Emmett missed those days more than he wanted to admit. He hadn’t been happy when McQueen and Crux, the television home-shopping empire his father had built twenty years ago, moved their executive offices to New York. Life here had been spectacular up until a few months ago, but Emmett would have given anything to have things the way they’d once been.
He cleared his throat and threw his arms around his mother. “I promise you, Mama—one day I’m gonna find the person who ratted Daddy out, and then all hell’s gonna break loose. But right now, go on and lie down. I got lots of things to do today.”
“Maybe I will take a little nap,” Tammy Lynn said. She patted Emmett’s face and quietly disappeared down the corridor.
Emmett went to the table and folded up the newspapers. He took three long gulps of the coffee. Then he rushed back into his bedroom, jumped out of his clothes, and stepped into the shower. He emerged less than five minutes later. He knew he had to move quickly. From his bureau drawer he pulled out a pair of black YSL jeans and a matching shirt. He ran gel through his hair, applied a little eyeliner to his eyes, and scanned his jewelry box. The chunky silver Celtic cross would look good against the black outfit he was wearing; he fastened it to the left side of his shirt and slipped into a pair of Bruno Magli loafers. Then he reached for his Prada man-purse and bolted out of the apartment.
It was a muggy Manhattan morning. Emmett ran up Park Avenue and hailed a cab at the corner of Forty-ninth Street. He climbed in and said, “Eighty-fourth and West End Avenue. And put that pedal to the metal!”
As the cab sped up Park Avenue and then across Central Park, Emmett stared out the grimy windows, mentally reviewing his facts. If his calculations were correct—and his calculations were generally correct—the police would come knocking on his door soon. By then, Concetta would have been arraigned. No matter the amount of money, her family would post bail and bring her back home. And that was when the real trouble would begin.
Emmett knew Concetta well. They had been best friends all these years, sharing secrets and slumber parties and clothes. Sharing fears and hopes and fantasies. He was the only person who had been allowed to see Concetta’s insecurities up close. He was also a good judge of character, and he couldn’t imagine Concetta holding up strongly in a dingy police interrogation room, being slammed with questions and accusations. Though physically you might think so, she wasn’t made of steely stock. She played the role of a confident and self-assured heiress, but beneath it was an insecure girl who had never taken care of herself. Concetta cried easily. She panicked when the going got rough. In the hands of demanding cops, she’d very likely buckle and spill her guts.
And she probably told them everything about the club. About what we do.
Emmett nodded to himself. Yes, he was sure that had happened. He was sure that overnight, after being photographed and fingerprinted, Concetta had given the cops more information than they had needed. And that information would undoubtedly point fingers at the members of the Black Cry Affair. Bloody stiletto or not, they would all look guilty of something.
At the corner of West End and Eighty-fourth, Emmett chucked a twenty-dollar bill at the driver and climbed out of the cab. The town house at the very end of the street, the one with the glorious view of the Hudson River, was his first stop. He mounted the steep stairs and rang the bell.
Less than a minute later, Julian Simmons opened the front door, looking exactly as Emmett had expected him to look—shirtless and sweaty from a grueling early-morning workout, his trademark gold rope chain sparkling around his neck.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Julian said, his eyes bugging out of his head. He yanked Emmett into the foyer and shut the door. “Did anyone see you come here, McQueen?”
Emmett sniffed. “You that afraid people will find out we know each other? And what’s with callin’ me by my last name? Just ’cause you act like a drill sergeant doesn’t mean I’m gonna listen.”
Julian clenched his fists at his sides. “You can’t come in here. My—my parents don’t like it when I have guests over on the weekends.”
“Cut the bullshit, Simmons. I know your parents are out in L.A. for the new MTV show they’re producing.” Emmett raised his hand, traced a circle in the air, and snapped twice. “We got business to talk. So shut up and listen.” He pushed past Julian and walked into the sprawling first floor of the town house.
Music blared from the massive sound system—Julian’s own music, to be exact. Emmett recognized his voice cutting through the air, recognized the rhyming, stylized rap that would probably be playing on radio stations all over the country in a few weeks. The single was typical of Julian: explicit, macho, and a wee bit scary. In fact, everything in the town house was exaggeratedly masculine, from the black shag carpets and ebony wood to the life-sized posters of near-naked women hanging on the walls.
But the girl sitting on the couch wasn’t naked. In fact, Jessica Paderman looked like hell. Her flaming red hair was swept up in a bun. Tears smudged the makeup around her eyes. She was puffing on a cigarette and flicking ashes everywhere.
“Well,” Emmett said. “Looky what the cat dragged in.”
“Don’t start with me, Emmett,” Jessica snapped. “I’m really upset. I’m not in the mood for a fight.”
Julian stepped in front of Emmett. “You still didn’t answer my question,” he said angrily. “What are you doing here?”
Emmett shook his head and flung his man-purse onto the leather sofa. “Are you really that stupid, Julian? You haven’t put two and two together yet?”
