sadie.
As if this is personal for him too. Knowing that makes me back down just a little.
"Going to Daydreamer's is fu—it's dangerous."
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if it's a professional thing that he doesn't use foul language in front of a customer or if it's because I'm a woman. He speaks again before I can decide which would make me feel better.
"Imagine my surprise when I'm watching a live feed, determining who is coming and going from the place, when that flashy sports car pulls up and that long ass leg of yours pops out of the driver's side?"
"That was the last link to Sadie," I say, my anger deflating.
"Cor—Ms. Preston," he says, his hand going right back through his hair. "I know. We're working on it. Places like that are dangerous."
As if saying this gives him a reason, his eyes roll right back down my body as if he's searching for injuries.
"Mr. Yarrow," I growl, making him shift his eyes back up to mine. "I was perfectly fine. No harm came to me."
"You could blow this entire case," he says, hands flinching open and closed at his waist, as if he's fighting the urge to put them on me again .
"I'm not—"
With one hand, he wraps his strong fingers around my wrist once again and holds his free hand up, a single finger covering his mouth in the universal way of telling me to be quiet.
He pulls me back through the room and into the en suite bathroom, first turning off the overhead fan before moving to the sink.
I rub my wrist once again, but although his touch doesn't hurt this time, my wrist still tingles when he releases it.
Next, he turns off the water in the bathtub, holding up my ruined leather bag before pulling my phone out from inside of it.
"What are—?"
He snaps his head in my direction, once again holding a finger to his lips.
Pulling a knife from his pocket, he pops my phone open, separating it front from back easier than it should ever come apart, before pulling a tiny black stick with a little wire on it from inside.
Placing it on the counter and using the handle of the knife, he smashes the thing.
He shakes his head when I open my mouth once again to speak.
Then he takes my key fob, doing the same thing, and finding yet another device hidden inside. Next, he rips the lining of my purse, finding yet a third device.
Once he has smashed them all and looked through the rest of my things, he seems satisfied that he has ruined every damn thing I had in my purse.
"It's common for places like that to put listening devices and trackers on clients," he says, as if I'm not standing there with my mouth hanging open. "We'll also need to have your car swept. I have no doubt they put something on that as well. They marked mine tonight too."
This is news to me. "You went to Daydreamer's? "
"You forced my hand," he says, going to the sink to wash his hands. They're covered with the powder from my compact that he destroyed, looking for more tracking and listening devices. "I can't give all my attention to Sadie's case if you're going to interfere. At a minimum, it's going to put us behind when we're already working a several-week-old cold case, but it also puts you in a position to end up with the same fate as her."
My chin quivers with his words because it sounds like they think instead of her just missing or being a brat like William suspects, something terrible has happened to her.
I point to the destroyed devices on the counter. "Why do they do that? Am I in danger?"
"Places like that don't like being threatened. They bug people to get secrets. Some use it against their clients, extorting them or blackmailing them. Some do it to even the playing field. It keeps people from having loose lips. Those places can only stay operational if the existence of them is more smoke and mirrors rather than actual places. Knowing an organization might have information on you keeps people from opening their mouths. I doubt you're in any danger, but it will be obvious that you're someone of interest when they go to listen and discover their devices have been removed, and the same for me. Twice in one night forms a link between the two of us that may not go unnoticed."
"I had no idea."
"I know. Most people wouldn't, but it's why you need to go back to South Carolina and let me do the job you hired me to do."
"The membership is ten grand," I say stupidly. "You paid ten grand to come make sure I wasn't hurt?"
He shakes his head. " You paid ten grand for me to make sure you weren't hurt."
"I never saw you," I snap. "How is that making sure I'm not hurt? "
He shrugs as if ten grand is something he spends every day, and maybe, while working, he does. It doesn't affect him because it isn't his money.
"While you're sitting wherever, watching the front of that house, my sister could be inside getting hurt."
He shakes his head. "Doubtful. If Sadie were there, which we don't think she is, she wouldn't be there against her will. It isn't that type of place."
"How do you know that?" I demand. If Sadie isn't there, then why are they wasting their time sitting on the house?
"Sadie isn't the type of client they let through the front door. I'm sure she doesn't have a membership and they aren't the type of place they let just anyone walk up and enter so they can go snuggle with a woman they don't know in some strange bed. It's hard to hear, but junkies can't keep their mouths shut. They'll rat on anyone for a fix. If she was in their possession against her will, they'd have her at a different location, one that caters to that sort of thing."
I raise my eyebrows. He just said so much and there's a lot to unpack, but I don't like hearing that although Sadie might not be there, she could be somewhere else where they could be hurting her.
But also, cuddling? Jesus, I hope he doesn't ask me what I picked from the menu. My face grows hot with the thought.
"Furthermore," he continues. "Before you even ask, we're following everyone who leaves that place to see if they will lead us to the places that cater to the darker stuff. Stay out of our way, Ms. Preston. We can't help your sister if we have to waste energy and resources keeping you out of trouble."
I don't miss the way his eyes sweep down my body once more before he turns and leaves the room.