by Cat Johnson
I mentally shook some sense into myself. None of this was going to help me find her. That was first and foremost my top priority.
If she had flown off to some photo shoot somewhere, I needed to know that. Because if she hadn’t, I feared something might be very wrong.
The Chelsea I’d had the pleasure of knowing, however briefly, would do anything for Zane and her job. Leaving with no notice wasn’t in keeping with that.
With my head back in the game I began to search her room in earnest.
At least there was one point in my favor—the girl was a minimalist. I suppose she had to be given the lack of space. But it would be easy for me to go through everything in my search for clues since there wasn’t all that much.
It didn’t take long for me to figure out that she must pay her bills online because there wasn’t even a damn paper credit card or bank statement for me to find.
Though I found no computer or cell phone either, leading me to believe wherever she’d gone, she’d taken her electronics—and her chargers—with her.
I finished searching inside her dresser drawers, proud I’d handled her intimates without getting a hard-on, and moved to her jewelry box. I flipped open the lid and was just in the process of refusing to remember how I’d chosen her jewelry that night we’d gone out when my eyes hit upon a folded piece of paper.
I stopped dead as I recognized my own handwriting.
The girl who kept next to nothing had kept that.
I didn’t need to but I did it anyway—I unfolded that paper and read the few words I’d written to her six months ago.
Chelsea. Until we meet again, and have no doubt we will meet again. Tristan
That was another thing I’d never done before—write notes to one-night stands or promise to see them again.
Realization was a hard nut to swallow, but I couldn’t deny it. The evidence was there. Clearly I’d been whipped from the very start. I just hadn’t realized how bad until now.
Chelsea was far more than a one-night stand and she had been from the beginning . . . and now she was missing and I might be one of a mere handful of people looking for her. And one of the even fewer with the resources to actually find her.
That reality knocked me back into my right mind. I whizzed through searching the rest of the room. I even checked behind the drawers and beneath the mattress.
Nothing. That left me one thing to do. I had to find Morgan. She had to know where Chelsea was. If she didn’t—Well, I’d deal with that when and if it happened.
Taking out my cell phone I hit the search button and said, “Camelot, Washington, D.C..”
When the search results came up, it was as I’d expected but had hoped wasn’t true. This version of Camelot had nothing to do with King Arthur. Camelot was a strip club and, according to Trina, Chelsea and this Morgan person had worked there.
Chelsea, the elegantly charming though sometimes bumbling woman in the impeccable suit who’d navigated the assignment I’d thrown her into with a dexterity that belied her lack of experience as a field op, was a model and an actress and had worked at a strip club.
It was becoming apparent that though I’d thought I did, I really didn’t know Chelsea at all.
FOUR
I stepped through the entrance of the Guardian Angel Protection Services office and into an empty front reception area.
It wasn’t empty for long. In seconds my old SEAL friend appeared in the doorway that led to his office in back. But I was in that front room long enough to get a good look at Chelsea’s empty desk chair and feel the cold stab of fear.
I trusted my instincts, but I didn’t want to trust this one. Didn’t want to believe she was in as much danger as the chill that ran up my spine led me to believe.
Shaking off the feeling I moved forward to greet him where he stood. “Zane. Thanks for meeting with me.”
I shook the hand of the man I’d known since my first big professional failure in Kenya five years ago. God willing Chelsea wouldn’t be my second.
“Of course. I’m glad you’re here. Come on into my office.”
I couldn’t resist one more glance at Chelsea’s desk. There was a vase of flowers on it. They were well past their prime, the pink peonies now tinged with brown and shedding a scattering of shriveled petals on the smooth surface. Proof of how long it had been since she’d been there.
Forcing my mind away from the macabre symbolism of Chelsea’s dying flowers, I took note of the computer also on the desk. Were there clues on that computer? I intended to find out before I left here today.
Zane laid his hand on my shoulder and squeezed with what I swore was sympathy before he steered me away from the front office and toward his in back.
Was I that transparent? Were my feelings about Chelsea written all over my face? The worst part was, I hadn’t realized what those feelings were until she went missing.
And fuck me, why hadn’t I done something about them before? Fight them. Give in to them. Something, anything, rather than let them affect me and my ability to perform my job now.
Maybe I was overreacting, misinterpreting my gut instinct, but my investigation since arriving hadn’t instilled in me any confidence that Chelsea’s dropping out of sight was as innocent or normal as her roommate assumed.
I followed Zane into his office and stopped when I saw one chair was already occupied. “Brent.”
It shouldn’t be a complete surprise that he was here. We had flown together in his jet last night.
He stood. “Tristan. I stopped by to see if Zane had heard anything.”
“And have you?” I questioned Zane directly.
“No.”
“Have you even looked?” My tone was sharper than I’d intended.
Bloody hell, I was a mess and I’d better get over it if I wanted to get anywhere in this job I’d taken on for myself.
Zane’s brows rose. “I’ve done a bit of digging. There’s nothing on her work computer but GAPS business. Nothing personal.”
