Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Archer pushed open the door to Tatum's apartment at the Society and found her standing in the middle of the living room, staring at nothing.
She'd kicked off her shoes and tossed her bag on the couch. She looked exhausted; dark circles under her eyes, shoulders tight with tension she was trying, and failing, to hide.
He'd gotten the security reports throughout the day. She'd spent hours at her apartment with two guards hovering. She hadn't complained, hadn't tried to ditch them, but he could see the toll it had taken. Being watched. Being contained.
She hated it. He didn't blame her.
"Long day?" he asked, closing the door behind him.
She frowned.
"I knocked," he said.
She sighed. "To answer your question, yes. The longest." She studied his face. "Did you find out anything about North?"
His stomach tightened. He'd been dreading this conversation all day.
"We need to talk."
Her face went pale. "What?"
"We have confirmation that Richard North was murdered."
He watched the words hit her. Watched her process them. He’d known she'd suspected as much, but confirmation was different. Confirmation made it real.
Made it dangerous.
"How do you know?" she asked, sitting down on the sofa.
"When news of the Ponzi scheme broke, I had my people install a security camera. Hidden. It doesn't capture the whole place, but it picks up enough." He paused. "I have to protect the Society." He didn't want her to think he put cameras in every member's home.
Archer pulled out his phone, brought up the video, and handed it to her. "You need to see this." Rush had sent it to him earlier. It didn't show the killer clearly, but it showed enough.
Her hands shook slightly as she took the phone. He wanted to reach for her, steady her, but he stayed where he was and watched her face as the footage played.
The color drained from her cheeks. Her breath caught when the figure in the skeleton mask appeared. And when Richard fell, she flinched.
When she handed the phone back, her hand was trembling.
"Jesus."
"Yes," he agreed. "It was deliberate. Planned. They knew exactly what they were doing."
"Have you given this to the police?" she asked.
"Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first." He pocketed the phone, his mind already moving through the next steps. "I think we need to move faster. Push harder. If they're willing to kill Richard to keep this quiet, they're not going to stop."
She frowned. "What are you suggesting?"
"Timothy Lebowitz. I think he's the next weakest link. He had to know where the bodies are buried. Or in this case, where the money is."
She nodded slowly. "I agree. So we go talk to him."
"I go talk to him," Archer corrected, already bracing for the fight. "You stay here."
"Absolutely not."
"Tatum—"
Her hand flashed up in an arc. "No. We've been over this. I'm not sitting on the sidelines while you do all the work. This is my case."
His jaw tightened. Every caveman instinct he had was screaming at him to lock her in this apartment to protect her. "It's not safe."
"And it's safe for you?" she demanded.
"I can handle myself."
"So can I." She crossed her arms over her chest, and he recognized the stubbornness in her stance. She wasn't backing down. "Where is he?"
Archer hesitated. This was going to make things worse. "He's at a club."
Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of club?"
He could lie. Tell her it was a regular nightclub. But she would find out the moment they walked through the door, so he might as well prepare her. Besides, he wasn't going to lie to her.
"Archer. What kind of club?"
"An underground sex club. In Brooklyn."
He watched her process that. Watched the heat creep up her neck, the way her eyes widened slightly before she got control of her expression.
"You mean the Obsidian Club," she said, her voice carefully level.
It was his turn to narrow his eyes. "Just how do you know about the Obsidian Club?"
Tatum shrugged. "I'm not as sheltered as you think."
Archer's gut rolled. He wasn't entirely sure if he was upset that she knew about the club or angry that her knowing pissed him off. Either way, the outcome was the same. He was pissed off. "You should stay here."
"I'm going, Archer. End of story." She met his eyes with determination, the refusal to be seen as weak or incapable. "I'm going."
He studied her for a long moment. She was scared. He could see it in the tension around her eyes, the way she held herself too still. But she was resolute. And part of him, the part that was starting to care far too much, wanted her there. Wanted her close where he could be there if she needed him.
Dangerous thinking.
"It's not going to be..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Just because you know of it doesn't mean you'll be comfortable there. Most people aren't."
She shrugged. "I'll manage."
