Harry hasn’t been answering my calls, but strangely has been replying to text messages. It’s not at all like the man I know but I’ve also never been sent out of state to work a case for an anonymous client and told to “focus and work the case” either. Maybe it was Harry-speak for “you’re on your own, kid.”
Sitting at my desk, I stare blankly at the screen of my laptop as my thoughts turn to my after-work visit the other night. With her long, wavy hair and those full, pouty lips of hers that just beg to be kissed, and her piercing brown eyes that have always been able to bore straight into my soul. Just like every other time I've been near her, she has me spinning in circles without even trying. Her presence, her smell, everything about her short circuits my brain.
I shake my head. I have a job to do, and I can't let my feelings and history with Marlee cloud my judgment or distract me. I need to focus on the case and not on Marlee’s reappearance in my life or the fact she’s working undercover on something she cannot and will not loop me in on. I lost all credibility and trustfulness when I screwed her and everyone else over.
I have two options--let it go and stay out of her way, or I can try and figure it all out myself. Maybe it’s possible to wrap up my case and help her solve hers at the same time. Not that she’d ever work with me again. Working together is not something she’d ever consider doing. Not now, not again, definitely not after last time.
That doesn’t mean I can ignore the burning need inside of me to make things right with her, to somehow redeem myself in her eyes and have her look at me the way she always used to. Like I was everything she could ever want and need. Because before everything went wrong, there was always the chance that they could've gone so very right with us. Now, I think I'll just be satisfied knowing she doesn't see me as the piece of shit who tried to save his own ass by offering up hers.
I get back to work, using all the databases and contacts and software available to me to look into anything and everything related to Decker, Justin and the staff members I’ve met. The more I read and compare, the more I realize that it's all too clean. Too seamless. Too picture-perfect. Which can only mean a lot is missing. That is what I need to uncover.
I've worked three more shifts since first meeting Decker, and the man hasn't come into the club again. Justin's been scarce too, something that's even more evident by the work he's piled on me. Knowing it's likely a test--whether that be from Decker himself or Justin--my focus has been on keeping my nose clean and going above and beyond what's been asked of me. Other than the normal drunken idiots needing to be evicted from the club, handsy patrons forgetting their manners with bar staff, and the usual illegal drug taking--both behind the bathroom doors and sometimes, in plain sight--Marquis continues to run like a well-oiled machine. This hasn't gone unnoticed either, Justin texting at the end of each shift to congratulate me on being a good “other him.”
The absence of Decker and Justin has also been a blessing in disguise because it’s given me the chance to get a better read on the rest of the staff. Everyone from the bouncers at the door to those manning the control room, to the servers and bar staff, they're all hard-working, honest, and good people. Not once have I got a bad feeling from anyone.
None of them have a bad word to say about either Decker or Justin, and no one knows of a silent partner either. There’s a lot of conjecture about the club’s ownership though. Some say he's a Dubai billionaire who just wants a piece of Vegas real estate, or a mafia boss happy to stay in the shadows while Decker fronts the club. The other rumor that spiked my interest was that it was Decker's father who bankrolled the club. When I investigated that one, I found that there was no father listed on Decker’s birth certificate, only his mother, Grace Marie James, who is still on a big plot of land outside Dubois, Wyoming.
I’ve already confirmed that Decker has money—and a lot of it. That wealth had to have come from somewhere, especially as he’s listed as an owner of half the nightclub legally. What I need to do is work out where that wealth came from apart from his illegal dealings. And if it’s not all his money, then who is the secret silent partner and how are they connected to him? It doesn’t matter where I look or who I look at, one plus one always equals five. It doesn’t add up.
That’s why I’ve decided to change direction and dig deeper into Decker's past and build a timeline from birth to now, focusing specifically on his rumored work as a fixer for hire. The hope being that anything I find might help satisfy this gnawing gut feeling I have that I’m missing something.