That answered one of my many questions, but Zane’s hesitation led me to believe there was more.
“And?” I prompted, my heart pounding as I waited for him to reveal whatever it was that he was holding back.
He drew in a breath and finally said, “There’s nothing in her personal email account or private messages on her social media accounts either. In addition, none of those accounts have been accessed recently, there’s no banking or credit card activity and her cell phone hasn’t pinged in a week. Wherever she is, she’s completely off the grid.”
Next to me Brent mumbled a soft curse. I didn’t know if that was in response to how completely Chelsea had dropped out of sight or prompted by his surprise at the level of private information that was accessible to anyone with the skills and desire to find it.
Illegal and invasive as it was, I was happy Zane had used his resources to delve so deep. Concerns over Chelsea’s privacy took a backseat to my concern over her well being.
If Zane hadn’t checked everything, I would have. His doing it only meant I didn’t have to myself. But that he hadn’t found anything only reinforced my suspicions. If she were on a photo shoot or some acting job there should be some kind of electronic trail.
I forced myself to move forward to what I did know. “All right. Here’s what I’ve discovered.”
I ran through my day since the Hearst jet had touched down just before dawn. My interview with Chelsea’s roommate. My search of her room. But most importantly, my early morning visit to Camelot.
Fortunately, the gentlemen’s club ran a twenty-four hour business and lucky for me the waitresses employed there are a chatty bunch. For a few bills and a smile, they’ll spill all they know.
What I found out that morning was that one of the girls coming in to work the next shift today was particularly friendly with Morgan, so that's where I would go next.
I was betting she knew something. She'd better—it could make all the difference in my search for Che
lsea.
Brent frowned. "You did all that? You've only been in town a handful of hours."
Angry with myself that I wasn't further along in my search, I said, "We still don't know where Chelsea is or what kind of trouble she’s in. Even a few hours is too long."
My comment came out with more ire than I'd intended. He drew back and I sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm frustrated."
Brent nodded. “It’s all right. We’re both sleep-deprived and worried.”
"So what's the plan?" Zane asked.
I glanced at the watch on my wrist. It was half past eleven. Bracing both hands on the arms of the chair, I stood. "I'm heading to the club."
Maybe this friend of Morgan’s would arrive early. I could speak with her before her shift started. Half an hour might mean the difference between this costing me just a bribe versus a full private lap dance so I could question her while she worked.
In a flurry of action, Zane stood too. "I'm coming with you."
"Me too." Brent hoisted himself out of his chair as well.
I shook my head. "I work alone."
Zane cocked one brow high. "Not today you don't. And I happen to know from personal experience your lone wolf act is bullshit. You know damn well you bring in help when you need it."
I knew what he was talking about. The events in Kenya, when I’d sent twenty men on a deadly wild goose chase.
Though maybe Zane was referring to that first time I’d shown up at this very office and enlisted Chelsea to be a distraction for an assignment at the embassy.
Either way, he was correct. I didn't always work alone, even if I did prefer it. It certainly looked as if I wouldn't be working alone today.
I accepted my fate. "Fine. But keep your mouths shut when we’re in the club and follow my lead."
Zane's triumphant grin was only equaled by Brent's frown. I liked the man, but it was obvious the billionaire didn't like being told what to do. Too bad. I was running this show. The Hearst publishing heir had no experience in the field. It could really cock up my investigation if he were allowed to improvise.
As we moved out to the front office again, I remembered how well Chelsea had followed orders. Perhaps too well. When I'd kissed her silly in the courtyard of the British Embassy to avoid being seen, she hadn't blinked an eye.
Oh, no. She'd kissed me right back until I was no longer acting for the benefit of our cover story, but instead planning how to get the bloody assignment completed so I could get her naked.
The recollection made my chest tighten.
Enough strolling down memory lane. I opened the front door and took a step out into the sunlight, knowing my two unwanted shadows would follow.
FIVE
Because of its proximity to the nation’s capital, Camelot was a gentlemen’s club of a higher caliber than most establishments that used that moniker.
But a strip club was a strip club, no matter how it was referred to. That was more than obvious to my two guests as we walked through the front door.
Even though the club was kept on the dark side at midday I had no problem seeing Brent go pale at his first look at the performer on stage.
Zane, on the other hand, was proving himself once again the unflappable SEAL. His gaze swept the room, no doubt sizing up the staff, the layout, the security and the patrons, just as I was.
I’d only been there once, but I knew exactly where every door and window was located, and where the cameras were. I knew the lone doorman was only one of the two bouncers on site and that the door to the manager’s office was located in the back.
I turned to my companions, about to suggest we take a seat so it would look less obvious we were only there to question Morgan’s friend, when I noticed Brent hadn’t relaxed. If anything, the man looked more tense.
“You going to be all right, Hearst?” I asked.
He swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m just wondering what Alex is going to say about this.”
Ah, the girlfriend. I suppose I shouldn’t fault the man for being afraid of what she would think. From what I could determine, Brent’s woman was as well trained as I was. She probably knew a hundred different ways to inflict various levels of pain on him, in addition to any number of psychological games.
