by G. K. Parks
“All right,” O’Connell rubbed his palms on his pants, “it looks like I’ve got my first solid lead. See, this is why I asked you to consult.” He saw the expression on my face “What is it? Don’t tell me you and Martin are members?”
I slapped his arm. “You know me better than that.”
“Okay, so what’s the problem?”
“Priapus has some powerful and wealthy members. I don’t have a list of names. Cross explicitly forbade me from using company resources to find out any details, but some of our clients are on that list. I’m guessing you might find some city officials on there too. I’m not sure how easily you’ll be able to investigate.”
“I’ll find a way.” O’Connell glanced back at the police station. “I just hope none of the brass is involved. It’ll make for some awkward conversations in the break room.”
After parting ways with O’Connell, I headed home. The thought of working out held no appeal, a sure sign all was not right in my world, but I ignored it and changed clothes. After removing the plates from the side of Martin’s weight bench, I sat on the floor and stretched. The doctor had been right about my leg being stiff.
Climbing to my feet, I used the bench press bar to steady myself while I worked my way through an old barre routine I probably hadn’t done in a decade. When I finished, I turned to find Martin sitting at the top of the steps, watching me. I’d rarely seen that look on his face. It was a combination of loss mixed with lust.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing. You’re beautiful.” He came down the steps as I stretched out on the floor. “Is that one of your old ballet routines?”
“Just a beginner’s warm-up. My leg would probably snap in half if I tried to get on pointe at this point.” I hoped he’d smile at the play on words, but he didn’t.
“I’ve never seen you dance before.”
“That wasn’t dancing. I’m sure someone with your upbringing has seen an actual ballet with actual ballet dancers.”
“Several.” He searched my eyes, knowing how much ballet had cost me. “Is this the proper rehab?”
“Bruiser suggested it, but I think he’s right. It should get me back where I want to be. Right now, running and strength training are too much on my leg. Pilates would probably be good too. The floor exercises anyway.” My mind drifted back to Eve Wyndham’s daily activities.
“Pilates was originally designed for injured dancers.”
I dropped onto my back and raised my leg straight in the air. “Help me stretch my hamstrings.”
Martin put one hand behind my ankle and the other behind my thigh and gently pushed my leg back. I grunted. “Too much?” he asked.
“No.” I took a breath. “Just wait.” I exhaled. “A little bit more.”
He knelt down, supporting my leg against his chest and shoulder as he leaned over me. “Is this better?”
“What do you think?”
He cracked a smile. “Weren’t we in a similar position a few nights ago?”
“Were we?”
“As I recall, I rather enjoyed having your legs thrown over my shoulders.”
I ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, handsome. I’ve been terrible to you lately. I don’t mean it. I just…”
“I know.” He released the pressure and lowered my leg to the ground before offering me a hand up. “I’m not taking it personally.” He pulled me against his chest and kissed me, sending tingles throughout my body. Martin was electric. He could set my world on fire. He pulled back, licking the corner of his mouth. “Powdered sugar?”
I wiped the side of my mouth, flushing with embarrassment. “I had a donut with O’Connell before coming home.”
“That would explain it.” He grabbed my bag and the files I’d left on the floor beside it. “I’ll put these in your office for you. You should soak your leg in a hot bath. You don’t want your muscles to cramp.”
“Thanks.”
Twelve
I stared at the data on the screen. Martin had sold his ski chalet to Andre North. He probably didn’t even realize it since someone brokered the deal for him. All he had to do was sign the papers. Andre’s name didn’t appear anywhere on the contract, just his LLC. They weren’t connected, not really. But Cross had failed to make a connection once before when it came to Martin and real estate holdings. My boss wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
“That explains it.” I rubbed the grit out of the corners of my eyes and blinked a few times. I got up to tell Martin what I’d found, but he wasn’t in the kitchen. A glance at the clock told me he’d probably gone to bed. Deciding I should do the same, I turned off the lights and went up the stairs.
A cone of light cut across the fourth floor hallway from where Martin had left his office door cracked open. At least I wasn’t the only one who had to work late. Peering into the room, I found him behind his desk, clicking away at the computer while he spoke to someone over the phone.
“Are you sure these are the right projections?” Martin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “These are for next quarter?” I backed out of the room and headed to bed, determined not to have any more nightmares.
For a couple of hours, I managed a light sleep while my brain processed the dynamics of Andre and Eve’s relationship while also considering Victor Landau’s lifestyle and ways to infiltrate Priapus. I was in the midst of a quasi-dream, not entirely sure if I was awake or asleep, when the covers shifted. That was enough to fully rouse me.
Martin settled on the bed beside me. He kept his distance, which wasn’t typical for us, but he didn’t want to spook me. I remained facing the wall, listening to his breathing and waiting for it to slow and deepen. After an hour, I knew he couldn’t sleep either, so I asked, “What do you know about Priapus?”
“According to Greek mythology, he’s the god of intercourse and hard-ons. Have you seen the paintings and sculptures? He’s the reason ED pills have warning labels about four hour erections.”
“Is that the sex god you claimed to be embodying?”
