Illicit Entanglements: Tales of Romantic Suspense

Illicit Entanglements

Tales of Romantic Suspense

BRYANT STREET SHORTS

Copyright © 2021 Bryant Street Publishing

Published by Scribd, Inc.

All rights reserved

Cover design by Christopher Keeslar

ISBN: 9781094431697

First e-book edition: October 2021

Bryant Street Publishing

San Francisco, California

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Table of Contents

The Secret Weapon by Rachel Bowdler

Coiled Truth: Black Cobras MC by Kelly Papyrus

A Girl’s Best Friend by Iris Forester

What Makes a Woman by Holly Glass

Love on the Run by Imogen Markwell-Tweed

The Secret Weapon

by Rachel Bowdler

Singer Roxanne Wilde Found Dead in Hotel Room

by Anonymous Whisper, 07:10, APR 4, 2021

Twenty-five-year-old singer-songwriter Roxanne Wilde was found dead in her hotel room in the early hours of this morning. Sources say that her body was discovered in the bathtub of room 399 of the Sunset Marquis in West Hollywood shortly after midnight on April 4, 2021, by a friend who had received some peculiar— drug-fueled—voicemails earlier that evening. The rock star is most notable for her platinum debut album, Fish Out of Water, and her on-again, off-again relationship with heartthrob Hugo Dean. She was seen stumbling out of popular VIP club Warwick two nights ago with Dean and friends, intoxicated and slurring her words with an unidentifiable stamp on the back of her hand. Her death is rumoured to be from natural causes—surprise, surprise. There is no doubt, in my mind at least, that Wilde is just another tragic victim of Hollywood’s corrupt secret society, Dawn. As pictured below, her mental and physical well-being appear to have deteriorated greatly since August of last year, when her relationship with Dean began. She was seen partying with members of Hollywood’s most elite— and most twisted —on several occasions not long after.

So, Whispers, what do we think? Coincidence? Tragic overdose? Underlying health condition? Or perhaps Wilde just knew a little too many of Dawn’s secrets after getting tangled up in their debauchery. One thing’s for certain: A twenty-five-year-old with a clean bill of health doesn’t usually just keel over of natural causes in a glamorous hotel room. Theories and updates to come.

Chapter One

Anderson Stone. The agent who drawled out Anderson’s name kept his nose stuck firmly in the air as he threw a file onto the desk. He didn’t sit down right away, instead hovering so that Anderson had to choose between glaring at his skin-tight shirt, complete with muscled abdomen, or lifting his gaze and contributing to his obvious superiority complex.

As he was, cocooned in grief, confusion, and white-hot anger, he chose the former. It brought him a little bit of satisfaction when, defeated, the agent cleared his throat and sat down in the plastic chair across from him. He sipped his water from a plastic cup, swilled it around in his mouth, and stared at Anderson with piercing, icy eyes. Anderson did not balk or cower. He had no reason to. He had done nothing wrong—no matter if they believed otherwise.

Pleasure to make your acquaintance.

I bet. Anderson’s words were hoarse; he hadn’t spoken since he’d found out, and now all of that anguish had gathered in his throat like claggy lumps of sand. He couldn’t swallow, couldn’t blink; he could only stare hollowly while the agent scrutinised every fibre he could find.

I’m sorry to pull you in here on such short notice. The agent reclined in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk. He didn’t look the least bit sorry. I’m Agent Patrick Ford. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Roxanne Wilde.

Anderson tried not to wince at the sound of her name. He didn’t need another reminder of what he had lost. We were close friends. There’s not much more to tell.

Ford eyed him doubtfully and opened the file between them. A dozen paparazzi shots splayed out across the pages, all of them of Anderson and Roxanne. Most of them, he’d seen before: selfies posted to Instagram, grainy photographs of them falling out of nightclubs at four a.m., pictures of them sharing vegan chicken wings at Coachella last year. Then there were the more recent ones, where Rox looked a little less like herself: on the set of her last music video, purple staining her under-eyes while Anderson kissed her sallow cheek, him gripping onto her thinning waist at an award show on the red carpet, playing with her inky hair while they waited for their Starbucks order.

He knew what it looked like. He knew that most men and women in Hollywood couldn’t be this close without having something romantic forced between them. He also knew that, other than a drunken New Year’s kiss a few years ago, it had never been that way for them. Rox had been his rock, their connection never wavering from what it had always been: love. In the purest sense of the word, it had been love.

And he missed her. His heart twinged at the loss, though he was still trying to convince himself that it wasn’t real. How could it be real?

You seem very close in these pictures. Accusation sharpened Ford’s words, his jaw squaring as his eyes locked on Anderson’s. Challenging him. Anderson was in no mood to be challenged.

Mr. Ford—

Special Agent, Ford corrected immediately.

Anderson pretended not to hear, instead bracing his elbows on the cold desk between them. He could be intimidating too, if he was pushed hard enough. I just lost my best friend. I’m grieving. Stop wasting my time and ask me the question you dragged me all the way here to ask me.

The corner of Ford’s lip twitched, whether in amusement or anger, Anderson didn’t know. All right, he nodded. What were you doing in Roxanne Wilde’s hotel room from the hours of seven to nine p.m. last night?

None of your damn business. Anderson gritted his teeth to keep from spitting out the words. He’d cooperate if it meant getting out of this stinking, stuffy interrogation room quicker. Nothing interesting. She asked me to come over, so I did. We hung out for a couple of hours, and then I called it a night. I had an early shoot this morning. Which had been cancelled the minute he’d turned on the news. He’d spent the hours since pacing and raking his hand through his hair while he called a million different people to confirm—until the FBI had shown up at his door to take him in for questioning.