Julian’s sweaty face went dark. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times—outside of the Chamber, I’m just myself. So the answer to your question is no—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I see,” Emmett replied with a smirk. “So I guess when the cops come a-knockin’ at your door in a few hours, you’re gonna deny everything that Concetta told them, huh?”
Jessica heaved a sigh and hung her head down. “Oh, God,” she whispered.
Julian started as though he’d been pricked by an electrical current. He raced across the living room and pulled the plug on the music. Then he whirled around and stared at Emmett, a crazed and nervous look on his face. “What are you talking about?” he screamed. “What did Concetta tell the cops?”
“Aren’t you even gonna offer me some tea?” Emmett asked, sounding purposely nonchalant. He sat down on the edge of the sofa and crossed his legs.
“Cut the crap, McQueen, and don’t piss me off!” The huge muscles in Julian’s forearms flexed. He had begun sweating again, despite the fact that he’d long since stopped exercising. “Tell me!” he shouted.
“Concetta probably spilled the beans about our whole little club,” Emmett said. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if she told the police everything about what goes on in the Chamber.”
“You don’t really believe that,” Jessica said desperately. She ground the cigarette into an ashtray and reached for another one.
“That’s just stupid!” Julian fired back. “Everyone already knows she’s guilty. All the papers are saying it. So are the news channels. Why would the cops give a shit about us?”
“A girl will probably say anything to muscle her way out of going to prison,” Emmett said. “And that would include dirt about us.”
Jessica shot to her feet and started pacing the floor. “Dangerous dirt. Stuff that could get us into a lot of trouble.”
“Uh-huh,” Emmett said as he took the cigarette from Jessica’s fingers. He inhaled, blew out a trail of smoke, and handed it back to her.
Julian folded his arms across his pumped-up chest. “I’m completely innocent, and that’s what I’ll tell the cops. It’s as simple as that.”
“That’s all sweet and pretty, but how about when certain details get out into the public?” Emmett flashed a quick look at his nails, then slowly raised his eyes. He glanced at Jessica. He glanced at Julian. “Won’t be very flat
tering.”
“It’s true,” Jessica said quietly, not bothering to hold back her tears. “And you know what? I wouldn’t blame Concetta for dropping the bomb. We all ran out of Cleopatra last night like a bunch of wimps.”
“What were we supposed to do?” Julian shouted. “The cops came and started hustling us out!”
“But she’s probably mad at us. She’s probably furious.” Jessica puffed hard on the cigarette, her whole body shaking.
“Holy shit,” Julian whispered. He smoothed both his hands over his bare scalp and began pacing the floor. He looked like an animal narrowing for a midnight kill. He set his eyes on Emmett. “You and Concetta said something like this would never happen! You both promised!”
“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that she was gonna up and kill Damien!” Emmett yelled back. “Until now, the whole club’s been a secret, so we kept to our side of the promise.”
“We swore an oath!” Julian said desperately. “A sacred oath that what goes on in the Chamber would remain secret. No one is ever supposed to know. That’s what you and Concetta said when I joined.”
“When I joined too,” Jessica cut in.
“—and that’s what I’ve always believed!” Julian flung his arms up. “I swear, from here on out, I’m done with it—done with the whole club! Screw you and the Black Cry Affair.”
“Hush up, Simmons.” Emmett waved his hand in the air. “You’re losing control, and that’s the first thing the coppers wanna see.”
“Well, maybe Julian’s right,” Jessica said. “Maybe we should all just forget it and move on. Maybe we should—”
“Is that what you really want?” Emmett’s voice was flat and sharp. “Is that what either of you really want? You want to give up the power and control of being in the club?”
The question was like a double-edged sword. And Emmett knew it.
“Of course not,” Jessica admitted. “But it’s inevitable. If Concetta blabbed to the cops about everything, we’ll be forced to confess, and that’ll be the end of it anyway.”
“I don’t know that Concetta blabbed to the cops,” Emmett said. “I’m just assuming she did. And if that’s the case, we have to be prepared. I don’t want stuff about the club made public either. But maybe if we play our cards right, we can stop it from happening. That’s why I’m here, kitty cats.”
“Concetta’s the one who’s guilty!” Julian yelled. “And that’s the first thing I’ll tell the cops. She should’ve known from the beginning that Damien didn’t like her. It’s her own damn fault.”
“Julian, please.” Jessica shook her head. “Concetta’s still a member of the club. And I hate that she did this—that she killed Damien—but I still feel bad for her. She just lost control. She didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“That’s not my problem!” Julian answered. “I’m not gonna lose everything I’ve worked for just because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut! I’m gonna tell the cops everything about her—how obsessed she was with Damien, how she resented that he didn’t like her—”
“Watch your mouth, muscle boy.” Emmett fixed Julian with a hard, unforgiving stare. The comment was meant as a threat, and Julian knew it.
Silence descended over the room.
“We could all turn the tables on each other if we wanted to,” Emmett said. “But I’m not about to let you go and disgrace Concetta more than she already has been. All those newspapers. All those stories calling her fat and cherubic and everything else. You best keep your mouth shut and play the game right.”