“You wanted to come,” Zane said. “And here’s an idea, how about you don’t tell Alex you were here? She’s in California on assignment. She’ll never even know.”
“You mean lie?” Brent’s eyes widened.
Zane rolled his eyes. “How about just don’t bring it up?”
“Fine.” Brent scowled. “But then you can’t bring it up when you’re talking to her either.”
“I won’t.” Zane muttered some creative profanity beneath his breath.
If I wasn’t so focused on finding this dancer named Sapphire and questioning her, I might have enjoyed Brent’s discomfort more.
As it stood, I had to leave the teasing to Zane because a closer look at the woman on the stage had me suspecting I’d found who I’d come to see.
“Get a table. I’m going to ask around,” I said to Zane, the one more likely to do as I’d asked, before I headed toward the bar.
I didn’t get that far before a cocktail waitress paused in front of me. “You can sit down, handsome. I’ll come take your order.”
“I have a question as well.”
“Sure. What ya’ need?”
“The dancer on stage. Is that Sapphire?” It was a shot in the dark, but the dancer’s costume was covered in sparkles and a deep sapphire blue. I supposed branding was as important for strippers as any other performer.
The waitress nodded. “It is. She’s about done. Want me to send her over to your table?”
“That would be brilliant. Cheers.” Getting closer to the information I needed had my heart pumping faster as I walked toward the table Zane had selected.
Typical operator, he’d chosen one off in a dark corner where he could observe while not being seen.
I pulled out one of the chairs and sat. “I asked about our girl. That’s her on stage.”
Brent’s gaze moved to the dancer who was more nude than not at this point in her performance. He blew out a breath and said, “Shit.”
“Problem?” I asked.
He turned his attention away from the lovely Sapphire and to me. “Alex is really going to kill me.”
Zane shook his head. “Christ, Brent. I’m married and I’m not this whipped.”
“Easy for you to say. Your wife can’t kick your ass,” Brent said.
The SEAL laughed. “That’s true, but your girlfriend most definitely can kick yours.”
Again, the witty banter of my companions would have been amusing in another situation.
Now, all I could do was count the moments until Sapphire got her bare bum off the stage and over to our table so I could question her.
Finally the song ended. Sapphire gathered the last of her discarded costume pieces and a smattering of crumpled bills that littered the stage and climbed down.
As promised, the waitress approached her, presumably to give her the message that I wanted to speak with her.
The cocktail waitress pointed in our direction. Sapphire turned to glance at our table and then nodded.
I was close to getting the answers I needed. I could feel it.
“I heard someone here needed him some Sapphire.” She smiled as the lights bounced off the sheen of glitter on her bare skin.
I’d like to say this was the strangest scenario I’d ever been in while on the job. Sadly, it wasn’t.
“Not me. Him. He wants to talk to you.” Brent, sweating and wide-eyed, hooked a thumb in my direction as I noticed he’d backed his chair almost up against the neighboring table in an effort to get as far from the stripper as possible.
I heard Zane laugh as I stood so I could speak to Sapphire face-to-face rather than being eye-level with her tits.
“I was hoping you could answer a few questions about a waitress who used to work here. Two
actually. Morgan and Chelsea.”
I saw her lose interest in me and this conversation immediately when she realized I wasn’t looking for a lap dance.
Slipping a folded twenty-dollar bill out of my pocket, I held it between two fingers and added, “I’d be most grateful for anything you can tell me.”
Her focus immediately zeroed in on the bill before she raised her gaze back to my eyes.
“Morgan hasn’t been around for a couple of weeks, but Chelsea was just in last week. It was strange that she just stopped by out of the blue. I haven’t seen that girl in months. Not since the night she got fired.”
My heart pounded at the confirmation that Chelsea had been here not long ago. “What was she doing here?”
“Asking about the escort service Morgan’s working for. I figured she was looking for work. She must’ve gotten fired from that new job she got by accident. That girl’s got a temper on her. Inevitable she’d get canned again.”
“Question.” Zane interrupted Sapphire with that single word.
The stripper turned to beam a brilliant smile at him. “Sure, darlin’.”
“You said she got hired at her new job by accident? What exactly did you mean by that?” he asked.
In the back of my mind I had wondered about that phrase myself.
“Oh, it’s a funny story. Only Chelsea could do something like this. I swear. If there’s trouble around, that girl will find it. Anyway, on Morgan’s recommendation Chelsea went looking for Angel Escort Services, but she hit the wrong listing on her cell phone and ended up at some company named Angel something that’s run by a bunch of former Navy SEALs. So she goes through the whole interview with the owner still thinking she’s there applying to be an escort. The guy hires her and then she figures out they’re some sort of military security company with like serious guns and shit.”
One glance at Zane’s expression told me this was as much news to him as it was to me.
“Holy shit.” With that muttered curse, Brent confirmed he hadn’t heard the tale of the convoluted path Chelsea had taken to her employment at Guardian Angel Protection Services either.