Were there any drugs or alcohol involved?

No. I was trying to get her sober. His gaze fell to an inkstain on the white table and stayed there until his eyes stopped burning.

He had failed. He had failed her.

Doesn’t look that way from these pictures. It looks like the two of you partied plenty.

She took it too far. We stopped last year when I realised she had a problem.

Did you notice any drugs in the hotel room while you were there?

No, but she was a little… He considered his words, choked on them. God, he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want his last memory of her to be this. I think maybe she’d taken something, but she wouldn’t tell me.

She was acting unusual, then. It wasn’t a question.

Anderson nodded, his fingers curling into his palms. She kept talking in riddles. I didn’t really understand it. I calmed her down, put on a movie, and made her eat something. When I left, she’d already fallen asleep. I thought… His voice cracked, and he shook his head in self-loathing. I thought she’d be okay. She did it a lot, y’know? She was always up and down. I should have pushed harder, should have—

He was babbling. To stop himself, he sucked in a breath and blinked back his tears. It was easy enough to reassemble his usual facade, the one he wore for fans and the press and often time his own family and friends, too. He was Anderson Stone. He wouldn’t break in front of a smarmy FBI agent looking to pin his best friend’s death on him. He was smarter than that.

What do you mean, she was talking in riddles? What exactly was she saying?

I don’t know. She kept saying something about Hugo, her ex-boyfriend. That she couldn’t trust him. It had been incoherent. Anderson had asked over and over again what she’d meant and gotten no real answer. He remembered that now: the way her words trembled and slurred into hysterical laughter. The way he hadn’t been able to get a real sentence from her for almost an hour. The way her chest had heaved up and down as though she was having some sort of panic attack.

And her eyes. They’d haunted him then, and hadn’t stopped since. Grey and red rimmed, sunken and smudged with thick black eyeliner.

Hollow.

Ford’s thick brows knitted together, and he scratched the stubble around his jaw. Hugo Dean.

Anderson nodded. You know your stuff. It’s him you should be questioning. He got her into the drinking and drugs. He ruined her.

Ford sighed, straightening in his chair and sliding something else across the table. A black card sealed in a transparent ziplock bag. They’d confiscated it from him when he’d come in, along with everything else in his pockets. Want to tell me what this is?

I don’t know, he admitted. It was hers. I found it in my pocket after I left the hotel. She must have slipped it in last night.

What did she use it for?

He shook his head, at a loss. I don’t know, he repeated, rougher now. Hugo had one, too. What does this have to do with anything?

"So the word written on the front, Dawn, it means nothing to you?"

I thought maybe it was some sort of VIP club they went to. She never gave me a real answer when I asked.

Ford gathered the evidence and stood. Mr. Stone, where did you go after visiting Roxanne?

Impatience gnawed at Anderson. He glared at Ford again, slouching lower in his seat. Are you asking me for an alibi? It made no sense if it had been an overdose.

Unless it hadn’t been.

The thought made him shudder. Something was wrong. He was here as a murder suspect. Who had hurt her?

Answer the question, Ford demanded.

I went home.

Is there anybody to corroborate for you?

My apartment building has a 24-hour security watch.

Thank you. Ford inclined his head sharply and then made to leave.

Are we done?

Not yet. The agent’s boots squeaked against the shiny floor before stopping abruptly at the door. His hands curled around the door handle and he paused. He turned back to study Anderson a final time. Anderson held strong, a muscle in his jaw feathering with tension.

He waited for another accusation masked as a question, but it never came. Instead, Ford left the interrogation room without another word, leaving Anderson in a stifling, unwelcome silence.

It wasn’t him. Jade surveyed the celebrity through the one-way mirror, her hands crossed over her chest. It was a strange sight, seeing Hollywood’s favorite golden boy cooped up in their interrogation room. He didn’t belong there. He was too glossy, too perfect against the drab grey walls. He doesn’t know anything about them, does he?

It’s hard to tell with actors, Patrick replied gruffly. But it doesn’t seem that way, no.

I checked with his security team already. He was home all night, like he said.

Patrick’s features were hewn from stone. It was rare she got so much as a grin from him. She’d found that brooding masculinity attractive once. Now, she only found it frustrating.

The autopsy report came back, she continued. No water in her lungs. Someone put her in that bathtub after she died. We’re most likely looking at a homicide.

What about the drugs?

"They found an injection site on her right arm. It doesn’t match with the others. Seems like someone else drugged her. Probably one of them."

Patrick sighed in contemplation and placed the small black card on the table, still protected, still sealed. Anderson Stone had no idea what that card could get him into, but Roxanne Wilde had. She’d found out the hard way, by the looks of it. Her boyfriend, maybe. Hugo Dean.

Maybe. Looks like he got her into Dawn in the first place. Maybe she got in too deep, knew too much. Probably drove her mad.

It could have been an accident, Patrick countered, leaning against the glass. He made it sound like he was chastising her for thinking otherwise.

They don’t do accidents. You know that. Her gaze slid back to Anderson. He was hunched over himself, eyes burning a hole into the desk. A faint glimmer of sympathy knotted itself in her chest. He had lost somebody, and instead of mourning, he was here, being questioned about a murder Jade was certain he hadn’t commited. We’re never going get a chance like this again, you know.