As the words settled over him, Julian looked at the ground and took another deep breath. He sat down on the opposite side of the sofa, clearly defeated. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Fine. What do you think the cops are gonna ask me about?”
“For starters, they’re probably gonna ask you why you don’t look a shred upset that Damien’s dead,” Emmett snapped. “Workin’ out with the music blastin’ and the plasma on like you’re in some Vegas hotel! Doesn’t look to me like you’re upset Damien’s gone.”
Julian’s brows knitted together. His muscles flexed again. “That’s probably because I’m not so upset that Damien’s dead,” he whispered. “And you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Oh no I don’t!” Emmett said. “All I know is what Concetta knows.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jessica let out a strangled sob.
Emmett leaned into the plush cushion supporting his back. He said, “Yesterday, after the club finished up with our usual Friday-afternoon session, Concetta and I heard you and Damien arguing. Loudly. Some might even say dangerously.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Julian said. “So what are you trying to say? That I’m the one who killed him?”
Emmett shrugged. “You might’ve had the motive. At least that’s what the cops will be thinking.”
“Well, screw that!” Julian shouted. “Concetta and Jessica and you all had the same motive! You know damn well why I was arguing with Damien. You would’ve argued with him too. That little prick was starting to get on my nerves!”
“And is that what you’re gonna tell the cops, Einstein?” Emmett sniffed. “They’ll be snappin’ cuffs on you like a pit bull in a playground.”
“Well, what else am I supposed to say?” Julian screamed. “That I was Damien’s best friend? That I liked the way he’d been acting lately?”
“Hush up,” Emmett snapped. He leaned forward and cut Julian a serious stare. “You be angry all you want with Damien, but the truth is the truth—he was an important part of the club, and we got a whole hell of a lot done because of him. The Black Cry Affair has given us all a lot.”
Jessica sat down again. “It’s true. I’ll be the first one to admit that.”
“I know,” Julian replied, his voice softening. “I love being a part of the club. You know that. But none of us expected it to get to this point.”
“Sometimes bad things happen,” Emmett said. “That’s just life. You have to accept it and deal with it and, if you can, figure a way out of it.”
Julian stood up, walked across the wide living room, and threw on a tattered black T-shirt. He stood there for a long moment, staring out the window with his arms folded across his chest like a beefy bodyguard on the lookout.
The pose almost made Emmett laugh. It never ceased to amaze him how much of a meathead Julian Simmons really was. “There’s nothing to do now but continue,” he said. “My nerves are fried, but now’s not the time to start going crazy on each other. We have to stick together. It’s the only way to protect our own asses.” Emmett stood up and swung the man-purse over his shoulder.
“You mean meet in the Chamber tomorrow, like usual?” Jessica asked, panic-stricken.
Emmett nodded. “I’m pretty sure that’s what Concetta will want. And it’s what we all have to do anyway. In case we need to get our stories straight about our little club.”
Jessica shook her head. “But…Concetta’s a killer! I’m—I’m scared! And there’s no way in hell my mother will let me out of the house—especially if she knew I was heading over to Concetta’s.”
“Stop being an idiot,” Emmett snapped. “Y’all know Concetta’s not gonna kill anyone else. It’ll look worse if we all start to disband. Just swallow your fear and get on with it. And why does your mama have to know you’ll be going to Concetta’s? Tell her you’re goin’ someplace else.”
“My mother knows me better than that,” Jessica choked out. “She’ll know I’m lying. She’ll see right through me and then we’ll end up fighting.”
“Well, how’d you get away from her to come on over here?”
“She went for her usual spa appointment,” Jessica explained. “She doesn’t know I’m here. She thinks I’m in my bedroom reading.”
Emmett gave her a devilish smirk. “Well, you’ve been lying to her for months already, Paderman. Why stop now? Julian’s parents are away, and my mama will be too drugged up to know
anything. But you’ll have to find a way there.”
Julian didn’t move from his place at the window. “In the club?” he whispered. He turned around and stared at them. Wiped a line of sweat from his forehead.
“In the club,” Emmett and Jessica responded in unison.
11
Dynamite News
It was a Saturday ritual: massages at noon.
Once a week, the library of the Hamilton penthouse was transformed into something of a spa. The huge mahogany desk was pushed back against the windows, the leather chairs were moved into the front hall, and three padded massage tables were assembled in the very center of the room.
Madison, as usual, made the appointment on time. She walked into the library wrapped in a towel and smiled at three female masseuses. She set her cell down on the windowsill, then climbed onto the first table.
A minute later, Park and Lex came strolling in. Park had a manila file folder in one hand, and Lex was cradling Champagne in the crook of her left arm and a bunch of newspapers in her right.
“Must you bring the dog?” Madison snapped.
“My baby was alone for half the night,” Lex said, kissing Champagne and setting him down to run freely though the library.
Park dimmed the lights as one of the masseuses lit several scented votive candles. The room immediately filled with the aroma of lavender and eucalyptus.
Lex climbed onto her table, still clutching the newspapers.
When they were each settled and the massages began, Madison sighed. “Okay, what’ve we got? Give me the news first.”
In the Club Page 13
