“I know,” she says softly. “But this isn’t about that. It’s about getting answers.”
A long pause stretches between us. Then I nod.
“Okay. Let’s go see.”
Tessaand I walk through the entrance wearing our masks. To anyone watching, we're just another couple looking for an evening's entertainment.
But my hand is tight on Tessa's, and I'm scanning every face, every body, looking for Vanessa.
"Relax," Tessa says. "You look like you're about to murder someone."
"If anyone looks at you, I might."
We move through the main floor, past the bar where I spent so many nights. The memory feels so distant now, like it belongs to a different version of me. That man is gone—just a shell numbing himself, going through the motions. I barely recognize him anymore.
"Hey beautiful," some guy says, stepping into Tessa's space. "You new here?"
"She's with me," I say.
"I wasn't talking to you, man." He doesn't even glance at me, his attention still on Tessa. "What do you say? Want to find somewhere more interesting?"
I move fast, putting myself as a wall between her and this asshole.
"The lady isn't interested," I say, and there's enough menace in my voice that he takes a step back.
"Why don't you let her decide that?"
"She already has. Now walk away before this becomes a problem."
He stares at me for a long moment, then backs away. "Whatever, man."
He disappears into the crowd, and I turn to Tessa. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She's looking at me with amusement. "Very possessive, Professor."
"I don't share," I say. "Not you. Never you."
The look in her eyes makes me want to forget why we're here, to pull her into one of these rooms and remind her exactly who she belongs to. But we have a mission.
"Come on," I say, leading her toward the VIP section.
The VIP area is on a raised platform overlooking the main floor, separated by sheer black curtains. The clientele are the club's regulars, people who pay premium prices for extra privacy and access. Private rooms line the back wall, and there's a bar with a bartender who knows better than to ask questions.
And there, in a corner booth, I see him.
Roddy Cohn, the club’s owner, is holding court with his usual crowd. He's in his fifties, distinguished in the way money and power make men, with silver hair and expensive taste. And on his lap, laughing at something he's said, is Vanessa.
She's wearing a gold mask that doesn't hide much, a short black dress that shows off her legs. Her hand is on Roddy's chest.
“There she is,” I say, pointing through the gap in the curtain. “With the club’s owner. And if she's that close to Roddy, if she's one of his girls…”
"Then she could get access to the security system," Tessa finishes. I glance over at her, but she’s already stepping back from the curtain.
“Iknewit,” she says. “Back at the coffee shop. The way she talked to me, it felt off.”
“Your instincts are good,” I say.
We watch as Vanessa leans in to whisper something in Roddy's ear. He laughs, his hand sliding up her thigh in a way that makes my skin crawl. Not because of the intimacy, I've seenfar more explicit things in this club, but because I'm watching the woman who's actively trying to destroy both our lives.
