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She’d written him back. He’d sent the email to his birth mother like a message sent out into space, a wide unknown, hoping she’d respond. And she had. She’d emailed him. Goosebumps prickled along his skin in a cold wave. This proved she cared more about him than that thing with Dad.
He didn’t know what’d happened between them. Dad shut him down whenever he brought up his birth mom. When he was younger that’d been okay. He had a mom. Ellen. But it wasn’t okay anymore. So Tyler had taken it on himself to find her. He’d done research, but had come up empty. Until he’d hired a private detective. Now he knew his biological mother was Gracie Parish.
Getting her email from Club When?’s website had been easy. And now she’d written back.
Tyler turned off his headset so he wouldn’t hear the other players cursing at him, and opened the email. He pulled his headset down so it rested on his neck, and read.
Dear Tyler,
Thank you for contacting me. I bet you have lots of questions. I want to answer them. But these aren’t answers I can put in an email. Can we talk?
PS. This message will self-destruct after you’re done reading it. Remember the number.
Was that a joke? He memorized the number, picked up his cell. The message disappeared. What the heck? He quickly put the number into his phone before he forgot it. He checked his email for the message. It was gone. No sign that it had ever been there.
Huh. That was weird. His mom had computer skills. And owned a bar. Cool. His hands shook as he pressed the call button. She picked up on the first ring.
“Hello.”
His heart sank. Her voice sounded young, and she had a Spanish accent. Not his mother. He remembered enough of her to know her voice, her hair, her eyes. “Who is this?”
“Cee. I’m your mother’s sister. Adopted sister.”
Cee. He’d read about her. After he’d discovered who his mother was, he’d researched her family. Cee was the newest sister. “Why didn’t my mom call me?”
“She doesn’t want to put you in danger. I have less scrutiny on me. We must be careful in our work.”
Her work? “You mean as a club owner?”
She paused. “You know of our family, our extended family?”
Our. She was including him in that. It felt surreal. It felt great. Like an adventure was starting. He loved his family. His real family. But it was so cool to be related to the Parish family, with their world-famous boarding school, private jets, private airport, and rockin’ parties. He swallowed the sawdust in his throat. “They’re wealthy. Powerful. Sort of celebrities. So my mom didn’t call ’cause she’s afraid of the paparazzi or whatever?”
Another pause, longer. “There’s more to this. But to show…uh, what we do, who we are, you must do a few things.”
Anger flashed through Tyler’s body. “I wasn’t the one who abandoned her kid. If she doesn’t want to know me, then fuck her.”
He clutched his phone, thought of hanging up. Didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Cee said, and she sounded sincere. “This is not what you could have expected, but if you do this, you will live a life unlike what you could imagine.”
Tyler’s hands were still tense. His anger still red hot. “Just spit it out. I’m done with this shit.”
If she had delayed one second, he would’ve hung up. She didn’t. “Tomorrow you go to the nearest corner. The vendor there—”
“You mean the guy with water ice?”
“Yes. He will hold a small envelope for you.”
This was bullshit. And weird. But it didn’t seem dangerous. Just mysterious. “Okay. What then?”
“Inside the package will be a fake ID.”
Yes! “So I can get into Club When?”
“No. Will only make you eighteen.”
Oh. That sucked.
“And you must never, EVER, come to the club. Too dangerous. Promise. Right now. Promise.”
“Okay. I promise. Then what?”
“Once you have the ID, set up a private mailbox. Not a P.O. box. After, I’ll mail you a laptop with Tor on it. Do you know what that is?”
He wasn’t a total idiot. “The Onion Router. It’s for surfing anonymously and for getting on the darknet.”
“Yes. For dark web or darknet. Take this laptop, go to a coffee shop. Not too close to your house. At least ten miles.”
“That far?”
“Yes. Once there, boot up. Instructions will appear on the screen. And that’s where you will find answers. Promise. It will be worth it. Gracie, your mom, is one of the coolest people, and what we do, the family, is what you see in video games, but in real life. Okay?”
He wasn’t sure but couldn’t think of any reason not to give it a try. It wasn’t his laptop. And it wasn’t like he was being lured to a remote location. Or like he was a ten-year-old girl. “How do I get in contact with you to let you know when I have the private mailbox?”
She laughed, and before hanging up, said, “We’ll know.”
Chapter 14
Notwithstanding the strobing Fourth of July light show, the inside of Club When? was kind of a throwback. Dusty had noticed this the first time he’d come here. It had a ’50s feel. Lots of shiny wood molding with gold stripes and strip lights. Behind the bar, a wall of mirrors reflected shelves of every conceivable craft beer in long, short, and goofy bottles.
The music, photos, decorations, even the drink names—names like I Ain’t Heard No Fat Lady Sing—all underscored the Independence Day theme.
The club was packed. Not an empty seat at the bar. Or an empty space around it. People pushed in hard.
The chatty bouncer working the door had told Dusty two bartenders had quit. Now that was a sin. Especially since, coincidentally, a bridesmaid party and a bachelor party had shown up. They were now competing to see who could better hold their liquor. The bouncer had been taking bets.
Dusty had put a tenner on the ladies.
Behind the bar, little Miss Gracie Parish was overrun, making multiple drinks simultaneously, while she nodded to acknowledge people and instruct servers.
Only one other person was behind the bar. A brunette with tattoos, in the server’s white shirt and black pants. He pulled beers and gave shots, but Dusty didn’t see him making any mixed drinks.
Never say he wasn’t a man to help a friend in distress. Even if he had orchestrated that distress.
He navigated his way through the crowd with care. Being as big as he was, he was well aware of his ability to intimidate without trying, so he tapped shoulders, nodded politely, and made his way behind the bar as graciously as he could.
Upon seeing him, Gracie jerked her head in surprise then smiled. Hadn’t expected that. Kind of warmed his heart.
He put up a single digit, a give me a second before you kick me out. He leaned closer. She was a good foot shorter. “Stopped by to check on you and have that drink.” He gazed around. “Looks like you’re slammed. Okay if I help? Worked as a bartender in college.”
Gracie’s face walked the line between yes please and stay the hell away, then tipped over to acceptance. “I could use the help.”
She sent the obviously relieved server back into the club, opened a couple of beers and handed them to a guy across the bar. She took his cash and smiled when he told her to keep the change.
When she turned back to Dusty, her eyes ran down him like it was involuntary. That kind of warmed him too. Warm enough to start a fire.
She pointed to a notepad. “There are two parties that have a tab, try to handle those. You can just write the drinks down. We have the credit cards, so we can tally them later.”
She began making a mixed drink, efficient and calm and sexy as anything he’d ever seen. “Cash is king for you. Drink prices are there.” She pointed to a laminated document held together at a punch-holed corner with a
silver hoop. She winged a slice of lemon around the drink she’d made and handed it to a woman, who handed Gracie a credit card. Running the card, she gave Dusty a quick overview of the cash register.
Basically, he had to push three buttons. He could handle that and the math. “What about credit/debit cards?”
She pulled out the receipt that had just spit from the credit card machine. “I’ll handle all people with cards.”
“Got it, boss lady.”
She smiled, and as she walked away, tossed back, “Thanks. Really.”
Lady had a great ass. “Happy to help.”
The beat of music pulsed under his feet as Dusty turned and did what he hadn’t done since college—tend bar. He went over to a woman he’d seen trying to get Gracie’s attention. “Cash, credit, or other?”
“Other. Stevenson. We’ve got a tab running.”
