SIX
Things didn’t go as quickly or as smooth as I anticipated. Angel Escort Services was not the slap-dash organization I’d hoped. They didn’t willingly open their employee files for my perusal just because I flashed the air of wealth and the willingness to part with it.
Oh, no doubt, they appeared to be a friendly, open organization whose only goal was to make the customer happy.
In reality, beneath the surface where a layman wouldn’t notice were clues that they were a high tech, self-serving and—dare I say—mercenary corporation.
Escort service. Rubbish! Angel was a well-oiled, information-gathering machine. Whether they used the information to further their own business or to sell to others, from what I’d seen so far Cambridge Analytica had nothing on Angel Escort services.
I didn’t miss the surveillance in the front office. I also knew better than to underestimate the corporation. I had no idea if they were wired into facial recognition software and were currently running me through a database, so I stuck to the truth for the main facts.
I provided the real information for my name and my employer. Or at least, I provided the information for my cover employment.
It made sense to do so. I was sure I wasn’t the first foreign embassy worker to visit here, nor would I be the last.
From the customer application I was required to fill out alone they now had an enormous amount of valuable demographical information about me.
Where I lived. For how long. If I rented or owned.
All those seemingly routine questions—asked under the guise of offering me a line of credit with the escort service, which in itself was surreal—were no doubt designed to determine my social and economic standing.
Would I like to connect with Angel Escorts on social media? If so I’d get all sorts of special offers and insider access. In reality it was them who would have access to me and all of my information, and my friends’ information, after I made that connection.
There were sociological and psychological questions they snuck in as well, such as this gem—
Angel Escorts donates ten percent of all profits to charity annually. Please write in the top three not-for-profits you’d like to see us consider for our annual donation.
How generous of them. Right?
Wrong. There was no way the wankers were as selfless as that.
I didn’t know if they actually donated one bloody quid to charity, but I did know the data they gathered on this question could be sold or exploited. It would provide them with information they could use to build a profile that could be used for audience targeting.
Or I should say they would have been able to do that if I hadn’t strategically lied on every question I could get away with.
I wrote what I calculated they wanted to see from me. I answered in a way that would make me seem ripe for the picking and would hopefully gain me access to Morgan and the answers I sought.
Once my creative paperwork entries were completed, I stood and carried the clipboard to the receptionist’s desk.
The girl seated there smiled at me. “Wonderful. Just let me run this to the back for processing then we can talk about your needs.”
My needs.
Besides my theories about their black hat data collection practices, I wondered what other gray areas Angel Escorts operated in. Did the escorts provide more services than acting as arm candy?
Unfamiliar predatory feelings hit me hard, forcing me to remind myself I wasn’t even sure Chelsea had stepped foot in this place. Her coming here to find Morgan was all just a theory at this point, but since it was my only theory I had to act upon it.
I didn’t know if she could be somewhere being manhandled by a foreign dignitary with diplomatic immunity but my jaw and my fists clenched anyway.
If anyone laid a hand on her, nothing would protect the man who did it from the absolute terror I would wreak upon him.
“So, let’s talk options. You said you needed an escort to entertain visiting dignitaries in town for an upcoming embassy event?” The receptionist had returned and I had to force back the raw rage I’d let surface and don the cool demeanor of a man about to order himself a girl or two for some platonic companionship for my visitors.
The memory that Chelsea had almost applied for employment here—would have if not for a slip of the finger that had led her to GAPS—had my nostrils flaring as I drew in an angry breath.
When I found that girl it was going to be hard not to lock her up for her own safety.
My baser self decided that handcuffed to my bed would be a nice safe place for her and enjoyable for both of us.
But I had to find her first. And to do that, I had to lie my arse off now.
She was still waiting for me to give her my list of needs so I said, “Yes. Actually, I’ll want possibly two escorts.”
I had every intention of killing two birds with one stone and try to get information on Morgan and Chelsea, if possible.
“One for yourself?” She smiled.
Jesus. Beneath all the trappings and intrigue, this place was also clearly in the business of peddling flesh.
“No. Just for my visitors,” I returned.
“All right. Do you prefer any particular physical attributes?” she asked.
The anger began to rise again over my having to choose my options for a female companion as if I were ordering a car.
Heated leather seats. Sunroof. Bluetooth. Blonde. Brunette. Redhead . . .
“I already have an idea of who I’d like—if she’s available.”
“Oh? I thought you haven’t used our service before.”
I had to decide quickly on my direction for this lie. I could say a friend of mine had used the service and recommended Morgan, but that left too many questions with no answers. Who? Where? When?
Best to stick to what I knew.
“That’s correct. I haven’t used your service before—but now that I’ve been here I can assure you I will definitely be using you again.” I flashed a smile to accompany the flattery.
She returned my smile. “That’s very good to hear.”
“In past I’ve entertained important visitors at a local gentlemen’s club,” I continued.
“Camelot?” she asked.
I feigned shock at her guess. “Yes. You know it?”
“Definitely. That’s where some of our best girls have come from.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised because it was one of the employees at Camelot who suggested your service. And she told me that one of my favorite girls works here now.”
“Morgan? I’m sorry I don’t know her last name.”
“Oh, I know Morgan.” She nodded with enthusiasm. “No last name needed. We only have one Morgan and she used to work at Camelot.”
“Brilliant. Is she available?” I asked, my pulse racing.
“I can leave her a message with the details and see.”
“That would be lovely if you could leave her a message, but I was really hoping to have confirmation she was available today.”