“I don’t have a perpetual hard-on, except when you look at me the way you do, or you let out that little sigh, or when you smile or laugh. Don’t even get me started on what happens when you kiss me or wear my shirts. Yet despite all that, I still contain my urges and maintain some sense of decency.” He shifted beside me, slipping an arm beneath my pillow. “A nonstop erection would be an accident waiting to happen. One slip and someone could lose an eye. You’d have noticed by now if I were that sex god. Just imagine what my tailor would think every time I got fitted for a new suit.”
“He’d think you liked him.”
Martin laughed. “Then there’d be the inevitable unwanted sexual advances lawsuits I’d face at work. No, I’m more of a Himeros.”
“Unrequited love?” I reached behind me until I found his other hand and wrapped his arm around my waist.
“No, just the desire part.”
“You don’t get to pick and choose which aspects of mythology apply.”
“Why not? It’s my game. I make the rules. Plus, it all depends on which myth you’re reading.” He brushed his lips against my ear. “Did I walk into the wrong room? I thought this was our bedroom, not the Mythology 101 classroom.”
“Technically, you started it.”
“How? You asked me about Priapus.”
“Not the myth. The club.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t ask if I was a member.” He laughed, finding that particularly funny given the double meaning.
“How do you know what it is?”
“I’ve been around.”
“Oh, really?”
“Not like that. I just happen to know things.”
“So now you’re all-knowing?”
“It’s just another of my god-like qualities.” The laugh rattled around in his chest, but he didn’t make a sound. He was enjoying teasing me.
“I hate to break it to you, but if you’re a god, you’re probab
ly Narcissus.”
He nuzzled my neck and kissed me. “You’re just saying that because I’m incredibly handsome.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“I’m ignoring the point.” His breath danced across my skin. “Mythology aside, what’s going on?”
“A member of Priapus was killed inside a hotel room after possibly hosting a sex party. This is the fourth murder that’s occurred under similar circumstances. O’Connell thinks they’re connected. We’ve matched the same female DNA to all four scenes. The killer could be part of Priapus or has some way of finding out about these events, shows up, and poisons the host.”
“Shit.”
I laced my fingers with his and held his hand against my chest, my heart beating against the side of his fist. “Any idea who runs Priapus?”
“No.” He kissed the nape of my neck. “Someone I dated belonged to the club. She invited me to join. According to her, that’s how membership spreads, from person to person.”
“The same as herpes.”
He chuckled. “She thought it’d be fun to hook up on occasion, trade off, add a third or fourth, whatever. That was never my thing.” He wrapped both arms around me. “I don’t believe in sharing.”
“Good. Neither do I.”
He pressed his lips to my cheek.
“I’m going to need her name, Martin. Actually, I don’t, but O’Connell does. Text him in the morning. You can let him know it’s an anonymous tip, so no one will know it came from you.”
“But if I text him—”
“It’s Nick. He’ll say he got a tip. He won’t say it came from you. Hence, anonymous.”
“You want me to give him a tip?” Martin snickered.
“Are you twelve?” But I laughed anyway. Then I went on to tell him how he sold his ski chalet to Andre North, who now made a hefty sum of profit by using it as a rental property.
“That reminds me, I found out MT’s contact from Elite is Poppy Rosewood. She’s always been our rep. From what I gather, Eve Wyndham never had anything to do with any of the events I hosted. I doubt we’ve ever crossed paths.”
“Probably not. The Andre connection is big enough for Cross to have noticed. He would have seen the paper trail as soon as he looked into Andre’s business ventures. That explains why he assigned me this case. Though, I’m not sure what he expected me to find or why it would matter.” My gut said it had everything to do with Cross’s desperate attempts to keep me away from the police investigation, which only irked me more.
“Lucien’s wonderful at causing problems.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He won’t listen to reason.” Martin shook his head. “The projections aren’t anywhere near where they need to be for his undertaking. He wants access to a reliable source of biotextiles. I’ve read his proposal, and I understand why he needs the amount he does. I just don’t think we’ll have enough raw material stockpiled for the timetable he set forth. When I told him this, he told me I’d find a way. If this works, it could do a lot of good, but I just don’t see it working.”
“It could also cause a lot of harm.”
“I know, sweetheart, but the good outweighs the bad in this instance. The only reason I agreed to partner with him was to keep you safe.”
“It’s body armor, Martin. The bad guys will get their hands on it too. Pair it with automatic weapons, and a lot of people may get hurt.”
“I know. That’s why I’m not looking to sell the technology.”
“You might not have a choice. The government could impress their point on you.”
But he ignored my objection. “Like I told Lucien, the technology isn’t there. It can’t be mass produced to scale, which is why I’m not worried about military applications. If we’re lucky, and that’s a big if, we might be able to produce enough to outfit Cross Security. That’s it. And that will be over the course of a year or more, once we go into production.”
“That doesn’t sound profitable.”
“It’s not, which is why I need to find a way to make it profitable without selling the research.”
“Why were you screwing around with biotextiles in the first place?”
