Chapter Twenty-Two
They walked into a softly lit corridor. It was nothing she’d expected of the rusty old warehouse, which had been left abandoned to decay. The air wasn’t dank or musty. Surprisingly, it was clean and smelled faintly of sandalwood.
The corridor opened into a large area with ceilings that reached to the top of the three-story building.
Gothic chandeliers hung throughout the large space.
Well-stocked shelves of liquor were arranged in a striking array.
Its row of expensive bottles perched regally in front of mirrors and lorded over an ornately carved bar that could easily seat fifty people along its expanse.
“Whoa,” Camden murmured under his breath.
Amelia’s sentiments exactly.
Beth flipped two concealed light switches.
Running lights illuminated a portion of the bar and the chandeliers.
Whoa again. The gorgeous room was breathtaking and immense, but despite its size, the space was intimate and protective, as though the deepest of secrets could be shared within its walls.
Dark, thick curtains draped the walls and flanked oil paintings hung against the stately wood paneling, fueling its expensive, exclusive—illicit—vibe.
Beth waited until they’d soaked up the room then directed them. “We’ll go this way.”
Their footsteps echoed as they crossed the cavernous space. To fully appreciate their surroundings would’ve taken hours.
“What is this place?” Amelia tried to take it all in while keeping pace with Beth. “Like a gothic country club?”
“Something like that.”
Her mind sifted through the possibilities and landed on black-market art auctions.
The Hailey who Amelia knew would never attend illegal sales.
But the CIA version of Hailey might. If that was the case, Beth had been wrong.
A black-market art sale wouldn’t be scandalous enough to wreck her opinion of her sister.
They reached the opposite corner of the empty space and headed into the mouth of another dark hallway. The light faded behind them as Beth surged into the darkness. She moved through the space as though she’d done so a hundred times.
Camden walked by Amelia’s side, his hand resting at the small of her back.
She inched closer to him and imagined melting against the large barrel of his chest. He was her safe place, not just because of his size or comforting touch—it was the energy that radiated from him, the chemistry that connected them.
She felt they were meant to walk through that space together.
They rounded a corner. A rogue strip of light crawled from under a door.
Beth strode up and knocked. This was the point everything would change.
Amelia sensed the tension and leaned into Camden.
The back of his hand brushed the back of hers, a silent reassurance that she would be okay.
Nothing would jump out of that office door.
She’d survived men chasing her and lived through jail, innocent and trapped.
Still, her heart hammered so loudly that she was positive Beth and Camden could hear its drumbeat.
“Yes, come in,” a woman called.
Beth opened the door, and the office light momentarily blinded Amelia.
She blinked as she followed Beth into the office where everything would change.
The woman behind the desk would probably be the person to drop the bomb and destroy what Amelia understood of Hailey and Jonathan.
Amelia swallowed over the sharp panic in her throat.
“Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.” Beth gestured to Amelia. “This is Hailey’s sister. Amelia Stone.” Then she gestured to the woman who stood on the other side of the desk. “Amelia, this is Esme Van Alstyn.”
Amelia had never met someone that so immediately matched their name.
She shook Esme’s hand. The woman was older and unconventionally beautiful.
Her dark eyes were as black as they were bright.
She wore deep mauve lipstick the color of red wine.
Heavy gray and silver streaks threaded her dark hair in such a distinctive way that Amelia wondered if they had been precisely placed by an expert stylist. Her handshake was strong like a military man’s yet soft, almost sensual, in the way she wrapped her hand around Amelia’s. “Lovely to meet you.”
Esme’s velvet voice was magnetic. Amelia inched closer even as part of her wanted to hide.
Camden didn’t seem to notice and shook Esme’s hand with his typical gruffness. “Camden Brooks. Titan Group.”
Esme’s eyebrow arched. “Interesting.”
Strange that Camden’s employer was interesting. Amelia had learned what Titan did from her conversations with Camden, but Beth and Esme’s reactions had imparted what needed to be read between the lines. Titan Group was exclusive and connected.
Amelia realized she was the odd one out.
Camden, Beth, and Esme—even Hailey and Jonathan—all had a connection and knew the stakes even if they didn’t know the specifics.
She, on the other hand, was staring over the edge of a cliff when everyone else had parachutes and was ready to jump.
Beth’s and Camden’s warnings replayed in her mind.
