CHAPTER SEVEN
SYLVIE
Seconds after I start the security feed loop, Cash’s text comes through.
I don’t like having a partner. It exacerbates everything.
And I’m certain E would have a fit if he were aware, but with Peter’s gaze tracking my every breath, letting Cash use the contact to unlock the safe was my best option.
Getting in with assistance is superior to failing alone.
I exit the bathroom, slink through the hallway, and swiftly unlock Peter’s office with his code.
It’s the date his grandfather opened their oil business, so even if I hadn’t watched him enter it on the security feed, it wouldn’t have been difficult to guess.
It’s also the code he uses at his beach house, so it was a top pick anyway.
The aromas of leather, musk, and stale spices smack into me.
And even in the dark, I can tell that the decor is similar to his cigar lounge, but once the door is shut behind me, I don’t pay much attention to anything other than the sculpture.
It’s a giant steel Texas longhorn, and the compartment is tucked up in the bull’s junk. You really can’t make this shit up.
Crouching beside it, I use my key-chain light to assess whether there is any other security measure added to it.
Once I’m certain it’s as I surmised during recon, I leave my glove on, but quickly slide on the gummy finger I made with a 3D printer from Peter’s fingerprint, which was also obtained at his optometrist appointment.
One of the medical assistants who worked there is now very happy in a fabulous cottage in the Cayman Islands.
I reach between the bull’s back legs, locate the censor on his testicles, and press my index finger to it.
The compartment pops open immediately, so I pluck out the USB-based hardware authentication device and grab the dummy from my purse to swap in its place.
Just as I’m shutting the safe, booming voices transcend the door.
Shit.
My heart thrashes against my sternum. I swear this whole job is cursed.
Rushing to the corner of the room nearest the door, I squat behind a sofa because that is the best shot I’ve got if someone comes in here.
The rest of the office is wide open. And after thirty seconds of deep baritone agitation, the office door swings open, the overhead light is flicked on, and my stomach flips.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Cash?”
“Is that any way to invite someone into your office?” Cash chides as he swaggers inside, one hand in his pocket, cards in the other.
He leaves the door ajar, which is appreciated, but I can’t go yet because Peter is at his desk, facing my direction. From this angle, I can see them in the reflection of the bull. It’s distorted, but good enough. Like surveilling someone through a funhouse mirror.
Peter barks a laugh, and even the sound drips with condescension. “I’m not inviting you.”
“Precisely the fucking problem.” Cash’s tenor blasts through the space, and his entire demeanor stiffens, but he also pauses his card shuffling and points to the floor.
It’s all a show. He’s telling me to go when I can.
He heads toward the far wall of the office, plucking a book off the floor-to-ceiling shelf.
“Why the hell not? You’ve been a La Lune Noire member for fifteen years, and if I’m not mistaken, you’ve been well taken care of. ”
Unfortunately, Peter doesn’t take Cash’s bait. He drops into his chair and glares at the cracked-open door with his rebuttal. “You know that has nothing to fucking do with this. What the hell are you doing with her?”
Cash swings around, book still in hand. “Am I missing something? Did you have some sort of claim on her?”
“I was giving her time to heal.” Peter pushes out of his chair, snatching the book from Cash to return it to the shelf. “Do you even know what Danny put her through?”
As mortified as I am that anyone has details of what that asshole did, Peter giving me time to heal is almost sweet.
I only ever knew him through Danny. It was always apparent that he was interested, which honestly made him creepy since I was engaged, but maybe it was because he wasn’t as fooled by Danny’s doting-fiancé facade as I was.
“You mean your buddy,” Cash sneers, messing with more books, which has Peter seething, “who you invited to be at the same party as her?”
That’s a fair point, and it’s my cue to flee. But there is a three-foot opening in which I won’t be covered. I don’t know if I can chance it.
“It’s complicated,” Peter argues, moving to what I believe is a humidor, his back to me. “And he’s one of your members too.”
Cash lobs a terse glance over his shoulder, signaling me to bolt, before he examines the cigars with Peter.
I suppose this is a now-or-never moment. Staying low, I swiftly skitter behind the couch on the balls of my feet, across the three feet of space, and through the cracked door.
