At the Brink (37 page)

Chapter Forty-Three

Lily

The phone call from Riker came two weeks later in the middle of my late afternoon class.

“Wheels down,” he said, curt as always.

“Thank you,” I said, before he hung up.

My heart drummed in my ears. My pulse beat too hard and fast. I apologized to my students and promptly dismissed the class. I was on my way to catch the bus when my phone rang again.

“Lily?” a familiar voice said. “This is Hugo Baez. I just spoke to Riker.”

“Welcome back,” I said.

“Thanks.” He hesitated. “We decided you ought to know.”

“We?”

“The guys and I,” Baez said. “I just thought you should know that he’s exhausted, wiped out, completely and absolutely fatigued. For the last few months, he’s traveled and worked nonstop. He’s hardly slept. Don’t expect much from him.”

Baez was calling to soften the blow that was sure to come my way. They were setting it up so that I couldn’t blame Josh when he sent me to hell. They were trying to shield me too, because they were a bunch of good guys.

“I understand,” I said.

“I don’t think you do,” Baez said. “He’s really struggled here at the end. Maybe you ought to give him a few days to settle down. He’s in no condition to face you.”

“I appreciate your call,” I said. “I’ll remember everything you’ve told me. I promise.”

“All right,” Baez said. “Good luck.”

Baez’s call scared me, but postponing my meeting with Josh only made sense in some alternative universe where we hadn’t been apart for four months, seven days and twelve hours, and in a scenario where I didn’t give a hoot about him and he hadn’t already ejected me from his life. My instincts screamed, urging me to get to Josh before it was too late. He teetered at the brink of darkness and unless I acted decisively, I was going to lose him for good.

My phone rang again.

“Lils?” It was Mac. “Riker asked me to call you. We’ve lost track of Josh. He bailed on Amman at the airport. We don’t know where he is.”

“Did somebody check the house?” I asked.

“He’s not there.”

“Why would he ditch Amman?”

There was a long silence on the other side of the line.

“Mac?”

“Maybe he didn’t want anyone to know where he was going.”

I didn’t like the suggestion in Mac’s voice.

“I tell you what, Lils. Stay put. Riker is looking for our boy and that means he’s going to find him. We’ll give you a call when he does.”

I walked home with my stomach in knots. I sat on the couch, waiting for someone to call. Each minute felt like an hour, every hour felt like a day. Somewhere after eight, my phone rang.

“Riker here. He just placed a call.”

“To whom?” I asked.

“I don’t think you want to know.”

“Tell me.”

Riker hesitated. He was really having a hard time with this.

“Please?”

“Rachella Willis.”

Oh, my God. It was her. The woman from Lisa Artiaga’s pictures, the one who looked like me.

“Thanks.” I hung up the phone.

I googled Rachella Willis. She was the complete opposite of a reserved person and her privacy settings were non-existent. She liked to boast about the places she frequented, the parties she attended and the prestigious building where she lived. It took only a little internet sleuthing to learn about her extensive shoe collection and her full address. I grabbed my purse and keys and ran out the door. I flagged a taxi at the corner. It dropped me off across the street from Rachella’s upscale high-rise.

Damn it, Josh, don’t do this.

The night was cold. Nestled in the shadows of a stop, I shivered. After a little while, a woman walked out of the building, wearing a pair of stiletto-heeled boots and a bright red coat. It was her, Rachella Willis. She hailed a cab and jumped in it. For a moment, I didn’t know what to do. Then I bolted across the street, defying the cars honking their horns, trying desperately to hail another taxi.

The Friday night traffic was heavy. None of the cabs that sped by me stopped, but within seconds, a sleek silver Audi drove up to the curb. The front window slid down.

“Miss Lily?” Amman said. “Do you need a ride?”

“Do I ever.” I jumped into the front seat. “Did you see her?”

“I got her,” Amman said. “Buckle your seatbelt.”

Amman accelerated through the next set of lights and caught up to the unsuspecting cab. We weaved in and out of traffic, following it. Somewhere in the financial district, we got stuck in traffic while the police dealt with a three-way fender-bender. Rachella got out the cab and started walking down the street.

