With a definite pep in her step, Karen entered her office. She sat behind her desk, steeled her spine. He and Alexandra eased into guest chairs. Alexandra set her phone on the desk, hit record. “How long have you been running Blue Suit?”
“Turn that off,” Karen said. After Alexandra did, Karen continued. “I started last year. Before that I was with ALPH?—”
“Karen,” Alexandra said, cutting her off. “you have a chance to be a hero,”
“Me?”
“If these women didn’t ghost, don’t you want to be the reason they’re found?”
Karen’s upper lip curled. “They ghosted, but whatever.”
“You said you’re partners with the owner,” Alexandra continued. “Who is that?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why not?”
“I was told not to,” Karen replied.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Alexandra read the names of the missing women.
“Who’s your source?” Karen asked.
Alexandra tucked her hair behind her ear. “Police have questioned you about these women, but?—”
“Look,” Karen snapped. “I don’t have time to chase down these women. They aren’t on payroll, so they either work their shift or they don’t. Some are hustlers, others show up whenever. I’ve got to manage the servers and the bartenders, deal with the cooks, stay on top of inventory, handle drunk customers, and sanitize the VIP rooms.”
“Don’t you mean VIProom?” Carrera asked.
Karen stilled, her eyes narrowed. “No. I mean VIProoms, Mr. Amos.” He couldn’t miss the bite in her voice. “People gomissing every day. Do your damn story, but keep my name out of it.”
“Can I speak with your dancers?” Alexandra asked.
“Absolutely not,” she said. “I don’t need them panicking over nothing.”
“If your interview helps find these women, maybe you’ll get your old job back,” Carrera said.
A coldness poured from Karen’s eyes. “I’m stuck here, running this shit nightclub. This is my life, and all because they accused me of impeding an investigation by withholding evidence.” She glared at Alexandra. “That’syour story.”
“What is?” Alexandra asked.
“A federal law enforcement agency that doesn’t exist on paper,” Karen bit out.
“Right now, I’m following up on these women.” Alexandra rose from the sofa, dropped a business card on the desk. “When you’re ready to talk, let me know.” She turned to Carrera. “It was good to see you. I’ll let you know when your story publishes.”
Carrera stood. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Mr. Amos,” Karen blurted. “Are you coming back?”
“My private jet is waiting,” Carrera replied. “I’m flying to Palm Beach for the holiday. Enjoy the Fourth.”
“I’ll be here,” Karen said. “With the losers.”
Outside, Carrera walked Alexandra to her car, gave her a hug. “Thanks for doing this.”
“There is a story here,” Alexandra said. “I’ll do some digging.”
