Taste of Vengeance Page 8

“Damien, I’m flattered, but I’m not ready for this conversation.”

  I stood and grabbed my clothes. He looked like I’d slapped him. I dressed and then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I need to check on Django.”

  He pressed his lips together and didn’t answer.

  I slipped out the door wondering why he looked so stunned.

  27

  Soiree

  Sydney searched everywhere in the office for that notebook. Worried about surveillance cameras, she’d worked in the dark, navigating by a small stream of light coming in from the lights outside the room at the pool. She’d looked nearly everywhere when she heard Zimmer calling her name right outside the office door. She raced for the room’s French doors and slipped outside heading toward Blue at the other side of the pool. When Blue dog saw her, he raced over. She crouched and petted him and buried her face in his fur.

  She sensed Zimmer before she saw him. He was standing in the open French doors leading to the office.

  “There you are,” he said, his clothes and hair disheveled. His gaze skipped over her body like pebbles on a pond.

  “I was just telling Blue it was time for us to go.”

  Zimmer didn’t move. Her heart pounded. Did he suspect her? Had she left something open in the office? Maybe he had cameras with night vision. She headed for the back gate.

  “I think this leads up to the driveway, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m beat. My party date had too much to drink, so I’m just going to bail. Thank you for a lovely night. Talk soon?”

  He stood still. She held her breath and paused at the metal gate while Thornwell’s dog jumped on her legs.

  “Thank you for coming, Sydney.” He seemed angry, but as if he were holding it back. “By the way, I wanted you to meet everyone tonight in this intimate setting because I’m hosting all of you for our special annual soiree.”

  She paused.

  “We leave for Brazil on Wednesday. Does that work with your schedule?”

  “Only if I can bring my dog.”

  He nodded.

  She left, relieved that even saying no to drugs and sex, she’d still garnered an invite to Rio. She was certain that is where she’d find all the answers to her questions.

  28

  Sydney Rye

  I’d just stepped into my loft when my phone dinged with a text from Damien.

  Almost forgot. The soiree. We leave Wednesday for Brazil. Hope you can come.

  Brazil. Hot beaches. Warm sun. Sex with Damien.

  Sounded good. I typed. “I’m in.”

  Poor Django. As soon as I’d walked in, he’d run up to me and whined like he hadn’t seen me for a year. And here I was promising to leave again.

  But then my phone dinged again. “Bring Django. I’m bringing Snuffles. And Sydney Rye is bringing Blue.”

  Sydney Rye. The blonde he’d looked at so lustfully. Oh well. Not my problem.

  Besides, it’d give Django doggy friends to play with during the trip.

  Part of me knew I should pass. I had work to do for my father’s company. My intention had been to only get to know Damien on a business level, to keep things professional. He was an investor for Christ’s sake. When had he become the center of my social life?

  When had taking a spontaneous trip to Brazil with him and his buddies become something that seemed normal? I wasn’t a part of the tech world. These men worked hard and played hard. They were determining the future for all sorts of industries around the world.

  Me? I was a free spirit who only recently had cut back on my partying so I’d have more time and energy to devote to building mixed-use developments for the down-and-out.

  Django barked in the middle of the night, waking me. It took me a while to figure out that someone was knocking on my door.

  I slid the bulletproof eyehole slot open and saw the blonde from the party, Sydney Rye. Her dog was at her side. I’d forgotten how huge he was. I opened the door.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Django rise from his bed, hair on end, nose arched forward, a low rumble of a growl in his throat. Her wolf dog pivoted his head, honing in on Django. He didn’t growl. The dog had one blue eye and one brown. His eyes lifted to the woman, waiting for her command.

  “Django!” He turned around and curled up in a ball on his bed, but placed his head on his paws watching our visitors.

  “Come in,” I said.

  Kneeling down in front of them, I put the back of my hand out for Blue to sniff. He looked up at Sydney. She nodded and he stepped forward, sniffing my hand and giving it a lick.

  “Remember me?” I said, scratching under his chin. “You’re a good boy.”

  I backed up and headed for my galley kitchen. Sydney followed. Her dog stuck tight to her side, tapping her thigh with his nose.

  Django whined from the corner. Blue’s head swiveled to see. I looked up at the woman, and she smiled.

  “That’s Django.” He wagged his tail as I said his name.

  “Go play with your new friend,” Sydney said.

  Blue trotted over to Django who stood, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shook. They did their obligatory sniffing and then Django took charge, leading Blue over to the lever for the door to the roof.

  He pushed the button, the door swung open and both dogs lumbered up the stairs.

  Sydney laughed. “That’s slick.”

  “Right?” I said. “I’ll make some coffee.”

  Thirty minutes later, we were settled in at my kitchen table. I’d finished my coffee and downed two shots of bourbon.

  “I knew you wouldn’t like what I had to say,” Sydney said.

  “You really think Damien knows that this shit is going on?”

  She exhaled. “I can’t imagine that he doesn’t.”