Curiosity urged her toward the Dawn card—her golden ticket, if Patrick would allow it. The plastic bag crinkled beneath her fingers as she traced along the stiff edges. Anybody else might have mistaken it for a credit card, but it had no magnetic strip, no bankholder’s name, no pattern. Only their title, Dawn, and their emblem: a half-sun with its rays breaking in straight black lines, with a cratered half-moon beneath. Half light, half dark. Dawn and dusk. Jade had never seen the symbol in person before. Could she stop them with this? A plain black card that Anderson had been carrying unwittingly in his pocket, unaware of the weight it carried?

Her body thrummed with the need to find out.

You think it’s time? Patrick asked.

Her heart stuttered. It had been time for years. They’d just never known how. Anderson Stone might be our way in. Can we trust him? Jade aske, but she already did. She knew what grief looked like, and it dripped from his face, drowning the entire precinct. That alone gave him motive enough to cooperate, surely, or run the other way, but she had enough hope to ignore the seed of doubt.

Patrick hesitated, eyes narrowing on Anderson. The celebrity still hadn’t moved an inch from the desk. No. We can’t trust any of them, Dawn or not. But you’re right. He’s all we have. We might not get this chance again.

The thrumming in Jade’s chest turned to thundering. She was so close. They were so close.

All that she needed was the cooperation of one slightly arrogant, slightly clueless actor.

She would do anything in her power to get it.

It wasn’t Ford who walked into the interrogation room the second time around.

Definitely not Ford.

For starters, this agent was a woman, with wine-red hair tied into a neat knot and disarming green eyes that seemed to skim past his skin, his bones, his being, to a foreign body rooted deep within him. Even so, there was something soft in her features. The dimpled corners of her mouth sank into a small, reassuring smile as she sat and adjusted the pale blue collar of her shirt.

She put the black card on the desk, as though in offering.

Mr. Stone. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.

You’ll make it up to me, I’m sure. In his new, slightly warmer and much more attractive company, he let his usual charm take hold, but the teasing felt flat, empty, even to his own ears and he regretted it almost immediately. This was the person investigating his best friend’s death, and yet he still couldn’t rid himself of that veneer glossing over the surface of him always, until he didn’t know where it ended and the real him began. He wished he could claw it off.

If his quip impacted the woman, she didn’t show it. I’m Special Agent Jade Sawyer.

Well, Special Agent Jade Sawyer, I told your partner everything I know. If Ford sent you in to butter me up, you’re out of luck. That’s not to say I wouldn’t like to see you try, though.

Your alibi checked out. She flashed him a thin, saccharine smile and rested her elbows on the table. Their hands were inches apart, and his own fingers twitched with the knowledge. You’re no longer a suspect.

No? Relief flooded him, but he turned that word over again and again in his head. Suspect. Rox had been murdered. Then what am I?

I assume you’ve worked out by now that Roxanne Wilde’s death was more than just an accidental overdose. Anderson fought to keep his breath steady when Jade spoke her name with so much ease, as though Rox didn’t matter. As though this was an everyday occurrence. He supposed for her it was.

Not for him. In a world of wealth, always surrounded by people, everything was constant: the good and the bad. Nothing could be taken from him, and if it was, he’d buy it again.

It hadn’t occurred to him until now just how wrong he’d been to think that way. How arrogant. It hadn’t occurred to him that somebody might have killed Rox on purpose, either. He’d assumed he was here because they were looking for her dealer, not her killer.

The shift must have shown on his face, because Jade continued. She didn’t drown, and she didn’t take those drugs, Mr. Stone. She was injected with them, and then her body was moved to make it look like an accident. It wasn’t.

Nausea writhed in his gut, oily and wrong. Why are you telling me this?

Because with your help, and with this card, I can find the person who did this.

Anderson frowned. How?

You know that Roxanne was mixed up in something before her death. Partying a lot, withdrawn, battling addiction.

Right.

This card is the reason for it.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look away from those eyes. Everything about Jade Sawyer locked him in place, as though she was as invested in this as he was.

Dawn is a secret society. If Roxanne had this, it meant she was part of it, and she wanted you to know before…

What are you saying? Anderson questioned. She knew she was going to die that night?

Maybe not that night. When you say she was talking in riddles—

She was paranoid. It dawned on him as he said it. Half of her words last night hadn’t been words at all, but the ones that had… I don’t know what’s going to happen. Anderson had thought she’d meant her rocky relationship with Hugo, but now…

She’d known. And that knowledge felt like an explosion of bullets burrowing into his flesh. She’d known she was going to die.

He should have been there.

We’re not just talking about partying anymore, Anderson. We’re talking about organised crime, underground trafficking, illegal activity. This society… these people… they think they can do what they want; that they’re above the law. I’d bet anything that Roxanne found that out the hard way.

Anderson knew that Hollywood wasn’t all sequins and glitter. He knew what the elite got up to when the cameras were packed away, he had engaged in it himself more than enough times. But this… This was on a wider scale than anything he could grasp. What the hell had Rox gotten herself into?

Now, I can let you go and we can try to figure out who did this to Roxanne, but we all know that it never happens that way in Hollywood. The case’ll go cold and her death will be ruled an accidental overdose.

The thought sparked anger in him. She deserved justice, at the very least. What’s the other option?

Jade sucked in a breath as though preparing herself. You can work as my informant, so that I can go undercover and try to get to the root of Dawn, once and for all.

Undercover. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. How will you do that, Miss Sawyer? Dazzle them with your good looks? Beg them to let us into their sick little club?

