Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Ashley Bardot.
“Do you know this woman?” I ask Adele.
She crosses the floor to stand behind me, peering over my shoulder at the woman on the screen. “I think I’ve seen her before. Why?”
I glance up at Adele. “Nothing. You should go home.”
Adele smiles and says her goodbyes.
Once I’m alone, curiosity gets the best of me, and I do a quick Google search of Ashley Bardot. I find her Facebook page and click on it, wondering if I’ll get a glimpse of Chloe. Of her life outside these walls. It looks like Ashley isn’t a regular Facebook user, can’t blame her, but she has posted some sporadic personal photos. I scroll through the occasional photo of Ashley, feeling like a creeper, until Chloe’s green eyes and smiling face stop me. My blood turns ice cold.
She’s dressed in a uniform.
I blink, not believing my eyes. But it’s her, and that’s definitely a badge above her breast and a gun on her hip. I scroll through different photos, and come across a few more of Chloe in a police officer’s uniform, and then I see a picture of Chloe and Ashley with the caption, “Chloe just graduated from the Police Academy.”
I type Chloe’s name in the search bar and nothing comes up. She doesn't have a Facebook page. But I find her mother’s.
Fuck. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
Pictures of Chloe in her uniform splash across the screen.
This can’t be real.
She’s a cop. I do a deep dive into her background and discover she made detective last month. Just before she started working at Club Greed.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m so stupid. Of course, they’d send someone in to investigate my club.
I move through the rest of the night like a zombie on pain meds. I can’t feel anything. Nothing.
My whole life I’ve always had a plan, always had a way to attack any problem. But right now… I don’t even know where to start.
Do I confront her? Or do I kick her out of my club and never speak to her again. She betrayed me. Was this her assignment all along? To get close to me?
Now, I feel like her car was never vandalized. That it was all a ruse. I’ve been played.
And I don’t know what I’m going to do about it.
Chapter 39
Chloe
* * *
“Are you ready to meet up with a client?” Sugar asks me. “Maybe this weekend?”
A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. And it’s not the baby. “Yes,” I answer, fighting back the nausea of pretending I’m eager to have sex with strangers.
“Great. Brandon will be happy.”
“Why’s that?”
Sugar glances over her shoulder to make sure no one is listening as we stand at the end of the bar. “Remember, I told you we had a hard time finding girls. Well, Brandon will be happy you’re actually going through with it.”
“Were there girls who wouldn’t go through with it?” I ask, hoping she keeps going.
She stares at her long red-tipped nail. “Ginger always had issues with following through. Brandon was getting so irritated with her.” She stops talking and looks at me like she’s said too much.
Irritated enough to kill?
“No need to worry about me bailing on you. I need the money.”
She’s pulled away by a customer but tells me before she goes that she’ll give me more details when she has them.
Club Greed isn’t exactly packed, but there’s enough people here to keep me busy. I want to talk to Adele about becoming a Greedy Girl, but at the same time I think I’m getting closer to the murderer by figuring out this prostitution ring.
It’s clear to me that Brandon is my man.
He’s the killer.
I just have to prove it.
I haven’t seen Devereaux all night, which isn’t a big deal because he stays holed up in his office regularly. Honestly, I’m glad he’s not down here, because if I see him, that means I have to think about what’s taking place in my body and how to tell him.
I hustle between tables, feeling energized because I’m finally getting somewhere with my investigation. This case is almost solved and that thought hits me hard.
Soon, I won’t be working here.
I won’t see Devereaux day in, day out. But then, there’s the baby. So, I’d see him sometimes. My brain refuses to think about co-parenting at this stage, but when? All that energy I felt evaporates. It takes maximum effort to not roll my eyes at customers still ordering drinks when I just want to sit and mope. I move throughout the rest of my shift in a state of sadness.
When the end of the night comes, and no one is around, Devereaux appears.
“Ready to go home?” he asks.
I nod, feeling a shift in the air. Maybe I should rip the band-aid off and tell him when we get to his house. “Yes.”