  This woman had spent the last half hour blowing up my world.

  According to her, Damien and Rich were behind some fucked up shit in the Silicon Valley tech world.

  “Women are disappearing,” she said. “It’s been happening for several years. On average, one a year. The common thread? The women are all involved in tech and have some connection with Sky Enterprises. It looks like every one of them attended one of Thornwell or Zimmer’s parties the week they disappeared. I’m looking into the most recent disappearance. Alaia Schwartz. She was last seen—or rather heard from—in Rio both of them.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Sydney looked away for a minute and then said, “My company provides high-level security, so naturally we do deep investigations into any company we might work with. This came out during out digging. In the midst of our investigations, we came across a missing person’s report and realized that Schwartz is the most recent woman who has disappeared.”

  “So, you’ve just taken on this investigation for the hell of it?” I didn’t buy it.

  Sydney laughed. “Of course not. The Schwartz family attorney has agreed to pay us handsomely for any information we might come up with about the woman. Let’s just say the family could finance my company for the next ten years in the blink of an eye.”

  She was lying. But why?

  “Why are you here? Why did you come to tell me?”

  She handed me a picture of the girl. She was curvy with long, straight dark hair, full lips, and massive green eyes lined with kohl. She was holding a finger up to her lips in a suggestive pose. The nail polish was hot pink with a small setting of rhinestones that formed an “A.”

  “You say she was last seen with Damien and Rich? It’s a pretty insular world, right? I mean there has to be more of a connection than just the company. I mean, the same people party together, right?”

  Sydney didn’t respond, just stared at me. She sat so still. Waiting. I squirmed under her gaze.

  “Take another look at the picture,” Sydney said.

  I didn’t understand. “What?”

  Sydney steered me over to the mirror and held the picture up to my face. I st
ared at my reflection next to the photo for a second before I gasped.

  “What the fuck?”

  “She’s your doppelganger.”

  “My eyes aren’t green.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. A woman was missing and she looked like me. Sydney was here because she thought I was in danger?

  This new information and how it might be connected to Damien was disturbing, but I didn’t sense danger. I really didn’t know him or what he was capable of: A couple of dates and a few rolls in the sack didn’t really provide insight into who he was deep inside. I’d always trusted my gut instinct on people. Right then it was useless, telling me nothing. But I remembered my first odd reaction to Damien—an instinct to run.

  “Okay. So, Damien has a type. Is that a crime?” My voice was tight.

  She stood and her dog was instantly at her side. “I understand how you feel. I had an obligation to tell you. To warn you. Especially when I saw your resemblance to the missing woman.”

  I stood, as well. Django ignored me, making me look bad. Why didn’t I have a dog that read my every move as a command. We’d have to work on that. Sydney paused at the doorway to the loft.

  That was where I was supposed to say thank you. But I couldn’t get the words out. She stared at me, waiting for me to do something, say something.

  Ultimately, all I could manage was a nod.

  I followed her downstairs.

  Before she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she paused.

  “I think you should skip the Brazil trip.”

  I didn’t answer. I shut the door and turned to head back upstairs.

  29

  A Fatal Mistake

  Present day

  Pouring the ice-cold vodka into the chilled tumbler took a precision his shaking hands did not have at that moment. A splash of the silky liquid spilled on his amethyst stone slab countertop. He swore and swiped at it before it could leave a mark. The interior designer had said it was sealed to prevent stains, but he didn’t want to take any chances. That square foot of slab had cost as much as a new car. Well, a crappy new car that a janitor could afford. But still.

  Downing the vodka would quell a tiny bit of the fury that had him seething and trembling, but he needed something more. It was his own fault.

  Somewhere along the line he’d made a mistake. It was his own fault. The realization sent fury racing through his veins. He did not make mistakes. He was not allowed to make mistakes. He’d worked too hard to make a mistake of this magnitude. He downed the vodka in a single slug, trying to quell the seething and trembling brought on by his rage.

  After downing the vodka, he spent an hour in his underground gym, piling the bar with more weight than he normally did. He worked at the punching bag furiously with both fists and feet until sweat poured down poured down his body and his muscles burned. Finally, he realized he had no choice. He dialed the private number and placed his order.

  “This is going to cost you.”

  “I realize that. I’ll transfer the funds immediately.”

  He held his breath, waiting for her acquiescence.

  “This will be the last one.”

  “I understand,” he said, and clicked the end button on his phone.

  Fuck. He hated to burn that bridge, but he knew he could find another supplier. It’s just that the more he veered from reliable, trusted sources, the more dangerous the game became.

  He’d planned on holding off until Brazil. That way, his release would be utterly exquisite.

  However, he hadn’t counted on Sydney Rye scenting on him. He could see it in the way she looked at him. She knew something. She’d been snooping during the party.

  He wasn’t sure how much or what she knew, but he would be sure to find out once they were out of the country. He’d keep her close and keep an eye on her.