With the card, we won’t have to beg. Keep up, she replied stonily. It will get you into anything: VIP rooms, restaurants, parties. You use it, you become one of them. Get me in with you, and I’ll do the heavy lifting. All you have to do is stand on my arm and look pretty. Think you can do that, Stone?

Anderson raised an eyebrow, perplexed. Okay, okay. My best friend was killed because of her involvement in this? He jabbed a finger into the black card, and Jade slapped it away. He raised his hands in surrender. Sorry. I’m just confused. Won’t somebody notice that I’ve started showing up to places I haven’t been invited to with some stranger? You’re pretty and all but… who are you supposed to be? My long lost sister from Tennessee?

I’m your new girlfriend, Anderson Stone. Her voice lowered to a husky drawl, and despite everything, heat rippled deep in Anderson’s stomach. Aspiring model and socialite. We met at a party and the rest is history. Let’s call me… Vanessa Prince.

As flattered as I am to be involved in this little game of make believe, what about your social media? You can’t infiltrate Hollywood with just a sweet story. They’ll figure you out in a heartbeat.

We have people for that, she shrugged. They can make anything look real. I might even get my own Instagram.

She was enjoying this too much. It was one of the worst days of his life, and this woman was messing around as though his best friend wasn’t dead. He shook his head and stood, chair legs shrieking across the floor. No, thanks. Are we done here, Sawyer?

Jade worried at her lip, but that was about as much regret as she showed. People will keep dying, Anderson. People like your friend. I can’t force you into this, but I can tell you that we might never be able to stop it without you. I can’t imagine how all of this must sound to you, but this is something we’ve been working on for a long time. I’m trained to do this, and so is my team.

He’d been walking away, but her words were enough to stop him in his tracks. Jade still sat at the desk, playing with the card in its bag. Her eyes glittered—desperate. She could joke, but this mattered to her, too, for whatever reason that might be.

Anderson thought about what she was offering him. Not just justice, but revenge. She was right. Rox’s death would be written off as a tragic overdose, if it hadn’t been already. But he could leave this room knowing that he was doing everything he could to destroy the people who had taken her.

Was it what she had wanted when she’d slipped that card into his pocket without him knowing?

And if I say yes, what’s expected of me then?

I’d need to consult my team and set a proper plan in motion, but I’d start by being seen around town with you, perhaps seeing if we can’t find the best places to use our little black card for some VIP treatment. From there, it’s all about connections, figuring out who else is in on it, who can get us where we need to be. Once we’re in, I should be fine on my own. You wouldn’t have to do much, Anderson. Just take me with you so that I can infiltrate them without my cover being blown.

He nodded slowly.

It could be dangerous, she warned, almost as an afterthought. Once we’ve built trust, you’ll be exposed to things you might not want to be.

I’m a big boy, he said frostily. I can handle it.

Jade swallowed and rose carefully from her chair. This needs to look real, Anderson. You can’t go into it half-heartedly. People need to believe we’re an item so that we can get in together.

I’m an actor. His voice was level, smooth. Somehow, plotting this way, it brought a sense of calm he hadn’t felt since finding out about Rox’s death. It won’t be a problem.

Is that a yes?

Anderson slanted his head as though he had to think about it, but his mind had already been made up. For Rox, he would do it.

Yes, he said. Tell me what I need to do.

Chapter Two

It took two weeks to convince Patrick to authorise the operation. Two weeks that Jade could have spent gathering intel. Even Anderson had been more compliant; had even rented the empty apartment below his penthouse for Jade to stay in. She wouldn’t be going back to her own in Glendale until the operation was over. For all she knew, that could be years. Some agents had spent far longer undercover.

It didn’t bother her as it maybe should have. There wasn’t much to go back to, save for tatty furniture and a kitchen she never cooked in.

The complex was as secure as Anderson had said. Wrought iron gates sequestered the block from the rest of the city and a security guard manned an office at the entrance. Jade had used her fake identity to get in—Vanessa Prince. A name that had surfaced from nowhere and stayed there.

Vanessa Prince was a brunette, brown-eyed model born and bred in LA. That meant that Jade would have to wear a wig and contacts, and try to rid her accent of Chicago’s last, guttural remnants.

She was ready. Adrenaline bounced through her when she pulled up to the apartment building. It was all bay windows and modern grey stone, hedged off by shrubbery and pink asters with their golden faces turned to the midday sun.

Jade flicked down her sunglasses and let the new, lavish world fall into shade before she took a final breath and got out of her car with only a suitcase. Nobody waited for her but the valet. She handed him her keys and watched as he wended around the corner, to where she assumed the garage waited. There was nothing left after that but to head in.

Her apartment was on the fourth floor, Anderson’s penthouse the fifth. She didn’t bother to take the elevator, instead working out her tight knot of nerves by hauling her luggage up the stairs.

A mistake. They were steep, and though the place was air-conditioned, sweat began to gather under her arms.

Anderson was waiting for her when she reached the top, and it seemed the pompous, Hollywood star was back in business. He slouched lazily by her door, his arms and ankles crossed and a dimpled grin on his face. Jade wanted to slap it right off him—especially when he saw she was struggling and made no move to help her. But she knew, if only from those moments in the interrogation room and past experiences of proud alpha males, that it was just an act, a mask. She had seen him vulnerable. Now, he would puff out his chest and spread out his tail feathers to make up for it.

Typical.

You know, there’s an elevator just there. He motioned to the shaft opposite, sitting stagnant.