“I understand, but our girls work as independent contractors. They take assignments when they’re available but they’re not on a set schedule.”
“Ah, understood. There was another woman who also worked at Camelot. Tall, pretty blonde. I think her name was Cassie—no, wait. It was Chelsea.”
She perked up at my mention of the name. “I’m the one who took Chelsea’s employment application. She just came in last week.”
My heart thundered. “Really? What a wonderful coincidence. I remember my gentlemen guests really liked her as well. Any chance she’s available?”
“No, I’m sorry. I believe the boss sent her right out the day she applied.”
Holy mother of God, I couldn’t believe I’d actually gotten confirmation Chelsea had been here. Not only been here, but she’d also been sent out on a job.
Adrenaline pounded through me as I tried to look only mildly interested in the information the receptionist didn’t realize was hugely important to me.
“Oh, did he? Just my luck. Any idea when she’ll be back?”
“I don’t really know.” She smiled broadly. “But we have a number of others for you to choose from.”
I needed to get out of here. Not just because I was convinced Chelsea had gotten herself into some sort of trouble on this assignment that had kept her MIA for almost a week, but because the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end.
Something felt dodgy here.
The receptionist was too helpful while not really being helpful at all. The company gave the appearance of being accommodating but only when offering the options they wanted me to have.
Normally, I’d come back tonight, disable security and try to locate the files to find where Chelsea had been sent, but I had a feeling the not-so-hidden camera in the reception area was just one of many security measures in place.
I hated to say it after my declaration at the club today, but it was very possible that I needed help. The kind that Zane and his company’s resources could provide.
But first I had to get out of here without causing suspicion or hiring an escort for a non-existent visiting dignitary.
I frowned and reached into my suit pocket to draw out my cell phone. I glanced at the blank screen and then at the receptionist.
“It seems the boss needs me. Can I possibly come back when I have more time to discuss options?”
“Of course. We’ll be here.” She beamed.
“Thank you I’ll be in touch.” I nodded and turned for the door.
Discuss options. I hated the words even more after hearing them come out of my own mouth. I felt disgusted just saying it in regard to hiring women.
When all this was over—and God I hoped it was over soon—I needed to see about shutting this place down.
As I pushed out the door I realized I had quite a list of things I wanted to do, but none of them were what I was supposed to be doing according to the home office.
One day I was going to have to do something about that. Today was not that day.
To my surprise I hadn’t even put my cell away yet after my sham text message from my boss when it actually did vibrate in my hand.
The display showed Zane’s name. He was probably anxious to hear if I’d made progress.
It was no small blow to my ego that I was going to have to admit I didn’t get a whole lot out of the people at Angel Escorts, except for confirmation that Chelsea had been there.
I couldn’t discount the importance of that. I tried to keep that in mind as I answered the call. “Zane.”
“I’ve got her.”
His words stopped me mid-step toward my car. “Pardon?”
“Chelsea’s work cell pinged. I had our computer guy monitoring both her personal cell and the one I gave her for work. Until now he’s gotten nothing on either, but today, her work phone pinged on a tower.”
My heart sped. “Where?”
“Here.”
“Here? Here where?” I asked.
“Embassy Row. She’s at the fucking Austrian Embassy.”
My eyes widened at Zane’s answer. Chelsea had been right here all this time.
But why hadn’t she been home? Why hadn’t she been answering calls or texts or emails? And why had both phones been off until now?
I could understand one dead battery, but not two at the same time and not for almost a week.
Relief she was close warred with the instinct that told me something wasn’t right.
“I’m going over,” I said.
“Hang on a second, James Bond. You can’t just walk in the front door of the Austrian Embassy and flash your British Embassy ID. They’re closed for regular business.”
I ignored Zane’s favorite pet name for me and said, “Then I’ll bypass the front door.”
It wouldn’t be the first time I’d broken in somewhere I shouldn’t be.
“Just hold up a second and listen to me. We did a little digging. There’s a Schubert concert being held there today, run by the Austrian Cultural Forum.”
Chelsea was at a Schubert concert at the Austrian Embassy after dropping completely out of sight for nearly a week? Was that where Angel Escorts had assigned her?
None of this made sense.
As I tried to wrap my head around this new information Zane continued, “I contacted the senator—”
“Your wife’s father?” I asked.
“Yes. He’s calling around now to get us in to the event.”
“I don’t care—”
“Hang on, Tristan. That’s him on the other line.”
As I waited on hold I continued walking toward my car, intent on driving to Embassy Row. Whether the senator could get us into this no-doubt ticketed event or not, I was getting inside that building.
I’d just switched the cell to speakerphone and started the engine when Zane came back on the line. “We’re in. Not just to the concert but to the VIP reception as well.”
It obviously paid to marry a prominent senator’s daughter.
“Should I wait for you at my office?” Zane asked.
He might be trained in sitting around and waiting to take action from his stint in the SEALs, but I was never any good at it.
“No. I’ll meet you there.”
The need to get there, get to her, hit me hard.
Chelsea could very well be in the VIP party. That sounded like something the escort service would supply companions for.
Just the thought had me clenching my jaw until my molars began to ache.
I smashed my dress shoe harder against the accelerator, then cursed when the blasted traffic had me slowing again.
“You still have that comm unit I gave you?” Zane asked.
“Yes.”
“Put it in. I’ll have one of our guys monitor yours and mine.”
And with that, my lone search became a coordinated high tech GAPS team mission—and given what I feared we could be up against, I was fine with that.