“For their strength and elasticity. I needed something with those attributes for another project and thought this might work, assuming they could be produced cleanly and the process was cost-effective. I’m still thinking the research could be applied to my original plan, but it’ll come down to how quickly the silk is produced. I just have to find a way to make it feasible and figure out how to convert it or the byproducts for other applications. That’s the only way this will work, and even if it does, I don’t know if it’ll work for Cross’s purposes. We still don’t know how durable it’ll be.”
“Is that why you can’t sleep?”
“Probably. Though, now it might be because I’m debating the merits of different myths and thinking I might have to resort to rereading Aesop’s fables.”
“Nerd.”
He laughed. “I’m sure they would put me to sleep.”
I leaned back against his chest and tilted my head so I could look at him. “Have you made any progress on removing the curse?”
“You tell me.” He kissed me and didn’t stop until the alarm clock sounded a few hours later.
Blindly, he reached for it, shutting it off while we remained tangled together. He flopped onto his back, and I nestled against his chest. His skin felt scorching hot against mine, but I enjoyed the contact. “Are you sure you’re not Priapus?”
Grinning, he brushed my hair out of my face. “Only with you.”
“Good answer.”
“Ready to go another round?”
“Don’t you have to get ready for work?”
“What if we work from home today?” He checked his calendar. “I have a conference call scheduled at noon, but I can take that in the other room.”
This might be the last opportunity I had to spend the day with Martin. Once Monday rolled around, I’d be tailing Eve. O’Connell and Thompson could manage without me for one day. “Text O’Connell. He can do the research and conduct interviews without me.”
While Martin searched through his little black book for a name and number, I closed my eyes. Now that it was morning, the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. We’d survived another night without any three a.m. phone calls. Everything seemed safer in the light of day, even though I knew it wasn’t. The sunlight eased the tension in my body, or maybe that had been Martin. He sent the text, put his phone on the nightstand, and tucked my hair behind my ear. And then I fell asleep.
I was in the midst of another nightmare. This time, Jablonsky was bleeding out, and there was nothing I could do to save him. Luckily, when Martin returned to the bedroom after making his conference call, I woke up. To distract myself from the horrors of my subconscious, we made love a few more times until O’Connell called with questions I couldn’t answer.
“Nick, come on,” I begged, “I don’t even want Mark involved. I sure as hell don’t want Martin anywhere near this.”
“Trust me.”
Reluctantly, I handed Martin the phone. Aside from one name, Martin knew even less about Priapus than I did. Unfortunately, O’Connell still needed answers. Unless the woman Martin hooked up with gave O’Connell sensitive details and violated NDAs and whatever other legal protections the sex club had in place, the police would have a hell of a time identifying the five people who’d been inside Victor Landau’s hotel room and an even harder time stopping the killer. That meant I had to convince Cross to help.
Thirteen
The best way to convince the boss to play ball was to do what he wanted. Lucien loved a good quid pro quo, so I’d give him one. I researched everything I could on Eve Wyndham. Andre had told me what he could, which had been more than I expected, but if she was having an affair, it would involve the little things he didn’t know about. So I put in the work.
In four days, Eve would return home after help
ing an influencer throw the biggest party known to humankind, or something along those lines. That didn’t matter. That was work. I needed to know how she played, with who, and where.
The thought made me feel sleazy, but it was a job. And it would make Cross happy, so I gritted my teeth and reminded myself if Eve was cheating, Andre should know. Frankly, I wasn’t sure it mattered one way or the other. He was hopelessly in love with her. I just didn’t want to be the one to break his heart.
Snorting at the notion, I couldn’t help but wonder when I became such a romantic. Martin probably had something to do with it. Damn him.
The best way to figure out Eve was to take a walk in her shoes, and while my Jimmy Choos might have been a match for her Manolo Blahniks, I stuck with a pair of sensible flats. The stilettos would have to wait until I finished more than a couple workout routines.
According to my research, Eve would spend the morning and afternoon at the office. So I drove to Elegant Events and performed some recon. Even though she’d gone freelance, Eve had several assistants. Two of them manned the phones while the other two worked on something in a large portfolio and examined fabric swatches. Without going inside, I couldn’t be sure what they were doing, but they appeared busy.
Around lunchtime, one of the two phone operators put the handset down on the desk, grabbed her purse, and went out the door. As soon as she was half a block away, I got out of my car and followed her. Two blocks later, she stopped at a smoothie bar. While she waited in line to place an order, she grabbed two containers of premade salad from the cooler, a bottled iced coffee, and two wraps.
I slid into line behind her, decided the coffee looked safe, and grabbed a bottle labeled coffee and almond milk. The smoothies didn’t look bad, but they’d take too long to make, and I might lose sight of my mark. I wasn’t sure about the tiny green sprouts poking out from the end of the wraps. And the salads looked like they’d been left out in the sun too long.
We inched ahead in line. The impatient part of me wanted to make conversation, but it was too soon. Patience, grasshopper. I glanced down at the sandwich selection, but they were vegan. And I had no desire to consume tofu. On the bright side, vegan meant there wasn’t an insect in sight, at least not intentionally.