Is there? she questioned dryly, pulling her key from her pocket and shimmying it into the lock. It turned without catching once, something she wasn’t used to. Her apartment wasn’t too rundown, but it certainly wasn’t Beverly Hills, and the building had been standing long enough that everything inside was going a little rusty.

A fresh bout of air con hit her immediately, crisper and cooler in the apartment than it had been in the hall. She slid her sunglasses off to get a better look at her new home. The open plan apartment was bright and modern, the scorching sun spilling through the windows and onto the pristine leather couches. She stepped in hesitantly, feeling out of place. It only hit her then what she was about to do.

What they were about to do.

She had worked in different cities, different countries, but she had never lived as another person, especially not a Hollywood socialite. She could lose every scrap of herself here if she wasn’t careful.

The place came furnished. Anderson nudged past her and swiped an apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. There’s an office, should you need it, a balcony, bathroom, bedroom, etcetera. I took the liberty of having my assistant buy you some new clothes.

Jade arched an eyebrow and abandoned her luggage by the door. Oh, did you?

He shrugged. You should look the part. I figured you wouldn’t have a ton of cash to splash out on new clothes.

And what is it about me that made you assume I need a man to pay for my things, Stone?

His cocky grin only deepened at the remark, and she glared at him pointedly. She didn’t do alpha males. It was one of the reasons she clashed with Patrick sometimes, or at least, the reason their relationship had ended. Just trying to help out, Sawyer.

With a huff, Jade marched into the bedroom. The grand, four-poster bed took up half of it, a walk-in closet the other half. It was stocked with all sorts of clothes she’d never be able to afford—nor wished to—tailored suits and sequined dresses, denim jeans and leather jackets.

Prick, she cursed silently, and then, feeling his presence behind her, she gathered a collection of coat hangers and skimpy, shimmering dresses and hauled them at his head. Nice try. I don’t think so.

What? His face emerged from the heap, a mesh bralette resting on top of his head like a bonnet. I thought a classy lady such as yourself might enjoy the finer things.

Jade scoffed and couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the man she’d met in the interrogation room; the man whose depthless grief had sucked the light out of the room, who had huddled in on himself and spoken through shattered words. She would rather him than the jerk she was contending with now. Are you taking this seriously? Because if you’re not, you better tell me now before we get ourselves into something we can’t get out of.

Oh, relax. Anderson rolled his eyes and bundled the clothes up before placing them on the bed. Jade scowled at them in disgust. If you don’t want to wear them, don’t. I just thought supermodel Vanessa Prince might appreciate a flashy new closet.

Well, think again. You might have the world wrapped around your finger, Stone, but make no mistake. Jade inched closer to him, her thigh brushing the mattress. "I’m not here to put up with your little games. I’m here to take down a criminal organisation, one that killed your best friend, if you remember. You can act as flirty as you want with me in public, but this is my territory. I won’t be treated like one of your simpering, starstruck groupies. Got it?"

The smirk fell from Anderson’s lips, leaving behind only a pulsating muscle in his jaw. Dark, stormy clouds eclipsed his glittering brown eyes. And she understood perfectly.

She was merely a cameo in the Anderson Stone Show—or so he thought. Jade Sawyer wasn’t cut out for cameos. She was a leading lady. He would find that out soon enough.

Touchy, he commented, voice devoid of any humour now, devoid of anything at all. Am I getting under your skin already, Sawyer?

You won’t be getting under anything of mine, she replied, patience fraying. But you will be taking me to dinner tonight.

Anderson cocked his head in amusement. Are you asking me on a date? I’m flattered, really, but I have other plans.

It was easier to ignore him than rise to it again, so she kept her expression blank. Catch LA. Melrose Avenue. Have you ever been?

Hmm, nice place, Anderson hummed vaguely. I’d recommend the salmon.

Have you ever been, Anderson? she repeated through gritted teeth.

Everyone in Hollywood has been. It’s the best place to throw away your money and get a little publicity in the process.

What about the VIP area?

They usually sit you in a private booth—

No, she interrupted. The VIP area upstairs. On the rooftop.

Anderson frowned and slowly shook his head. I’ve never been up there.

It was confirmation enough. Jade’s jaw set in determination, and for the first time, she let herself smile. You will tonight.

Anderson couldn’t pretend that he didn’t miss the warmth of Jade’s red hair. It had been a shock to see her earlier, hazel-eyed and her dark, straight wig stark against fair, freckled skin.

Still hot, though. Hotter still when she’d gotten in his face and snapped at him for messing around.

He couldn’t help himself. For years, he’d used his charm, his wit, his self-assuredness as his shield from the real world. He was hurting still, and a sliver of him was afraid of what was to come when they got into Dawn. So he messed around, flirted, played the arrogant fool to piss her off, because the alternative was looking weak in front of a woman he’d soon learned was anything but.

She certainly looked the part as he led her arm in arm down Melrose Avenue. Anderson pretended not to notice the paparazzo hiding in the bushes across the street as he leaned in closer, catching a subtle whiff of floral perfume. You smell good tonight. Making an effort for me, Sawyer?

"Prince," she corrected in a hushed whisper, but she seemed to know what he was doing. Putting on a show. She joined in, pressing closer into his side and tangling her hands through his. They were dainty in comparison, but he didn’t doubt their strength.

She looked nothing like the uptight agent he’d met in the interrogation room. Tonight, she wore a low-cut black dress and deep red lipstick. With her lean legs exposed, she appeared every bit the striking model she was pretending to be. And perhaps if she wasn’t an agent who had planted herself into his business, if she was just a woman he’d met at a bar, he might have been tempted to ask her on a real date or two.

