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Graham Baldwin.Another name on my hit list.
Graham lifts a glass to his lips, giving me the perfect view of the scar stretched over his knuckles. I cast a look over my shoulder. Seb’s head turns in the opposite direction. I have to move. Time is ticking…
CHAPTER40
FREDDIE
Breaking into a client’s house is against my rules, but we’re running out of options. Spencer is the best lead we have at finding the Killers Club, and his mansion is deserted. Spencer sent his staff away out of paranoia, and the Dukes have access to his security system. I disable all the building alarms and let myself inside. I’ll erase and loop any outside CCTV footage later.
The corridors are still and eerie. The painting’s eyes follow my every move as I make my way to Spencer’s library—the ideal place to start my search. The old floorboards creak under my feet. I pause, thinking I heard something moving around upstairs, but the noise has stopped. I dismiss it as the wind howling outside.
I flick on the light. The smell of cigars and whisky lingers in the air. I check the bookcases first, sweeping my fingers over the top of the dust-layered pages. He hasn’t moved them in a while. Next, I examine a filing cabinet filled with financial documentation. Aside from bank statements with too many zeros for someone with such little sense, nothing appears to be remiss. Spencer isn’t stupid enough to leave records of shady deals lying around for any Tom, Dick, and Harry to find.
I take a seat at his desk.You need to think like Spencer. What would he do? Three small drawers are built into the desk. Their contents are what I’d expect: an emergency stash of cocaine, pills, and sex chat line cards.
I drum my fingers on the wood impatiently. Maybe I’ve wasted a trip. Maybe someone wants Spencer and his men dead simply because he’s a bastard. It could be a weapons dealer he crossed or a pompous arse he screwed over, but the way his men were killed feels more personal. You don’t pay for someone to be chopped into tiny pieces unless you hold a serious grudge.
It’s time I go.
When I stand, my knee hits something on the underside of the desk. I duck and knock on it. It’s hollow. I run my fingers over it to find a hidden drawer and undo the small latch.
A photograph flutters onto the floor.
A photograph of Spencer and a woman.
“What the…” I murmur under my breath.
His arms are wrapped around her. He’s holding on tight, too tight. His fingers grip her arms to force her to smile. She beams at the camera, but her smile is strained.
The colour drains from my face the longer I stare at it.
She isn’t a stranger.
How does Rose know Spencer Bexley?
CHAPTER41
IVY
Imove through the crowds, weaving through the sea of sashaying ballgowns. I watch, then take my chance to strike. Oops. I clumsily bump into a man’s shoulder.Graham. The bastard who was second in line to rape her. My stomach churns as I recall his desperate panting while he waited for his turn.
“Sorry,” I say in a girly, high-pitched tone. “I’m so clumsy.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” he says as he checks out my tits, making my skin crawl. “Nice dress. You look like Cinderella.”
I simper and giggle. “That must make you my Prince Charming.”
The only thing me and Cinders have in common is that we’ll be gone by midnight. I’d prefer to take my time with him, but my position is precarious. From my previous research, I learned that Graham stopped working for Spencer years ago. He’s wheedled his way into working for British aristocrats now. If he does for them what he did for Spencer, more people will have suffered at his hands. His work involves travelling overseas, and I can’t miss an opportunity when it’s laid on a plate.
Graham extends his clammy hand for me to shake. I take it, and he holds on for a few seconds too long, coating my palm with his sweat. I fight the urge to vomit. “It’s my pleasure.”
I look around. “It’s an impressive-looking building.”
“I can give you a tour if you like.” He takes my bait and winks. “I’ll pay you more than Montgomery.”
So he noticed me entering with Seb and also thinks I’m a prostitute. How many women are actually dating these men?
“I’d love a tour.” I flutter my eyelashes. “Somewhere private.”
