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He pulled it out and heard a clink on the floor. Reaching down, he grabbed the glob of metal. He kissed it and slid it into his pocket before he looked at the book in his hand.
It was a spiral-type notebook with the wordsFuck Bookscratched on it.
He knew he should just put it back, but he knew without a doubt that it was Nita’s. And that he would read at least part of it.
Flipping through the pages, he was surprised. He’d expected long paragraphs, not the clinical report on each… participant.
First, a name, date and location were listed at the top, along with a box in which she’d sketched an approximation of the man. The first one he flipped to had a shaggy-haired face and an eye patch. She’d named him “Eye-Patch Guy.”
Underneath on the left was a list detailing protection, type of consent, acts performed, duration, orgasm (with eye-patch guy it said “Yes” and “Maybe”) and an overall rating. It appeared to be out of five stars.
Of course he paged to the very end.
“Bitch Mitch,” he read, and noticed her drawing of him comprised a round head and two dots for eyes.
“Back alley, on motorcycle, week after Thanksgiving,” he continued, sliding his thumb over the list. Her handwriting was sloppy in places compared to her earlier entries, as if she’d been writing fast. Or writing in anger, maybe.
“Protection: N/A. Consent: Mutual, implied,” he murmured, skimming down to orgasm. It noted Yes, me. Him, no. Then a note that it had been an inadequate performance and that she’d walked away “without a word,” and left him alone in the alley.
He flipped through some of the other pages, one of which he thought had to be Luke. It was dated from last summer. She’d named him Duke Puke, but had sketched a fairly accurate stick-figure face that couldn’t be anyone else. She was generally approving in her critique, but at the bottom had added a note in different colored ink.
“Google love bombing,” he read.
He flipped back to his own listing, comparing the sparse description of his oral sex technique—which he knew without a doubt had blown her mind—to some of the other men. He frowned.
“What a bitch,” he murmured. But he looked over the write up again. She said she’d walked away without a word, which wasn’t true. She’d shyly asked, “What about you?” He remembered it clear as day.
The question was, why hadn’tsheremembered it that way?
“Second guests arriving at the villa,” buzzed Lindsey’s voice, and he shoved the book back into the cushions and ran to the elevator.
* * *
A ten-minute golfcart ride later, Ryder sat at the elaborate desk in one of the upper bedrooms of the luxurious Spanish-style villa. Gunner sat a few feet away from him. In the cream and ivory surroundings, the two of them stood out in their black shirts and jeans.
Ryder adjusted the controls on the monitor, fine-tuning the settings of one of the surveillance cameras.
“Can you pivot camera 3 to the right? It’s cutting off part of the entrance right now,” he said.
Gunner leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on the screen as they worked together to optimize the coverage of the villa. “Got it,” he replied. “I’ll tweak the focus and zoom to capture their arrival in all its glory. So far, the costume descriptions and face recognition match the guest list.”
Gunner lifted the thick bundle of papers that included all the information of the guests, including costume photos and head shots. “This fucking place is thorough.”
“No shit,” Ryder agreed. “And so far, no extra staffers?”
He’d spent the last days doing spot checks on all the buildings, but hadn’t turned up any squatter who might have been Lawrence. Nothing to do with the engagement had shown any signs of tampering, so he had put aside the mystery of Lawrence’s ID swiping onto the property and focused on tonight. If he was going to show, it would be now and he’d easily be caught.
“Nope, no extras.”
“Good,” he said.
He scanned the other cameras. There were three outside cameras and six positioned inside. One viewed the inside of the villa’s front door, four covered every angle of the main event in the ballroom, and one was a wide shot of the entire ballroom along with the upper mezzanine.
“Camera five’s a little fuzzy,” Gunner murmured. “It might be something on the lens. Should I go check it out?”
“As long as you can stay out of sight. We’re supposed to be incognito in the Arabian desert they’ve set up down there,” he murmured.
“No worries. That camera’s right below the mezzanine railing. I can reach it pretty easily through the balusters,” the man said, and disappeared.
