Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Daphne watched James pace the length of the hotel room she’d booked.
After Henry showed them the reports, he’d thanked the lawyer, signed the papers needed to give him access to the trust, then they’d walked.
And walked. And walked. She understood the need to burn off energy, the need to clear it from your system so you could think, so she’d walked silently alongside him.
Rising from the bed, she crossed the room to the in-house bar, poured two tumblers of whiskey, then handed one to him as he passed.
Letting him do whatever he needed to, she walked to the large window overlooking the busy street below.
At six in the evening on a Wednesday, the sidewalks bustled with people.
“You’ve spent time here,” James said.
She nodded. “A lot when I was modeling. I don’t dislike it, but it’s not my favorite city. It has some wonderful parts to it. Great museums, food, that sort of thing. But it’s a little too self-important for my tastes.”
“Says the woman who lives in Paris.”
She chuckled. “Touché. But at least in Paris, you can see the sky. I feel less…trapped there.”
His fingers landed on her lower back, and she glanced over her shoulder at him.
He looked…not at ease, but more settled than he had in hours.
“Thank you,” he said. She nodded again, not needing to ask what for.
Sometimes, people just needed a friend to stand silently by them while they worked things through.
“We haven’t eaten anything other than pretzels since breakfast. Are you hungry?” she asked.
He paused, as if gauging his body, then nodded. “Do you mind if we order room service?”
She did not. She hadn’t minded walking for hours, either, but now that she was tucked up in a cozy hotel with her favorite slipper socks on, she did not feel the urge to go out again. “Menu’s by the drinks,” she said.
He collected the trifold paper, then brought it back. After selecting their meals, he called down and placed the order.
“I need to update my will,” he said, returning to her side. A soft rain had started falling, and the drops gathered on the slanted window before sliding down.
“You have one already?”
He nodded. “We did them in the army. Seemed a waste of time since I didn’t have much, but the lawyer was there and it was free, so I did it.
Then a few years ago, when the businesses the Falcons own started gaining traction and doing well, we all updated them.
I’m sure Mantis, Stone, Viper, Philly, and Monk will update theirs again now that they have partners, and a baby on the way,” he added with a smile.
“But for me, everything I own will go to helping the network we work with.”
“The one that helps people escape bad relationships?” He nodded. “So even if your brother had succeeded in killing you, he wouldn’t have inherited anything,” she said.
Yes, his brother. The PI report Henry pulled up had noted a conversation with Malcom Carter, James’s half-brother, as part of the process he’d gone through when locating James.
They didn’t have proof that he was behind everything, not yet, but Daphne had texted Ava the information while James signed the paperwork.
Daisy was still a slim possibility, but James’s brother, and his hopes of inheriting millions from his dead sibling, fit the picture far better.
“He wouldn’t. But he wouldn’t have known that. If he still lives in the world we grew up in, it wouldn’t have occurred to him that I already have a will. No one ever had enough of anything to even consider the idea.” He took a sip of his drink. “You think Ava has found anything yet?”
“I’d bet yes, but if we’re at the apex of all this, she’ll want to keep the momentum going until she has all the pieces of the puzzle. She won’t keep us hanging for long, though.”
Not long after, dinner arrived at the same time the expected text dinged on her phone; Ava needed one more hour, then she’d call.
Worried that the anticipation would affect James’s appetite, Daphne almost didn’t tell him, but she’d be pissed if the roles were reversed and he withheld the information from her.
Regardless, the news either had no effect or the opposite effect.
When they sat down to eat, he inhaled his food.
The staff had just collected their empty plates, leaving behind two wineglasses and the half bottle they hadn’t finished, when her phone dinged again.
A text from Ava directing her to open her computer.
Sharing what they’d found on a screen bigger than their phones would be easier, and she wanted to video call.
Dutifully, Daphne dug her device from her bag and logged on.
“Thanks,” Ava said, taking a seat at a table as the call connected. “This will be easier, and Callie wanted to be here, too.” The image changed as the video switched to a camera in the room rather than Ava’s computer, and Callie came into view.
“How are you both holding up?” she asked.
James chuckled. “It’s been an interesting day.”
“One way of putting it,” Daphne added.
“Well, the good news is, getting your brother’s name in the mix helped untangle some of the threads we were pulling,” Ava said. “But first, let’s start with your phone.”
“My phone?” James said.
“Someone’s been tracking it. More specifically, Terrance ‘Terry’ Palance has been tracking your phone. He’s the CEO of a small-but-not-that small tech company that runs a Christian prayer-subscription service.”
“You have to pay money to pray?” James asked.
“To pray with celebrities,” Ava said. “Somehow, I’m thinking that’s not what Jesus had in mind, but who am I to say. Anyway, his company is backed by a very conservative private equity company.”
“Why would he be tracking James?” Daphne asked.
“We asked the same question and, as usual, it comes down to money,” Ava replied.
“He was being paid?” James asked.
“We think he was being blackmailed,” Callie corrected.
“By?” Daphne asked.
“When we couldn’t find a connection between him and you, Lovell, we started digging into his life. Every month, he pays two thousand dollars to an entity called Sweet Dreams,” Callie continued.
“I’m guessing Sweet Dreams isn’t a sleep app?” James said.
“It is not. It bills itself as a private, members-only club, and it is, but it’s a sex club. Not the legal kind either,” Callie said.
“It seems like it should be obvious what the difference is between a legal and an illegal sex club, but can you spell it out for me?” Daphne asked.
“Legal clubs, which are usually also member-only, are fully consensual, and whether someone partakes in the activities or not is entirely up to them. This isn’t uncommon in the world of BDSM or for those with specific kinks or fetishes.
