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I lay the diary on the table before us.
“Reggie’s diary?” He raises his eyes. “Anything of interest?”
“The usual shit. Mickey is lucky he’s dead already because his passing may not have been as swift if I had read this first.”
“That bad?”
He shakes his head and I sigh heavily. “Listen, we both know how it works. We live this life, but when you read a frightened girl’s words and suffer the force of her fear behind them, it makes you look at things in a different way.”
“I guess.” He stares at the book thoughtfully. “What did she say?”
“That she was working for Burning Roses and was supposed to answer to the name Iris Mahoney.”
I open the diary at the page I folded the corner of and read.
I don’t understand what is going on, but I’m at a party with several young women all answering to the name Iris Mahoney. It’s very strange but nobody appears to think anything is odd about it. The men here are old enough to be our fathers and it’s seriously creepy. My own date for the night is a man who makes me want to hurl. He is so old. His name is Peter Evans and apparently, he deals in cars. I don’t like the way his hand creeps under my short skirt and the way he keeps on reminding me I’m his for the night.
Damien shakes his head. “Dirty bastard.”
I carry on reading.
I got talking to a few of the other women who work for the agency and one of them told me she had been working here for two years. She hates her job, but has more money than she could earn in a lifetime. She is saving it to start a new life in the mountains, away from men like this. She only needs to work for two more years and then she’s set for life.
I’m not sure I can last two more days, let alone two years. I hate this life.
I scroll down a few pages and say in a low voice, “This is where it gets interesting.”
I met one of the other Iris’s in the restroom. She asked for a photo and when I asked why, she told me it was for protection. I didn’t understand, and she said that a few of the women had gone missing over the years and if that ever happened and she knew the girl, she would spill everything to the cops. That we must stick together and take care of ourselves. I’m scared. What if I go missing? I never thought this was dangerous.
I flick on a few pages and sigh. “The rest of that entry was about what happened when she returned to this Peter’s hotel room. Sick fucking bastard made her pretend to be his dog and crawl around on her hands and knees on a leash. He made her beg for food and that was his cock, by all accounts, that she was supposed to be grateful for. As I said, it’s not happy reading.”
Damien grabs his glass of bourbon and chucks it down and says with a sigh, “It makes you think, definitely.”
I move to another date and read the next entry.
Tonight was a private house party outside the city. The men are obviously wealthier because they have that air about them. It’s the usual thing, but there is one Iris Mahoney who stands out a little. She’s a lot older than the rest of us and I pray to God she hasn’t been doing this for years because I swear if someone doesn’t stop this shit, I’m taking the easy way out.
I stop as Damien whispers, “Poor kid. There was nobody there to save her. I share your hatred of making Mickey’s ending too clean and quick.”
I nod and read the final passage I want him to hear.
I asked one of the other women about her and she told me that the woman always accompanies the same man. A Russian gentleman who only has eyes for her. My fellow Iris told me they often came to these things together, and she heard the woman was British.
I raise my eyes. “Carter said the same thing.”
“So, now we know what we have to do.” Damien already guesses what I’m thinking as usual and he says with a grim voice, “I will arrange a meeting with Marsha Steele.”
I close the diary.
“As soon as we head back from England, tell her I want to sign up for the agency in my father’s place. Arrange the meeting at her office. She won’t react well to our demands, and I don’t want anyone overhearing our business. This project stays between the two of us. Do I make myself clear?”
Damien nods grimly. “Of course, it always does.”
I pour us both another shot of bourbon, and he raises his eyes. “No vodka.”
“Maybe later.” I chuck down the contents and relish the burn as it slides home. I need to find this woman my father was so attached to, and I will do anything to make that happen.
CHAPTER 38
