Tommy stood before the side door of the Vesper, jiggling the key in his palm as he continued to volley the pros, cons, and possible risks back and forth in his head.
Ira had given him the code, which meant Tommy was free to come and go as he pleased. In fact, since Tommy fully intended to check out the progress being made on the VIP room, he figured he was acting well within the confines of his job description. There was nothing for Ira to get upset about.
And yet, none of that would matter if Ira caught him breaking into his office. Tommy didn’t even want to think about how Ira might choose to handle such a breach.
He tightened his fist, causing the hard edge of the key card to cut into his palm. It would be a shame not to use one of the few tools he’d been given to help nudge the investigation along.
Without another thought, he tapped the card against the reader and slipped inside. Once the door closed behind him, the alarm began shrieking.
He punched a sequence of numbers onto the keypad. If Ira had changed the security code, Tommy was screwed.
With each individual tap, the buttons let out a chirp. By the time Tommy completed the sequence, the shrieking stopped and he audibly exhaled.
“So far so good,” he whispered out loud. He wasn’t in the habit of talking to himself, though in that particular case it helped lessen the tension.
He moved toward the stairs leading to Ira’s office and the VIP room beyond. When his foot hit the bottom step, he heard music drifting from one of the second-floor rooms. He wasn’t alone like he’d thought.
On any other day, someone blasting music wouldn’t be cause for alarm.
But on any other day, Tommy never would’ve attempted what he was planning to do.
The Vesper was closed until nine, and Layla had assured Tommy her dad was spending the day with a woman he’d recently started seeing. Was it possible H.D. had decided to bring her by the club to impress her with his work in progress?
Tommy shot a wary look toward the top of the stairs. He didn’t know which was worse—catching Layla’s dad getting intimate with his new girlfriend or having Ira catch him breaking into his office and immediately seeing right through any excuse Tommy tried to sell him.
Whoever was up there had purposely locked themselves inside. Yet they’d also blasted the music so loud it drowned out the alarm. It was entirely possible they still thought they were alone.
Tommy continued up the stairs. At the top of the landing he noticed the door to the VIP room was slightly ajar. If he edged up close enough, he might be able to get a glimpse inside. But that also put him at risk of being seen.
The song switched to the Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” which was exactly the kind of music H.D. listened to when he worked. In the background, Tommy could just make out a series of dull thumping sounds that . . . if it really was Layla’s dad and his new girlfriend . . .
Then again, it was just as likely the mural was ready and Ira had hired a crew to move the furniture back into place. It all made perfect sense, except—why would they have alarmed the place?
There were a thousand different ways this could blow up in his face, but despite having every reason to leave and few to stay, he made for Ira’s office anyway.
He tried the card on the door, but not surprisingly, it didn’t work.
Luckily, it didn’t need to. The door was unlocked.
Ira’s office being left unlocked could only mean one thing—Ira was in the VIP room.
It was as good an excuse as any for Tommy to bolt while he could. Under the circumstances, no one could blame him for playing it safe.
The music and thumping continued, and against his better judgment, Tommy pushed the door open and quickly slipped inside.
With its dark walls and notable lack of windows, it was the drabbest of all Ira’s offices. Unlike the ones he kept at Jewel and Night for Night, it hadn’t received the usual ego makeover. There wasn’t a single framed magazine cover or newspaper article.
Still, this was where Tommy had seen the picture of the cartoon cat, and he was determined to bring it back to his friends, along with any other incriminating piece of evidence he might find.
He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and got to work. The desk was covered in neat stacks of papers that left Tommy wishing he’d brought along help. But they’d all agreed to work separately so they could cover more ground, chase different leads, and not risk the wrath of whoever was watching. Still, it would’ve been nice to have company. Tackling the corner nearest the door, Tommy went to work. He moved quickly, methodically. He couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by anything not directly connected to the case.
The plan was to photograph anything even vaguely incriminating, then return it to where he’d found it. His guess was that the desk only appeared disorganized. Knowing Ira, nothing was random. He’d definitely notice if something was misplaced.
So far, it was mostly purchase orders and bills—the everyday bureaucracy of running a string of successful nightclubs. Or at least that was what he thought, until he came across a heavy file titled Unrivaled Finalists.
The first document was a list of their names and contact information, along with a photo of each of them. The date listed at the top left corner was the same date the interviews had taken place.
Had Ira already chosen the finalists before the contest even began?
And if so, did that mean he’d been setting them up from day one?
His fingers trembled with rage. It was one thing to think the worst of his dad. It was another to prove he’d been right all along.
Tommy had always assumed Layla made the cut because of her blog. As a club promoter, her numbers were poor. But her posts about Madison’s disappearance amounted to free publicity for Ira. He’d given her insider access to the Madison scandal, and in return Layla didn’t hesitate to write about it.
Aster was easy. She was beautiful, snooty, spoiled, rich, and willing to do just about anything in pursuit of her dreams. In other words, she was just the sort of girl the whole world would be all too willing to root against.
