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Even though my brother was trying to pull away from the scene, and despite the fact that he was never really in it other than to make money, I can’t help but feel he would’ve been honored.
The stage is set for the scene to begin. Lilly Ann has stage-managed my brother’s favorites: ménage à trois, girl-on-girl, and submission. He was never big into kink; liked to keep it simple. Which only reminds me that I somehow have to organize his funeral with his fiancé.
I tip back another shot.
Across from me, Carson sips on a non-alcoholic beer, keeping his head clear but trying to appear inconspicuous. Dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt, he still looks completely uptight and out of place.
Up ahead, a few tables closer to the stage, the UC agent watches the first scene. I admit, for the short briefing she had, she’s doing a decent job at playing Sadie. She keeps to herself, fending off any advances, and doesn’t invite any attention. But with the number of people here tonight, she wouldn’t stand out. That’s the idea.
I’m trying my best to be here, in the moment, and to pay Julian my respects despite every fiber of my being screaming to be with Sadie. Trust is not the issue—I trust her. I trust her to keep herself safe; she’s handled herself in similar situations, and I have no care for the sick shit she plans to end tonight. I just can’t stand the helpless feeling stealing over me, taunting me. Shouting that she’s up against something deadlier and more dangerous than anything she’s faced in her past.
Dammit it to hell. There’s a sick roiling in the pit of my stomach tempting me to go after her.
I should’ve followed her.
“Relax,” Carson says, his gaze steady on the stage. “She’s not out there alone.”
I glare across the table at him. “What are you talking about?”
He glances at me. “Did you really think Quinn would let her go off by herself to meet up with a fucking serial killer?” He chuckles. “Sadie’s good, but she’s no field agent.”
Anger rips through my veins. “Who’s out there with her?” I kick the leg of his chair, forcing his full attention on me. “Who the fuck is out there?”
It finally registers in his thick skull. His eyebrows pull together as he says, “I wasn’t in on the side op. I was working the club angle with you and Sadie. Quinn put together—”
“Fuck.” I leap up, rocking the table and knocking over Carson’s beer, and am weaving through the crowd before he can finish.
I’ve never trusted Quinn. Despite Sadie’s reassurance—her own faith in the man—I’ve always been suspicious of his intentions where she was concerned. But motherfucker, I know he has feelings for her—so why the hell would he jeopardize her safety?
The UNSUB gets one whiff that Sadie set him up, and he’ll…
I stop that thought. Right there in its tracks.
I hit the hallway where I’m shoved against the wall. Carson braces his forearm against my neck. “Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t.” His eyes widen. “This isn’t your call.”
“I think we’ve already figured out who’ll win this fight.” Breaking his hold, I push him off. “She thinks she can trust him. I won’t let her get hurt.”
“She won’t,” he insists. “Would you rather her b
e out there alone?”
I grit my teeth. “Knowing the fucking UNSUB is one of you? Yeah. I’d say she’s safer being on her own.”
Carson keeps my glare, neither of us making a move until he turns his head away, distracted. He presses a finger to his ear. “They got a hit on the DNA,” he says.
My whole body comes alive. I’m off the wall, muscles thrumming with the need to move. “Who is he?” There’s still time. They can pull Sadie out. I can pull Sadie out.
Carson shakes his head. “They’re not saying. They’re running facial recognition software on everyone in the club. Fucking FBI. That will take forever, and they’re looking in the wrong damn place.”
“Who is he?” I’m seconds away from coming out of my skin.
Carson finally meets my gaze. “I don’t know. But he must be big on the inside if they’re keeping that on lock down. Just calm down. We’ll get ahold of Sadie.” He looks around, then throws his hands up. “Shit. She doesn’t have a phone.”
But she does. I head back into the voyeur and locate the landline phone behind the bar. My thumbs push the numbers I memorized, my heart beating painfully against my chest wall. On the fifth ring, it goes to voicemail. No recording. Just a generic beep.
My fist locks around the phone, ready to pound the information from Carson’s mouth with the damn earpiece, but to hell with that. My feet are already moving, taking me past him and down the hallway, then down the stairs. I don’t stop as I clear a path toward the exit.
I throw the side door open and break into a run, heading right for the not-so-discreet van parked a block away. I hear Carson calling my name, but I can’t slow.