He realised then that she wasn’t just holding his hand for the sake of it. A cold, small card had been placed there, and he could guess what it was. Rox’s parting gift: the Dawn card. Don’t be too obvious with it. Put it in your wallet and let it slip out with your credit card. We don’t even know if this will work.

"You’re giving me a lot of confidence, Prince." He did as he was told, slipping the card into his wallet without looking at it. Everytime he did, it left him feeling… wrong. As though something lived in that strange symbol of the sun and moon, ready to swallow him if he got too close—like it had Rox.

Anderson slid on his sunglasses to avoid being noticed by the long queue of people waiting outside the restaurant. He didn’t bother to join them. Instead, his hand tightened around Jade’s as he led her to the front, where the hostess stood behind her podium.

I have a reservation for two under the name Anderson Stone. He had no such thing. When everybody knew his name, reservations were no longer necessary.

Of course, sir. Her eyes lit up with recognition, and she scanned the list in front of her with the nib of her pen. There doesn’t seem to be a reservation here, but we do have a private booth available that I think you’ll find very accommodating.

Anderson nodded, offering his best smile. Perfect. Let me sort you out with a tip.

He pulled out his wallet again and pretended to scramble for a couple of twenty-dollar bills, making sure to flash the Dawn card as he did.

Oh, sir. The hostess stopped him, and he knew without lifting his gaze that it had worked. Jade shifted beside him, her palms growing clammy in his. Would you be interested in dining on the rooftop tonight?

Anderson grinned again as he tipped the hostess with a collection of crisp notes. Sounds perfect.

They were led directly through the restaurant as though the hostess wanted to show them off to the diners already seated. Some of them were shameless enough to stop and gawp with their fork halfway to their mouth. Others snapped pictures on their phones in a failed attempt at inconspicuousness. They’d been given the option to go around the back, but Jade had tugged them forward. He understood. The more people that saw them together, the more believable it would be when he took her into Dawn’s parties with him—if they managed to get that far.

Anderson hadn’t known what to expect when they made it to the rooftop, but it wasn’t this. It felt like any other restaurant, if not slightly more extravagant. A marble water fountain burbled in the middle of the terrace, and a brightly lit bar sat in the corner. Lanterns guttered in the centre of each table, vibrant strings of flowers curling around the chairs and ivy crawling across the exposed brick.

They were led to the table with the best view, opposite the bar. Anderson pulled out Jade’s chair for her before taking his own seat. The hostess offered them glossy menus and prattled out a list of the chef’s specials. Anderson was barely listening; his interest lay in the other diners here. Only a few tables were empty. A large group of unfamiliar, middle-aged men occupied the table in front. He vaguely recognised a few of the women at another, but other than that, these people were strangers.

Had they been strangers to Rox?

When the hostess finally left, Jade scanned her menu and whistled through her teeth. Being rich ain’t cheap, huh?

We have to find something to do with our money. Anderson frowned as he read. The dishes listed were completely different from the ones downstairs, where he’d dined plenty. Other than the drinks, he didn’t even know what half of the meals were. I was expecting something more… exciting. A high-stakes poker game or a drug-fuelled rave.

It’s early. Give it time. Jade glanced toward the setting sun. Her skin glowed in the cloudy wash of oranges and pinks, hair a gilded, fluttering curtain in the gentle breeze. Anderson wished he could stop noticing how beautiful she was. Do you know any of those men over there?

No. Should I?

She only shrugged and continued to skim the menu. The waiter’s attention weighed on him from the bar as he readied himself to pounce. People didn’t spend a mortgage here for poor customer service. Finally, Anderson put him out of his misery and waved him over with the waft of his finger.

Mr. Stone. Good to see you tonight, the waiter beamed, bowing his head as though he were standing before a lord. It was an effort for Anderson not to cringe. He’d grown up in Hollywood and yet still hadn’t adjusted to being treated with so much reverence. What can we get for you?

Vanessa? Anderson asked expectantly.

Jade’s lips curled into a polite smile as she toyed with her earring. I’ll have the caviar for starters, please.

Anderson raised his brows in amusement. It was the most expensive appetizer on the menu and he was certain she knew that, just as she was certain that he would be paying.

And for the gentleman?

The same. And I’d like your finest bottle of champagne.

Yes, sir. He collected the menus and wandered away with a spring in his step: a man who knew he’d be tipped well tonight, Anderson would wager.

I didn’t pit you as a caviar sort of girl.

I’m a pizza sort of girl, she admitted, pressing her fingers into the prongs of her salad fork absently. But I’m not going to pass up an opportunity to eat fish eggs, am I?

Anderson wrinkled his nose. Right.

And I suppose the fact that it’s coming out of your pocket makes it better. Her eyes glistened even behind the contact lenses, reflecting the painted, endless skies ahead of them. Without thinking, Anderson leaned in closer. Jade made it too easy to forget where he was, what he was doing.

A bottle of champagne was thrust between them, wrenching him back to reality. Anderson leaned back as the sparkling wine was poured into two flutes with careful precision. He thanked the waiter without so much as looking at him, the bottle left in a bucket of ice between them.

He took a sip if only to distract himself and tasted the acrid wealth swimming with the bubbles. Jade didn’t touch hers, though she slid the stem between her fingers. Of course she wouldn’t drink on the job. Would you like some water?