  Until he found out just how much she knew, he would remain on edge, filled with tension and rage. But he had to hide it behind the sick, pitiful mask he had to wear for the benefit and comfort of others.

  He had to find temporary relief. Even though it wouldn’t be as rewarding as his plan to wait. After all, nothing was as sweet as nurturing and priming your prey before the final act.

  But it was the only chance he had of taming his needs and the emotions thrashing through him, threatening to send him spiraling out of control. Because nothing else mattered more than maintaining control. He had to remain in control or he would lose everything he’d worked so hard for.

  He reached into a drawer and withdrew a whip. Rhythmically slapping it against his thigh, he paced his lavish entry way, waiting for the doorbell to ring.

  Finally, he heard the low purr of the livery car and a door slam. The woman’s heels clicked clacked up the stairs.

  He didn’t wait for her to knock. He flung open the door.

  She was so young. Almost too young for his taste. But womanly enough. She had thick dark hair, like he’d requested. Unlike many of her countrywomen, she was voluptuous. Maybe another client had paid for some work. Damien hated to think there were other clients. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing he’d be her last client.

  Her fur coat was wide open and she wore a skin-tight rubber bodysuit underneath—exactly as he specified. He was already hard.

  “You’re late,” he said.

  “Guess you punish me. I’m naughty girl.”

  He didn’t answer. He’d prefer her English was better, but she would do. He smiled at her. The woman drew back slightly. He gestured for her to come inside.

  She hesitated. Her eyes flickered back to the driveway, but the livery car was long gone.

  Then looking at the whip by his side, she smiled and brushed by him into the house.

  “You punish me good?” she said as she passed.

  He watched her back for a second before he turned and closed the door, then paused to engage the security system.

  “You have no idea.”

  30

  Not a babysitter

  Sydney had done her job. Everything within her power. She’d warned Gia. What she really wanted to do was slap some sense into her. But, she couldn’t save someone from themselves. Free will was real.

  After seeing the woman was a doppelganger for Alaia, she had no choice but to warn her. Even if it tipped her hand. Gia thought she was investigating Alaia’s disappearance for a nice paycheck. Fine. That would work for now.

  Gia was stubborn and foolish, but she’d sealed her fate by throwing in with the likes of Zimmer and Thornwell. But Sydney liked Gia and knew she’d try to look out for her in Brazil.

  Her instinct to protect the innocent was too strong.

  31

  Blow out the Candles

  I had a major buzz. The room at Café Katrina’s was soft and hazy, just like how I felt. I’d slipped out back and smoked a joint, too, so I was feeling especially mellow.

  Now, I slouched in the blue velvet booth and smiled, watching my friends.

  They’d cleared some tables and were dancing under a disco ball.

  We were celebrating Darling’s birthday.

  She was the first friend I made in San Francisco after moving from Monterey. I’d just been raped by a monster, and I was bitter and hated the world. At the time, I thought life couldn’t get much worse.

  Darling and I met during a protest after a cop had killed a young black man. We’d ended up in the back office of her salon afterward, drinking bourbon and plotting world domination.

  For whatever reason, she’d trusted me immediately and I soon learned that while the salon was her passion, her real money came from her expertise at providing paperwork. The hard to get kind. Passports, driver’s license, birth certificates, and so on.

  But she vetted her customers thoroughly, and her clientele, was almost exclusively limited to people needing to escape hopeless or dangerous situations.

  In my book, she was the queen of the Tenderloin—our neighborhood. We’d had to keep her birthday party invite only
, or it would’ve overflowed the Bay Bridge into Oakland. Well, not really, but she had a lot of friends.

  I loved her like an aunt. When my parents were murdered, she’d taken care of me, stuck with me through all my horrendous decisions. I could always count on her to have my back.

  The same went for everyone in this room. I could count on them for anything. Looking at their faces, feeling buzzed from all the booze, I was overcome by such a feeling of gratefulness, I wanted to weep.

  This room held the people I considered family.

  There was Kato, my sensei. He perched on a bar stool, sipping ginger tea and laughing at something Darling was saying. They both watched Kato’s wife, Susie, dance with George, Darling’s new husband.

  The former linebacker with the shiny bald head was a big teddy bear and not exactly nimble on his feet, but Susie grabbed his hands and guided him.

  Polishing glassware behind the bar was Katrina. She was possibly the most beautiful woman in San Francisco and, now that Café Katrina was doing so well, one of the richest. She’d opened up locations in all the major metropolitan cities in the country.

  My favorite tenant and neighbor, Thanh-Thanh, was there with her new man. They were dancing, too. It was too adorable for words.

  Dante and his boyfriend Silas were trying breakdance moves. I wanted to warn Dante not to get hurt. Which was a joke, since he was nearly as fit as Kato.

  At one point, Dante noticed me and whispered something to Silas before heading my way.

  “I was going to invite James.”

  When would he get off this James kick. Didn’t he know that James was too good for me? I would only hurt him?

  Anyway, I hadn’t thought about James for weeks. Not since I’d met Damien Thornwell.