I shake my head. “Not tonight, sweetheart. I’ve got a date with someone else. Can’t miss it.”
She rolls her eyes at me like a car salesman whose time I’ve just wasted, then saunters off.
I lift my glass to my lips without taking a drink and scan the room. No sign yet of Reverend Davis, which strikes me as odd since, according to King’s assistant, he’s usually one of the first to arrive.
I’ve got a buddy on the force who sells old surveillance equipment, and he’s fitted me with a lapel cam that looks like a simple tie clip. I don’t expect to stumble across the reverend in the act of strangulation at his lawyer’s house. But if I can trail him to the murder site, or at least catch him on camera walking a girl out of the mansion—a girl who later turns up dead—that’ll be enough to get us a warrant.
It’s possible the reverend’s already tucked himself away in one of the guestrooms with his next victim. I make small talk with a few of the girls, then slip away to peek into the kitchen, bustling with catering staff who’ve been paid handsomely not to think too hard about what’s happening in other parts of the house.
Slipping down a hallway, I start pretending to accidentally open doors to private rooms. I walk in on more than one threesome involving state legislators, and a local radio personality getting a blow job in a bathroom.
By the time I make it back to the living room, I’ve seen enough underaged tits and saggy ball sacks to turn the ever-present sickness in my stomach, since I started this case, to white-hot fury. The men and women here tonight might not be the aim of my investigation, but I’ll see to it that the footage I capture turns them all into collateral damage.
“I hope you’re finding the selection to your liking,” says a smarmy voice from behind me. I turn slowly, coming face-to-face with the Devil’s advocate himself.
Russell King. Reverend Clyde Davis’s attorney, and down-low legal counsel to Governor Jim Davis.
“It’s quite a wide spread you’ve got here,” I tell him.
“We do our best to cater to a variety of tastes,” he says. As much as I want to put a large, fist-shaped dent in King’s thin-lipped smirk, I doubt it’ll help my cause. “Let me know if you’d like a private audience with anyone in particular tonight, Tex.”
I arch my brow. “Tex?”
“You are from Texas, aren’t ya’ partner?” He taps my arm with a finger gun. “I recognized your accent.”
“Guilty as charged.” I raise my scotch, stopping it halfway to my lips. “Say, has Reverend Davis arrived yet? I’ve been meaning to talk to him about leasing out one of my event spaces.”
“I’m afraid the reverend won’t be joining us tonight.” King’s gaze turns needlelike. I do my best to keep my expression stony, unmoved by this unfortunate turn of events. “Remind me, how did you get invited to this event, Mr...?”
“Dawes.” I offer my hand. “Jack Dawes. Harvey Wilkins invited me. It was sort of last minute.”
“Ah, yes. Mr. Wilkins has many friends.” He gives my hand a firm shake. I suppress the urge to break his fingers. “And what is it you do, Mr. Dawes?”
“I co-head an investment firm out of Houston, among other things.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard of you.”
“I prefer to keep a low profile.”
He nods. “Well, enjoy yourself tonight, Mr. Dawes. That’s what this little shindig’s all about.”
I thank him as he turns to a group of girls by the bar. They immediately slap on their most seductive smiles and sit up straighter.
“Shit...” I hiss under my breath. If the reverend isn’t coming tonight, then all this was for nothing.
However, more concerning than my wasted time is the reasoning behind his absence. According to King’s assistant, Reverend Davis never misses these events. So why isn’t he here tonight? Maybe it’s a coincidence. A prior engagement, or an excuse as simple as the common cold.
Or, maybe someone tipped him off that I was coming.
The implications for that would be...catastrophic.
Abby, myself, and our boss, Lieutenant Harris, have taken every precaution to keep this investigation under wraps. If the reverend knows we’re on to him, that means there’s a leak in the department.
A faulty link in a chain of command that reaches all the way up to the governor’s office.
I set my scotch on the bar and head for the exit just as a fresh crop of girls saunters through. Right away my gaze is drawn like a magnet to a splash of copper.
My head turns. The ground shifts.
The world tilts on its axis by a fraction, a thousandth of an inch.
But I feel it. Like pins inside a lock clicking into place.
Red hair. Red lips. A dark-chocolate gaze meets mine, and I swear the girl who owns it gasps like she can sense it, too. An inexplicable electric charge in the atmosphere.