Cash’s reply guides every step. “Being one of my members does not automatically translate to being a goddamn friend.”
“Noted,” Peter deadpans as I stand outside the door, catching my breath, my pulse thrumming frantically in my temples and neck and ribs. “So, let me put this in a way that lacks the decency a friend would extend. Your reputation is shit. The last thing that girl needs is someone fucking with her.”
I should head back to the bathroom, but I can’t help but want to hear the rest of this conversation, so I multitask.
I pull out my phone, deciding how to deal with the security camera discrepancy.
There has been far too much movement up here for the loop to make sense long term.
I can’t risk Peter suspecting that anything was tampered with.
“It’s none of your goddamn business,” Cash roars, “but I haven’t looked at another woman since I laid eyes on Sylvie months ago. So, again, with all due respect, fuck off. She’s here with me.”
My stomach lodges itself at the base of my sternum. That’s just part of the act, I’m sure. Peter was right about Cash’s reputation. I can’t get sucked into believing this is anything. And that is the furthest thing I should be focused on at the moment.
“At my house,” Peter counters, just as two of the wives emerge from the lounge down the hall. “She would have been here with or without you.”
I put my index finger against my lips, and they both freeze.
“That must sting then since she’s going home with me.” Cash’s haughty air sails into the hallway, and both women’s eyes widen.
With so much commotion, it’s only a matter of time before the guards are up here and reporting back to someone who is looking at an empty hallway and office on their security screens.
“Fine.” Peter chuckles without an ounce of humor. “You’ll fuck this up. I don’t know why I’m even bothered. I’ll swoop in when you’re done and have an easier time because I’ll offer her all the things she wants.”
This is why working with someone is so much harder. I can’t just split. I need to get Cash out of here too. But even though I’m in the security system, it’s too robust for me to adequately dismantle it completely from my phone.
“What is it you want with her, Peter?” Cash challenges, and I swear the women’s ears perk up like puppies being offered a treat. “She’s sixteen years younger than you. What do you even have in common?”
Something slides against the wood office floor before Peter’s answer floats out to us, along with the rich, earthy scent of cigar smoke.
“Sixteen years younger trumps commonalities. Your revolving arm candy sells your worth. It’s a sign to your members that they can have a free life with all the lovely perks.
For me, it’s the opposite. I need to show stability while also making my business partners raving jealous. ”
“So, you want her as a prop?”
One of the women scrunches her lips and shrugs, as if to say, Don’t they all?
What a horribly low bar.
Cash doesn’t stop there. “Sylvie is not the kind of woman you ask to be quiet and look pretty. She’s phenomenal at every-goddamn-thing she does.”
I’ve heard enough, and I need to get the hell out of here, so while Peter utters his pathetic reasoning, I smooth out my hair and prepare to crash their private party.
“Don’t act all high and mighty with me. You only want between her legs, and I can give her—”
The intentionally loud clip-clop-clip of my heels has their conversation halting before I knock on the still-open door and peek my head in.
“I’m sorry to interrupt. I heard your voices.
Peter, I apologize, but I had more champagne than I generally indulge in, and I’m afraid it’s upset my stomach.
Would you mind terribly if Cash and I called it a night? ”
Peter’s face pales because he’s aware that I heard something. “If you don’t feel well, you’re welcome to stay in a guest room. My staff will take excellent care of—”
Everything stills. We’re cloaked in darkness. The music from downstairs is replaced by a chorus of gasps and shrieks. The women who were in the hall duck back into the lounge.
Guards shout and rush up the curved staircase.
A power outage. Or some sort of attack.
Cash is on me before I can even process what’s happening, weaving our fingers together and tugging me along. “Time to go, baby.” In that not-a-care-in-the-world way of his, he calls out behind him, “Fantastic party, Peter. Always enlightening to see you.”
A grunt might be returned, but I can’t be sure who expelled it because there is too much noise.
Backup generators have low lights casting a glow all throughout the house, so it’s unnerving, but not quite haunted-mansion horrifying.
I can only hope the generators did not preserve the security system.
But Cash is right. Getting out is the priority.
I have what I came for. I’ll work on covering my tracks when I get to the hotel.