Her throat tightened as though someone was slowly tightening her parachute around her neck like a noose.
She tried to clear her throat. It didn’t help.
“Camden,” Beth said. “Why don’t we let them—”
Amelia grabbed his arm. “No. Stay? Please.” She hated the pathetic note of begging, but the woman in front of her made Amelia’s insides shiver.
“Sure.” His confident agreement had come before Beth or Esme could shoo him out the door—though Esme didn’t seem the type to shoo. She was more the type to say a command and expect it to be completed.
Esme eyed Amelia’s hold on his arm then met Amelia’s eye as though she were talented enough to read her most guarded thoughts.
The corners of her mauve lips quirked, and Esme gestured toward the chairs.
“I don’t mind if you stay.” She elegantly folded herself behind her desk.
“This shouldn’t take long. Shall I call when we’re done? ”
Even the way Esme spoke was sophisticated.
Amelia heard a hint of an accent but couldn’t place it.
Or maybe she was just picking up on the primness of proper grammar and perfect posture.
She could match her: straight spine, shoulders back, chin up.
But that would require Amelia to focus her mental energy on things that didn’t matter.
Beth stepped toward the dark hallway. “No need to call. I’ll be around when they walk out.”
So Beth would probably sit outside the office door. Why? Amelia assumed Beth knew what Esme was about to explain. Plausible deniability? Or an offer of privacy? Beth seemed like someone who appreciated discretion—a point in her favor.
The door shut with a stomach-churning click after Beth left.
Amelia scanned Esme’s office. It was a far cry from a corporate office and didn’t match the outside of the warehouse.
But it absolutely matched the inside. The rich, gothic vibes from the great room complimented her office’s wall color, which, she noted, feeling somewhat awestruck, matched the deep wine color of Esme’s lipstick.
This woman rocked a seriously commanding—though sexy—aesthetic.
Amelia swallowed hard and focused on the computer monitor sitting alone on her dark desk instead of her penetrating gaze.
“Welcome,” Esme offered. “Please. Sit.”
Amelia realized she was still holding onto Camden’s arm.
She released her iron grip and forced herself to sit on a plush chair.
Their cushions were a deep purple and matched the main room’s drapes.
Everything about this place was purposeful by design.
Why did the exterior look like a decrepit old building?
“My condolences for Hailey and Jonathan.”
Amelia hated when people offered sympathies and grievances as though voicing respects was a societal checklist item that had to be acknowledged before further conversation could take place. “Thank you.” She couldn’t help herself and added, “Though there’s no proof that Hailey’s dead also.”
The corners of Esme’s lips rose with uncommitted understanding. “No, I suppose there’s not.”
Would Esme know otherwise? Or was that just the way prim, proper people responded to Amelia’s hope?
She waited for the litany of reasons people offered as proof that Hailey had been murdered the same night as Jonathan.
Hailey’s bank accounts hadn’t been touched.
Her social media and emails hadn’t been accessed.
No evidence existed that Hailey had contacted anyone she’d ever met.
Not to mention, Amelia had been arrested for murder.
That was enough to convince any logical person of Hailey’s death.
“This is your…” Amelia tried not to fidget. “Facility?”
Esme’s bright eyes danced beneath the feathery cape of her mile-long black lashes. “Beth hasn’t told you much?”
“Beth hasn’t told me anything except that I shouldn’t be here nor talk to you because I will regret it.”
“She’s not wrong.”
Amelia pointed toward the door where Beth was likely hovering and said, “One.” She then pointed at Camden. “Two.” Finally, she pointed at Esme. “Three. I’ve heard that three times, but I’m not changing my mind if it helps find Hailey.”
“I’d want to know too,” Esme admitted. “But I already live in this world.”
This world? The world of the CIA? Or Titan Group? Or another world that was uniquely Esme Van Alstyn?
“It called to me,” Esme continued, “and I wouldn’t change it. But I’m somewhat immune to it now, if I’m being honest.”
That sounded more like the CIA than Titan Group. “Immune to what?”
Esme leaned back in her chair and brushed her beautiful dark hair behind her squared shoulders. “That’s a complicated question.”
Their conversation was a game equally annoying and stomach-churning. Amelia fought the urge to run away or roll her eyes. She offered a different question. “How do you know my sister?”