“I don’t like this,” Amman muttered.

“Do you know where she’s going?”

“I should take you home, Miss Lily.”

He knew where she was going. He just didn’t want to tell me. I remembered something that Josh had said.
There are places where the naughty can have a good time, pushing the edge.

“It’s one of those places, isn’t it?”

Amman honked his horn.

“Where is it?”

“I’d be a dead man if I told you and, even if you tried, you wouldn’t be able to get in.”

“Why not?”

Amman’s mouth set in a straight line.

Access to a place like that would be tightly restricted, limited to a handful of exclusive patrons. What had started as a fairly straightforward undertaking was getting complicated. I was scared. Part of me wanted to give up. The other part refused to surrender.

A block ahead, Rachella crossed the street. I glanced at Amman. He tried to maneuver around the wreck, but the Audi was trapped in traffic and the police were everywhere. I opened the car door and leaped out into the street.

“Miss Lily!” Amman’s voice trailed behind me. “Come back!”

I ran across the street and caught up with Rachella as she angled for the tall building ahead. A high-rise in the financial district didn’t meet any of the admittedly jaded and preconceived notions I had on the sketchy subject of sexual retreats. On the ground floor, the building housed the entrance to a movie theater, a bank, a yogurt shop and a wine bar. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find a neon sign advertising “where the naughty push the edge.”

Much to my surprise, Rachella strolled into the yogurt shop. I followed closely, pretending to examine the specials written on the board while she ordered at the counter.

“Plain vanilla.” She handed a red card to the clerk at the register. “Candy canes and orange liquor.”

The odd request caught the cashier’s attention. He gave Rachella a meaningful nod and examined her card. It would’ve been easy to miss the fact that he swiped the card through a separate register at the back of the counter, but Amman’s unintended warning had me on the lookout.

The cashier handed Rachella her card back. She slipped it into her coat’s pocket. He also handed her a receipt along with her order. Rachella licked her spoon as she walked downstairs, through the crowded sitting area and toward the back of the store.

I followed, formulating a shaky plan on the go, rummaging through my wallet until I found the two things I needed. I stowed them in my pocket. At the back of the store, Rachella turned into a long, narrow corridor and halted in front of the emergency exit.

I watched as she threw her yogurt in the trash and opened the fire box next to the door. I spied a keypad there. Rachella looked down on her receipt, typed in a code, crumpled her receipt and, after discarding it in the trashcan, disappeared behind the door.

I knew I had to act fast. I backtracked to the sitting area, snatched an abandoned, half-eaten cup of yogurt, and returned to the back door. I felt as if I were starring on a spy movie. If access to this place was as exclusive as it appeared, I suspected that cameras would be focused on this spot. Imitating Rachella, I dropped my cup of yogurt in the trash. Rachella’s receipt was at the top of the trash heap. I snatched it and faced the door.

No Trespassing
, the sign said in big bold letter.
Alarm will sound if door is open.

What the hell.

I flipped open the fire box and punched in the code on Rachella’s receipt, expecting all hell to break loose. Instead, the door opened. Taking a deep breath, I entered a small landing leading to a narrow set of steps. The door clicked shut behind me. I ran up three landings, where the stairs dead-ended in front of a small elevator door. Rachella Willis waited there with her coat folded over her arm.

“Oh,” she said when she saw me. “Good evening.”

“Hello,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

She gave me an uneasy smile just as the elevator chimed. The doors opened and Rachella and I entered the elevator together.

“Excuse me.” I tried to sound professional. “Is your name Rachella Willis by chance?”

“Who asks?” She eyed me warily.

“My name is Alice.” I slipped my hand into my pocket and whipped out the business card that Josh’s assistant had given me at the airport lounge eons ago.

Rachella glanced at the card. “Oh, wow. Are you Mr. Lane’s personal assistant?”

“Who else?” I secretly apologized to Alice for impersonating her. “Mr. Lane sent me to find you. I have a message for you, but he’s a stickler for privacy, you know. So first, I must confirm your identity. May I please see your card?”

“Sure.” Rachella groped through her pockets and handed me her red card. “Here it is.”