I’m good. Very chivalrous, though. Is this how you woo your women?

Who said anything about me wooing women? He cast her a brazen glance, which she returned while resting her chin in her palm and tracing her manicured fingernails across the rim of her glass. Do you take me for a playboy, Miss Prince?

Aren’t you?

Anderson shrugged. He supposed some people might call him that after his dating history. It bothered him, though, that these things were assumed so quickly about him. He wasn’t only interested in women. Rox was the only person he’d been able to tell, though, and he clamped his lips together now to keep from saying something he’d regret. I guess I’ll let you make up your own mind. What about you? Who are you when you’re not the aspiring model, Vanessa Prince?

It felt like an inside joke, and the corner of Jade’s mouth quirked up as she crossed her legs beneath the table. Nobody you’d like, I’m sure.

I don’t know about that.

Their eyes danced across the table for a moment, until their meals were served. Anderson’s stomach grumbled, but when he looked down, he doubted he’d be leaving this place with a full stomach. The appetizer was served on a dainty, white plate the size of a saucer. It wasn’t the scant spoonfuls that people paid for, though: gold flakes and shavings of truffle dusted the caviar.

Honestly, he would rather have had pizza, too. He tore his attention from the meal to find Jade eyeing her own dish warily.

I’ll try it if you do, he challenged.

Anything to make you suffer. Jade’s jaw set with determination, and she speared the caviar with her fork before nibbling on it tentatively. Who knew excessive wealth and privilege tasted so salty?

Anderson hummed his agreement and tucked into his own. He’d had caviar before, and it was tolerable enough. He just hadn’t wanted to take away Jade’s only source of entertainment.

But she wasn’t focusing on her food anymore. Her eyes had narrowed to slits at something behind Anderson. He stopped with his fork suspended mid-air and listened. A new diner was chuckling with the hostess while being guided to his table.

The intrigue vanished from Jade’s face as she returned to her caviar, but Anderson could tell by the slant of her head that she was still focusing on whoever had arrived. He understood why a moment later when he passed their table.

Hugo Dean. With a woman on his arm, unsurprisingly.

Anger grated through Anderson and he couldn’t keep from glaring. A stiletto pierced his shin under the table: Jade’s attempt at a warning. He did his best to smooth his features so that he’d be ready when Hugo turned around.

He did, eventually. Anderson Stone? Wow. I’ve never seen you up here before.

Anderson feigned surprise as he stood and shook Hugo’s hand. It was as far as he would go. Hugo had been his friend once, until he’d dated first his sister and then Roxanne. It hadn’t taken very long to discover that the actor was a special breed of dick. He’d gotten Rox into drugs. He’d ruined her. Anderson loathed him for it, and it was everything he could do to keep that from surfacing now.

Good to see you, Dean.

Who’s your friend? Hugo ogled Jade unabashedly, and it knocked Anderson sick. He might have messed around and enjoyed the luxuries of being an attractive young man in Hollywood, but Hugo… there was something animalistic, savage, even, in the way he chased women.

Vanessa Prince. Jade smoothed down her dress quickly before shaking Hugo’s hand.

Nice to meet you, Vanessa. Hugo showed no awareness for the woman at his side as he crooned her name and dragged his hungry eyes up and down Jade’s figure. Is Anderson here showing you a good time?

Jade batted her eyelashes towards Anderson suggestively, and his breath hitched in surprise. The best.

I bet, Hugo chuckled, slapping Anderson on the shoulder with pride. Anderson’s nostrils flared from the effort of suppressing his disdain. How’s your sister, Andy?

Andy. He’d forgotten how much he hated being called that. She’s fine. She has a new movie out soon.

The one that got away. Hugo shook his head and then invited himself to their champagne, drinking straight from the bottle. Anderson had the feeling it wasn’t the first drink he’d had tonight. You know, it’s been a while. You should come party with us tonight at Nightingale. Have you got your… He quickly flashed a corner of black in his trouser pocket, his Dawn card. Y’know?

Maybe we will. Anderson gave a tight smile and curled his arm around Jade’s waist. She leaned into him as though it was second nature. We’ll see where the night takes us, right, baby? Baby. It tasted bitter on his tongue, but it fell out smooth as honey.

You won’t wanna miss this one, Hugo said, eyes still burning into Jade. Besides, I’d like to get to know Vanessa here a little better.

We’ll see, Anderson repeated stiffly. Jade gave his shoulder a squeeze, whether reprimanding or supporting him, he didn’t know.

"Your favorite movie still Eyes Wide Shut?"

Anderson frowned in confusion. He’d never even seen that movie. But it didn’t matter. Hugo’s drinks arrived, and his date was dragging him over to order. Anderson cast him a wave and then tore himself away from Jade to collapse into his chair.

I hate that guy, he muttered.

I love him, Jade said. He’s stupid enough that he might just tell us everything by the end of tonight.

Anderson grimaced, though he supposed it was true. Hugo loved to brag, whether he would brag about killing Anderson’s best friend or not was another matter entirely. Either way, Anderson would not rest until he found out.

Chapter Three

A three-course meal consisting mostly of air hadn’t filled Jade up, and she’d made Anderson buy her a burger before they made their way over to Nightingale. The sky had long since lost its color, the stars rendered invisible against the smog and immortal lights of the city.

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that this is where all manners go out the window, Stone, she told him in the car. LA traffic had left them stuck in limbo for long enough that anxiety had begun to twist in her stomach. It’s where we need to start acting like them.