Another half hour later and while I’m accessing old case files I definitely shouldn’t be looking at, my cell vibrates on the couch and I'm surprised to see Harry's name on the screen.
“Hey boss. You're a hard man to get hold of, it seems,” I answer.
“Hey. Yeah... been busy,” he replies. “What's up?”
“You tell me. I tell you I ran into Marlee on her own undercover op and you go radio silent.”
“I said I've been busy,” he bristles.
“OK, I get that. But I'm not an island. I'm not supposed to be working this by myself.”
“You are, actually. I told you that right from the start. It's supposed to be an open-and-shut case. You get in, you find evidence, then we pull you out.”
“Except now we know that something else is going on at Marquis and around Decker and since Marlee refused to tell me what the deal is, I've had to up my game and keep my eyes open for everything.”
“No,” he says a little too quickly. “You stay locked in on our case. I don't have to remind you that you're not a cop anymore, Aiden.”
That grinds my gears. “I know, Harry.”
“So keep your damn nose clean and focus on the money. Nothing else.”
I scoff. “You want me to ignore the fact that LVPD is involved in this? That could get Marlee made.”
“Did she tell you she was working for the PD?”
I open my mouth but stop, processing his words before realizing what he's not saying. “It's not PD? Fuck!”
“I can't tell you anything else. All I know is that you've got to stay out of it.”
Again, I discover more from what he's not saying than what he actually is. “It’s the FBI, isn’t it.”
“A cross-agency task force, yes. Don't ask me anything else because I don't know any more than you do. What I do know is that you don't want to get caught up in it, and not just because of Marlee.”
“You telling me that just makes me want to weigh in even more.”
“Yep. And I'm telling you right now to stand down. Whatever you're thinking of doing, or might think of doing, don't.”
“Understood,” I mutter.
“I'm not convinced. You have to let it happen. We can't get involved and I've been warned--implicitly--that you are a liability. We're damn lucky they're not trying to pull you out now. I had to promise them you'd stay in your lane. Don't make me into a liar, Aiden.”
I fall silent while I run the entire situation through my head. My past is proof that I'm not the type of man to let something go. Both before I screwed up and on the cases I've worked for Harry since, I'm like a dog with a bone. Harry's warning rings loud and clear in my head, even if my conscience is telling me I won't be able to just stand back and do nothing if things go bad. Especially knowing Marlee is involved.
“Just lay low for a few days and if I hear anything else, I'll let you know anything pertinent.”
There's still one thing bugging me. “Who's the client, Harry?”
“You don't need to know,” he replies without any hesitation. He also doesn't hide the growing aggravation from me. “And that answer will not change.”
“You don't think I should know? There's so much smoke and so many mirrors around Decker. How can I be sure it's not him pulling your strings.”
“Listen. It boils down to this... do you trust me, Aiden? Because if you don't, we've got far bigger issues than just this case.”
“I owe you. You know that,” I reply.
“Yeah. And that right there should tell you everything you need to know.”
Something prickles at my subconscious. “How'd you find out about the other case?”
“Doesn't matter. I just need you to do your damn job and trace the money. Get the dirt and get out. Then you can leave Vegas and everyone that's there behind. Isn't that what you want to do?”
Damn the man for hitting a bullseye.
“Yeah, yeah. Fine. But if shit goes south, I--”
“It won't. You've got your job, I've got mine, and Marlee has hers. Stay out of her way and she'll stay out of yours,” he says, cutting me off.
“And what do I tell her when she asks me who our client is again? If you think I don't let things go--”
“Aiden, it's covered. It's fine. Move the fuck on.”
I'm the one bristling now. Not once since I've been working for him has Harry been so closed off. “Yes, Harrison.”
Finally, I see a crack in his gruff demeanor. “Fuck off with that shit. We'll talk soon.”
“Yeah. OK.”
The line goes dead and I'm left staring at my phone, wondering what the hell just happened.
Whatever it is, it doesn't bode well.