But that still left Tommy. Up until the moment Ira had offered him the job, Tommy was convinced he’d blown the interview. But with every favor Ira granted, Tommy was sure there was another, darker motivation behind it. Ira never acted from kindness.
He raced through the pages, surprised to find they focused more on the competitors than the contest. While plenty of employers were known to run background checks, the info Ira had collected went much further than that. Ira had kept them under surveillance from the day of their interviews, and he’d collected the photos to prove it.
There was a pic of Tommy and Layla standing outside a restaurant on Abbot Kinney Boulevard. Tommy recognized it from the day he’d asked her to meet him at Lemonade. He’d been looking to form an alliance, hoping to pool their talents and work together. Only he’d flubbed the pitch and had ended up alienating her.
He dug deeper. Flipping past a photo of Aster and Ryan embracing in the Night for Night parking lot, he unearthed a separate file buried beneath it, with Madison’s name printed on the front.
Inside was a picture of Madison as a young girl. She was barefoot and bedraggled, dragging an old doll by her side. Along the top someone had written in all caps: MARYDELLA, WV, age 8.
It was the same picture someone had sent Layla—the same one that had covered the walls of Madison’s cell.
Farther in, Tommy found a newspaper article about the fire. Just beneath was another childhood photo of Madison. Only this time her hair was neatly combed, her dress was pressed and clean, and she sat smiling beside a plain, nondescript woman Tommy was sure he’d never seen, and yet something about her seemed vaguely familiar.
He flipped it over. On the back someone had written MaryDella & Eileen. Eileen was Paul Banks’s mother.
Why would Ira even have such a picture?
After photographing both sides, Tommy was about to dig deeper when he noticed footsteps sounding in the hall.
“What’re you doing?” The voice belonged to a girl. Probably one of Ira’s hot assistants—there was no shortage of them.
“I need to check something,” Ira said. “It’ll only take a minute.”
The doorknob rattled, sending Tommy into a panic as he quickly abandoned the folder, swiped at the light switch, and raced for the small supply closet. Contorting his body to fit, he managed to ease the door shut just as the office door swung open.
Inside the closet it was hot and dark, and there was barely enough room to hold him. Something sharp wedged into the middle of his back, forcing Tommy to take short, shallow breaths in an attempt to keep the noise to a minimum, though he was sure the frantic pounding of his heart would give him away. The only thing standing between him and Ira was a thin piece of wood and a knob with no lock.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Ira sounded hurried, if not wholly annoyed.
“Sitting in your chair, seeing what it’s like to be you.”
“Yeah, and what do you think?” Ira seemed distracted. The girl was flirting, but he’d clearly lost interest.
“I think it would be a lot more fun if you came over here and joined me.”
Tommy closed his eyes and cringed, hoping Ira would deny her request.
“How about I take your picture instead?”
“Again?” The girl tried to sound burdened, but it was clear she loved the attention.
“Like you ever tire of it.”
She let out a low, throaty laugh. “You mean, like this . . . or maybe even this . . .”
After a series of muffled thumps (what the hell are they doing out there?) Ira said, “You ready?”
“Always.”
Tommy listened as the door clicked shut, the lock engaged, and the outside room descended into silence. Determined to wait a bit longer to make sure no one returned, he slipped a hand into his pocket in search of his phone, only to find it was gone.
He reached into his other pocket. Then both front pockets. It was nowhere to be found.
Closing his eyes, he did a mental retracing of his steps. He’d taken a couple of pics of the photo . . . then he’d heard footsteps . . . shut the light . . . raced for the closet . . .
The file—he’d closed the cover and left his cell phone inside!
Tommy sprang from his hiding place and bolted for Ira’s desk. The file was gone, but Tommy’s phone sat prominently in its place. A quick check showed that Ira had deleted the photo of Madison and Eileen and replaced it with one of the girl. Her hair was long and blond, her lips parted and pink, as the tip of her tongue slid suggestively over her teeth. And though he’d purposely angled the shot in a way that obscured her eyes, an impressive cleavage was on full display.
Ira was taunting him. Letting Tommy know he hadn’t gotten away with anything. Hell, he’d probably known he was there all along. In an instant, Tommy’s biggest concern shifted from the fear of getting caught to the fear of why Ira had chosen to let him get away with it.
Next thing he knew, the alarm sounded through the building. Ira must’ve set it, purposely locking him in. Tommy had only a handful of seconds to make it outside before it rang straight through to security.
Would he find Ira waiting, ready to bust him for trespassing, breaking and entering, or whatever trumped-up charge he’d hold against him?
Anything was possible, but Tommy had no choice but to see it through to the end.
He flew down the stairs, raced past the bar, and burst outside just seconds before the alarm sounded its flat, ominous tone. Anyone still inside wouldn’t be able to hide for very long.
He took another peek at the picture of the blond girl. Without the eyes, she was impossible to identify. Then again, it didn’t really matter. There was no shortage of hot blondes in LA, and clearly it was more about Ira mocking him than anything else.
Tommy paused before the security camera long enough to flash it the middle-finger salute. Then he made his way across the empty parking lot, unable to shake the unmistakable feeling of being watched from afar.