He didn't believe her, but he nodded anyway. "Alright. But you stay close to me. You don't talk to anyone unless I'm right there. Understood?" God, he needed to have his head examined for agreeing to this.
"Understood."
"And if at any point you want to leave—"
"I'll tell you." She grabbed her bag. "Let's go."
Archer looked her up and down. She was in jeans and a white shirt. Although she looked good to him, there was no way they were getting her into the club dressed like that. Women were held to a different standard at places like this. Not surprising but immensely frustrating, he was sure.
"You can't go dressed like that. They won't let you in."
She looked down at herself. "I have different jeans and a sweater if that helps."
"No." Archer shook his head. "I'll have some clothes sent over. I have to change as well."
Tatum frowned but shrugged. "Fine."
"We'll leave here around eleven. That gives you time to eat something and get ready."
He turned and made his way to the door. "I'll be back at eleven," he said again and left.
He made his way to his own apartment in the Society residence. As he approached the door, Flynn O'Connor and Cash Walker were standing outside it.
"What is it?" Archer demanded, opening the door. Both men followed him inside.
"We've been digging around on Davis," Flynn said. "We've found something."
Archer crossed to the bar and poured himself a small shot of whiskey. "Go on."
Flynn came over and sat down across from him without waiting to be asked. Cash waited for a slight nod from Archer before sitting.
"You were right," Cash said. "Davis has money again. A good chunk of it."
"How much?" Archer demanded.
"So far, we've located about twenty million," Cash supplied.
Flynn growled, "But we've just started. There could be considerably more."
Twenty million. Archer clenched his jaw. He'd been hoping for more. A lot more. Twenty million was substantial, but it wasn't Ponzi scheme level, not the kind of number that made the connection obvious.
"Any idea how he made it?" Archer asked.
"Not yet," Cash said. "He's being much more cautious now than he used to be. It's going to take serious digging."
Archer took a sip of his drink. "Fine. Dig. But do it carefully. I don't want him finding out I have you looking into him."
"You got it," Flynn said, getting to his feet.
Cash followed. "We'll get you answers as soon as we can."
"Thank you," Archer said, and both men left.
Twenty million wasn't enough. He'd really been hoping this would be the thing that nailed Davis.
Still, the man had gotten the money from somewhere, and Archer was certain whatever he'd done for it wasn't legal.
That was something worth sitting with. Twenty million.
Maybe if Davis was a front man, like North and the others, twenty million represented his cut of the payday.
A bit low but possible. Maybe it was a down payment.
Either way, it was a start, and it would have to be enough for now.
He grabbed a quick bite while working at his desk, then showered and changed. Jeans, a black shirt, and a black leather jacket that covered the gun tucked at the small of his back. Eleven o'clock. Time to go.
He quietly berated himself on the way over to Tatum's apartment.
This was a mistake. He knew it the minute he agreed to let her accompany him.
But he couldn't bring himself to stop her from coming.
He liked it when she was near him. When she was close by, he knew she was safe.
That logic had several obvious flaws, and he was aware of all of them.
Her door opened as he approached.
Archer's brain short-circuited.
Tatum emerged in black PVC leather pants that looked painted on, a mesh top that left very little to the imagination, and boots that added three inches to her height. But it was the wig that really sold it, a severe blue bob that should have looked ridiculous and somehow worked completely.
And the prosthetics. Subtle alterations to her nose and chin. Glitter on her cheekbones. A silver crossbones decal near her temple.
She looked like someone else entirely.
She looked stunning.
"Interesting choice," he managed, keeping his voice neutral even as his pulse kicked up.
"I need to blend in. That's what you wanted, right?"
"You'll do that." His gaze traveled over her once, slowly, cataloging every detail.
The curve of her hips in those pants. The way the mesh revealed the line of her collarbone.
The confidence in her stance, despite the nervousness still visible in her eyes.
What he wanted was something else entirely, and he shut that thought down before it finished forming.
That kind of thinking was distracting and could get them both killed.
"Let's go," he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
Archer pulled up to the side entrance of the club and nodded to the guard.
"Gray. Plus one."
The guard checked his tablet and stepped aside. The heavy metal door swung open.