They are basically places where folks with similar interests can have a safe place to explore those interests,” Callie said.
“I’m not sure how I feel about my baby sister talking to me about BDSM,” Daphne said.
“I couldn’t make you blush if I tried,” Callie shot back on a laugh, before sobering again. “The kind of club we think Sweet Dreams is also caters to kinks and what some may consider niche predilections, but it isn’t consensual between the parties involved.”
“People pay to have sex, or do whatever, with people who are forced to be there?” James clarified.
“Basically, yes,” Callie replied. “And they pay a lot of money to do it.”
Daphne took a sip of wine to steady her nerves. “Okay, so what you’re saying is that Terry Palance is a member of the club and that someone who knows this is blackmailing him to track James.”
“Well summarized,” Ava said.
“Where does Malcom Carter come in?” she asked.
“Guess who’s the head of security for Sweet Dreams?” Ava said.
“Fuck,” James uttered under his breath.
“You weren’t close, were you?” Ava asked. “I’ve never heard you mention him, but what about growing up?”
James shook his head. “He’s closer in age to our sister, and both were a fair bit older than me,” he answered. “I always felt lucky about that. We never got along, and being that much younger made it easier to stay away from them, because they weren’t interested in having a kid tagging along.”
Daphne twirled her glass between her fingertips.
“So Henry’s PI calls Malcom to see if he has any information about James’s location.
Then Malcom, sensing money in the water, blackmails Terry to find him before Henry does, hoping that if he kills James, as his closest kin, he’ll then inherit,” she said, more to get the picture straight in her head.
“One of my closest kin,” James corrected. “There’s my sister, too.”
Ava cleared her throat. “Actually, I’m sorry to tell you, but your sister, Chanel Washington? She died in a home invasion nine years ago.”
James blinked, then lifted his glass and took a sip. “Not surprising,” he said. “I’d hoped for different, of course, but given the life she was already leading when I left, it doesn’t surprise me.”
Daphne reached for him. His fingers curled around her hand and he lifted it, placing a kiss on the back.
“Where did Malcom find Weeks and Beeker?” he asked. “And are we sure Daisy isn’t a part of this? You did say she was looking for me, Ava.”
“I did, and she is, or was. We’re still digging into why. She’s had no unusual activity in her life since she was released from prison, though. Other than visiting the PI, she continues to spend most of her time at home or at the food kitchen.”
“Or church,” Callie said.
“That, too,” Ava conceded.
“And with Weeks’s and Beeker’s phones both making calls to the northern New Jersey area, we’re fairly certain Malcom, and maybe the owner of the club, are involved,” Callie said.
“Who is the owner?” James asked.
“A woman by the name of Nicole Monroe. She also comes from the same part of town as you, Lovell,” Ava replied.
James dropped his gaze to his wine, then frowned. “I remember her. She and my sister were friends.” He paused. “Or they were something. They were constantly together, but always fighting.”
“I imagine it got worse after you left. When your sister died, Nicole was in nursing school. Trying to break the cycle, I guess. Your sister, on the other hand, was wanted for two robberies and was a suspect in a drug-related drive-by shooting,” Ava replied.
“Breaking the cycle, going to nursing school…that would drive a wedge between Nicole and probably most of the neighborhood,” James said.
“Kind of weird that she left school to run an illegal sex club,” Daphne said.
“I’m sure the money is better, but it takes a lot of guts and confidence to break free of the life I can only imagine she had.
And then to toss it away for money? It seems…
odd. Then again, what do I know? I broke free, so did Callie, but I went into a profession that made me obscene amounts of money for doing little more than looking at a camera. ”
“It was harder than that, Daph, but I do see your point,” Callie said.
“Do you have any pictures?” James asked.
“Of Nicole?” Ava clarified.
“Malcom, Nicole, anyone from the club? I want to see if I recognize any other players.”
“And what about Weeks and Beeks? Where do they come in?” Daphne reminded them.
“We’re looking into the club and its clientele,” Callie started as Ava clicked away on her computer, presumably bringing up whatever images they’d found. “We think it’s possible that Weeks and Beeks might be connected to another client and that’s how Malcom found them.”
“You’re not going to let the club skirt by, are you?” Daphne asked.
Callie huffed. “Definitely not. Stella has us gathering information and evidence. She’ll turn it over to a contact in the FBI field office whom she trusts.”
“Here,” Ava said as the image on the computer changed from Callie and Ava to a picture of a man. “Malcom Carter.”
James’s brother looked far older than she expected.
Grey tinged the short hair at his temples, his skin looked worn and weathered, and his eyes looked dead.
Not evil, not much of anything. Just dead.
But even then, she could see a slight resemblance, mostly in the shape of the nose and mouth, to his younger brother.
“Hasn’t aged well,” James said, his gaze fixed on the screen. “But again, not surprising. He’s lived a hard life. He may have the creature comforts now, and isn’t scrambling to put food on the table, but he’s probably still looking over his shoulder every step he takes.”
“Probably,” Ava agreed as another image flashed on the screen. This one of Malcom holding a car door open as a woman climbed in.
“Is that Nicole?” Daphne asked.
“It is,” Callie confirmed.
“Can you zoom in on her face?” James asked. Daphne glanced over at the tension in his voice. His head tipped, then he set his wineglass down and leaned toward the screen.
“Do you have any other pictures of Nicole?” he asked.
“We do,” Ava confirmed, and four seconds later, another image filled the screen.
James’s fingers curled into a fist, then released, then curled again.
“What?” Daphne asked.
“That’s not Nicole Monroe. That’s my sister, Chanel Washington.”