I made a show of looking at the card. It had her picture on it. I hadn’t known I could be so sneaky, but when the elevator chimed again and Rachella looked up, I swapped it for the red Fresh Market discount card I’d tucked in my palm. Rachella was so eager to hear my message that she never noticed. She put the card back in her pocket without so much as a second look.

“Thank you,” I said. “Mr. Lane wanted you to know that, unfortunately, he’s caught at a meeting and won’t be able to make it tonight.”

Rachella’s face crumpled. “But I’ve waited so long.”

I almost felt bad for the woman—almost, but not really.

“Mr. Lane apologizes for the inconvenience. He knows your time is—um—valuable. He didn’t want you to waste it waiting for him.”

“How thoughtful of him,” Rachella said. “Why didn’t he call?”

Excellent question. “Mr. Lane prefers to keep his telephone contacts to a minimum.”

“Understandable.” She sighed wistfully. “I was so looking forward to this. Please tell him that I’m available at his convenience. Will you?”

Not in this lifetime. “Yes, of course.”

The elevator opened up into a small lobby. I stepped out.

“Where are you going?” Rachella said.

“I’m going to—um—cancel the arrangements.”

“Thanks for coming over,” Rachella said. “At least I get to go to the Patriots’ party.”

“Enjoy.” I waved as the elevator doors closed.

I exhaled the long breath I’d been holding. Well, I’d averted that catastrophe. I fingered the card in my pocket. Now I just had to find this place.

Another door loomed at the end of the corridor. This one had a bell on the side. I pressed the button. The door buzzed. I walked into a small but lavish lobby where a lovely, tall, long-limbed woman waited for me behind a polished mahogany desk. She was dressed in a tight white minidress that left little to the imagination. She wore her bright red hair in a pixie cut that enhanced her wide mouth and her large green eyes.

“Good evening.” She shifted her stare between me and her computer’s screen. “I’ve got your registration up. Did you cut your hair or something?”

“Everybody keeps asking.” I feigned a smile. “I lost a couple of pounds. That’s all.”

“You look great,” she said. “May I take a look at your card, please?”

I handed over the product of my best subterfuge ever. She swiped it one more time. Holy smokes. This place was more secure than Fort Knox. I couldn’t believe I’d made it this far.

“Perfect,” she said, returning the card. “My game name is Eva, and I’ll assist you with your preparations.”

If the term “game” raised my hackles, the word “preparations” gave me the shivers.
Snap out of it, Boswell
.
Go with the flow.
What had I gotten myself into?

I followed Eva down a hallway. She opened one of the doors and bid me to enter a sumptuous dressing room.

“I’ve got your instructions here.” She picked up a tablet. “But first, we must go through the usual formalities.”

I nodded, although I had no idea of what she was talking about.

“Have you’ve come here with the full use of your faculties, in full knowledge, and of your own free will?”

“Yes,” I said.
But only out of necessity
, I thought.

“And do you understand the club’s rules?” she said.

I had no clue, but I nodded.

“And do you hereby exempt the club from any damages or liabilities that you might incur during your stay with us?”

This was getting serious.

“Sign here, please.”

I scrawled Rachella’s name on the screen.

“Please sign this next one as well,” Eva said. “It states that our facilities meet and exceed the highest standards of disinfection and sterilization protocols, and that you meet all the required standards specified in the membership requirements.”

Dear God. “There you go.”

She set the table aside. “Let’s see what your trainer has picked out for you to wear. Yes?”

My trainer?
I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Could I have a word with my—um—trainer before I get ready?”

“You know the rules,” Eva said. “Besides, you don’t want to break the game’s trance before you begin. You wouldn’t want to disappoint, would you?”

“No way,” I said, a bit too emphatically.

“Heels, silk stockings, corset.” She drew open a set of curtains and showed me a rack of brand new exquisite corsets. “Which color would you prefer?”

“How about the cobalt blue one?”

“It’s gorgeous.” Eva tore up the bag. “Classy too, with all that black scrolled embroidery, although, it isn’t the most comfortable. Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine.” I didn’t plan on wearing it for long. I took the corset behind the screen, undressed quickly and put it on.