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“Is… was Grayson’s boyfriend the killer?”
Gabe made a sudden turn, taking us onto the highway. I raised the window, the screech of the wind becoming too loud. “I don’t know. I do know that I want to talk to him now. He’s a bartender at the Mandarin Hotel.”
I played with a smooth pearl on my necklace. This felt big. Monumental. Shit was starting to shift. I just couldn’t tell if it was shifting in my direction or not. Could the Chemist be leading us off the trail or directly onto it?
There was only one way to find out. “I’m coming with you,” I said, just in case that hadn’t already been known.
“Of course,” Gabe said, his eyes on the road and a smirk playing on his face. “Sherlock needs his Watson.”
My literary heart fluttered at the continual comparison. As scared as I’d been in that dark basement, I realized that I’d never actually feared for my life. Not in the way I had when I was blindfolded and strapped down to a table. I had tasted death then. Felt it creep into my body, ready to sever me from whatever corporeal form I had.
But with Gabriel there, I had felt safe. Scared as fuck, yeah, but safe, too.
I looked out the window at the blur of office buildings as we drove past downtown Atlanta. I had no idea what was ahead, but I felt confident I could face it now that I had Mr. Holmes at my side.
* * *
The Mandarin wasa bougie affair full of suited bellhops and overly attendant hotel staff that all complemented the glossy veneer. Money dripped from every detail, like the crystals that cascaded from the picturesque chandeliers that lit the lobby. They hung above a beautiful display of cranes sculpted out of shining glass, their long necks and spread wings appearing to be caught in midflight. I sat in one of the green velvet chairs as Gabriel spoke to the front desk, asking where their bar was located. While he did that, I decided to dig through the phone a little bit more.
There weren’t that many text messages, but there was an app that interested me. It was next to the black-and-yellow Grindr icon—blue with a cartoon flame on it. It was called Burner, an app meant to create fake numbers. Commonly used by cheaters and drug dealers.
The openly displayed Grindr icon told me he wasn’t all that concerned about hiding his collection of dick pics, so I leaned more toward the “drug dealer” side of the scale.
Gabriel came back with the directions to the bar. I followed him to the elevator bay, explaining what I had found.
“Can we see any messages or calls he made on that app?”
I shook my head. “They get erased after a forty-eight-hour period. Nothing’s there.” We entered the elevator and rode it up to the twelfth floor. We stepped out into a bright waiting area, decked out in vibrant golden wallpaper, the ivy-green carpet leading up to a smiling hostess.
“Bar Margo?” Gabe asked.
“Yes, sir. Are you two dining at a table, or would you like bar seating?”
“We’re okay with the bar,” he answered. She motioned into the busy restaurant, tables full of people having an early dinner, spread out around the circular bar that took up the center of the room. It was made of smooth gray-and-black marble, an impressive display of liquors from all over the world perfectly placed and displayed on a central column of the same marble.
I looked at the bartenders, moving behind the bar like a choreographed dance troupe, dressed in all black with hair tied back or cut short. Some tossed shakers over their heads, and others swirled cards between their fingers as they closed out tabs.
One of them was somehow involved with the Midnight Chemist. I had to prepare myself for the possibility that one of themwasthe Midnight Chemist. They would instantly recognize me, but I had no idea what they looked like.
A shiver flew down my spine. Gabriel grabbed my hand in his and walked us to an open spot at the bar, where we sat on two scarlet-red stools. A golden dragon hung above the bar, holding glowing orbs in its claws that washed the space in a warm light.
“What can I get you two?” It was a tattooed bartender with long blonde hair.
“We’re looking for Mason. We heard he works here?”
“Sure, let me grab him for you.” She went around to the other side of the bar, the view obstructed by the column of expensive bottles.
It took a couple of agonizing minutes before the tattooed bartender reappeared, but Mason still wasn’t anywhere in sight. Had he gotten wind that a detective was looking for him? Could he have bolted before we could even question him?
I shot Gabriel an anxious look, but the guy looked cool as an iced-over hell. I knew he had to be boiling inside, but his exterior didn’t give anything away, his big lips set in a relaxed smile, his hands casually bunched into a fist and resting on the bar. Unlike mine, which were currently pinned under both of my bouncing legs.
Another bartender appeared shortly after. The tattooed one pointed at us. Mason looked our way, an icy glare locking with mine. He bundled up a white towel and tossed it under the bar before walking toward us with a stride that belonged on a runway somewhere in Paris. He had the look, too, not just the walk. Tall and perfectly proportioned, his long legs and lean frame made to wear some high-fashion design. He had short dark black hair, a silver ring catching the light and bouncing it off his eyebrow, near where a scar slashed through and left a bare patch of darker skin.
If he was the Midnight Chemist, then he didn’t seem very shaken to see me sitting there. He just seemed… suspicious.
“Kass was saying you needed me?” He leaned against the bar with his hip, eyes sizing us both up.
“We do. Is there somewhere quieter we can speak?” Gabe asked. The bar wasn’t too loud, but I think he was more concerned about someone listening to us.