Anderson’s cheeks dimpled in amusement as he drummed his fingers across the steering wheel. Does that mean I can get hammered?

I won’t be the one carrying you home if you do. She worried at her lip, headlights dancing across her face as they started to move again.

What are you saying, Sawyer?

I’m saying that we need to lay it on thick. You and me, I mean. Couples don’t go to VIP nightclubs just to sit politely side by side while sipping their champagne. We can’t look out of place.

Oh, okay, he nodded, eyes glinting red as they came to another traffic light. So you’re saying you want me all over you.

"I’m saying I’ll have to pretend that I want you all over me. God only knows how, she sneered. Just follow my lead, all right?"

Yes, ma’am.

He did just that, flashing his Dawn card again when they got to the door. It was a strange setup for a nightclub, with a long corridor yawning out before them and the exterior shaped like a stack of odd-sized cubes.

This time, the card wasn’t enough. The bouncer was a brawny, tattooed man who folded his arms across his chest so that his large biceps turned to rocks. Favorite movie?

Knitting his brows together, Anderson’s gaze flitted to Jade. He didn’t understand.

Jade did. Apparently Hugo had been giving them a clue earlier. If he kept telling them how to infiltrate his own damn secret society, it wouldn’t be so secret anymore and Jade would be out of a job.

"Eyes Wide Shut," she said confidently, linking her arm through Anderson’s with a coy smile.

The bouncer stepped aside wordlessly. They were in.

She pulled Anderson down the corridor without a second glance back. The wallpaper made her feel queasy: it was all sunflowers and daisies, but instead of a stamen in the centre, bulging eyes had been printed there that followed them as they moved.

"I feel like I’m in an episode of Scooby Doo, Anderson shuddered. How’d you know the right answer?"

Hugo. He asked you earlier what—

My favorite film was. Right. Realisation sharpened his features.

The pounding music built in tempo as they reached the end of the corridor. A door patterned with mosaics of mirrored glass remained their final barrier from Dawn.

You ready, Prince?

Though Jade wouldn’t show it, she was impressed by how well he’d taken to switching between her alias and real name when the situation warranted it. She clamped her hand around his, staring at their fractured reflections with a final nod. Ready.

It wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Though full to the brim with guests, it was more a lounge than a nightclub. Only a few people danced on the small floor on the other side of the room, mirrorball twirling above them. The rest hovered around the bar or lazed on the sofas, their hands full of cocktails and shots. Less like a party and more a casual gathering.

The walls were mirrored in here, too, and strobe lights lasered across the space as though they’d been trapped inside a kaleidoscope. Top 40 music that Jade had never had any desire to listen to thudded from the speakers and thrummed in her chest.

Anderson tugged her over to the bar, which was illuminated by silver floor lights, and asked—shouted—for two martinis. Jade took the opportunity to scour the faces around her. A few she recognised from TV and news articles, but most of them seemed to be people trying to become part of the elite. A few women beside Jade eyed Anderson, and she huddled instinctively closer to him to make it known they were together. The last thing she needed was for him to end up going home with another girl, and she wouldn’t put it past him to do just that.

Hugo Dean lounged on the couches below, sticking his tongue into the mouth of a woman who was definitely not the date he’d been with earlier. Jade motioned to Anderson as subtly as she could. His lips pursed as he nodded and grabbed their drinks while she led him down the stairs towards the seating area.

Hugo pulled himself away from his latest conquest for just long enough to notice them. Bright red lipstick stained his mouth and cleft chin. Andy! You came!

Couldn’t help myself. Jade saw the precise moment that Anderson turned on the act, the moment that arrogant smirk started to play on his lips again, his brown eyes darkening to black. He was a good actor, she’d give him that. He placed the martinis down and sprawled idly across the couch. Before Jade could sit beside him, somebody else snatched the space, one of the women who’d been ogling Anderson at the bar.

Jade flashed her a tight smile and perched on Anderson’s lap without invitation, turning her back to the woman. Anderson stiffened beneath her for only a moment. Sensing his uncertainty, she guided one of his hands to her waist. The warmth of his other rested at the centre of her spine, his breath whispering against her ear lobe.

Now’s not the time to act coy, Stone, she murmured in his ear.

And you brought your girl! Hugo continued, shimmying down the sofa to be heard over the music. What was your name, sweetheart? Valerie?

Vanessa. It fell out as a seductive purr. Absently, Jade tangled her fingers through Anderson’s golden hair, tousling the slick waves there. She could feel him hesitating still, his hands only ever hovering above her dress.

You like to party, Vanessa?

Who doesn’t?

Hugo’s oily grin of agreement made Jade’s skin crawl. I can tell. I bet you’re a wild one. She wanted to cringe, but continued idly twirling Anderson’s hair. You’d know, right, Andy?

She’s… Anderson blew out a breath. Their eyes met for a moment, and she urged him to say something. Anything. She’s something, all right. I’m not sure you could keep up with her.

He pulled her closer, and she relaxed into him to show him that it was fine, she was comfortable.

So, Dean. Anderson turned his attention back to Hugo, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. I’m sorry to hear about Rox. You two were together for a long time.

Hugo’s eyes turned cold, but that sickening grin continued to twist his features. Jade wanted to slap Anderson around the head for bringing her up. Instead, she bit her fingers into his shoulder forcefully. He grew taut again.

Yeah, well, we were always up and down. I think you were always closer to her than I was, buddy.

Anderson shrugged. "We grew apart a little. Still, I didn’t know it was that bad. When was the