Grif had no idea what that meant. “Guess I misplaced it.”
“Well, I hope you find it soon.” And the guard folded his arms in front of him and looked away.
Grif huffed, and tried another tack. “Look, Mr. Chambers is expecting me.”
“Not without a ticket, he’s not.”
Grif was mulling over his options when the door behind them reopened, and Chambers himself appeared. “It’s okay, Trevor. Mr. Shaw is one of our invited guests.”
“Of course, Mr. Chambers.” Trevor moved aside and Grif resisted patting him on the head as he followed Chambers inside. He shadowed him through a winding hallway, low-lit, carpeted, whispering of privacy.
“Is there a camera in here somewhere?” Grif asked, knowing there was but still surprised by Chambers’s easy nod. How else would the man have known Grif was outside the door?
But why did a man need cameras in his own house?
“No women allowed back here?” Grif asked, still probing.
Chambers’s glance was smeared with a smile. “What kind of party would it be without women?”
“What kind of party is it now?”
“You’d know if you had a ticket,” Chambers said, smile growing.
“Well, I’m an invited guest.”
They were circling, taking jabs, feeling each other out. Looking for tells, and waiting for the other to show a weakness. What Grif didn’t know was, were they opponents or just sparring partners?
Chambers came to a stop with his hand on another closed door. Music and laughter seeped through the cracks, and Grif relaxed fractionally. “Yes, you are a guest. And as such I expect your utmost discretion regarding the activities behind these doors. If it were to get out…”
“Yes?” Grif raised a brow.
Chambers smiled. “Everyone would want a ticket.”
Grif inclined his head.
And Chambers pushed open the door to reveal a curtained vestibule holding a dark, gilded podium. A woman stood behind it, wearing slim gold heels, perfume that reminded Grif of citrus on a hot wind, and the most revealing lingerie Grif had ever seen. Grif swallowed hard and she responded with a smile almost as blinding as the jewels around her neck.
One point for Chambers, Grif thought, feeling the man’s eyes on him. “Mr. Shaw, meet Melody, your personal concierge. Melody, this is Griffin Shaw. It’s his first time at the dance.”
Melody couldn’t have been a handful of years out of her teens, but slipped to Grif’s side with a well-practiced sway. She had large eyes in a heart-shaped face, and a tiny nose with the slightest dusting of freckles. Her dusky hair was shot through with subtle blond streaks, and her firm skin wore a color that could only come from the sun. But that adornment stopped there.
Her negligee skimmed the top of her thighs, and shimmered over the peaks of tight, smooth breasts. Leaning into him, she pressed jutting, gold-tipped nipples against his arm, and linked her slim fingers with his. Her warm, orange-grove scent washed over him again as she purred, “At your service, Mr. Shaw. If you see anything you like, anything you want, you need only give the word. I’m here for you.”
Grif cleared his throat in response.
Snorting, Chambers turned toward a wall with parted curtains, and another woman appeared instantly. So the vestibule was also heavily monitored, Grif thought. And this woman was most decidedly
The world’s shortest skirt, ostensibly white, skimmed her upper thighs, though like the bikini top, it was utterly transparent. The skirt swirled as Chambers guided her around, revealing red palm marks on her behind as she quickstepped, fighting not to topple over in her heels. Grif got the feeling that Chambers was parading her, trying to provoke another reaction.
Grif was a red-blooded man, so there was definitely a reaction, but he was also a gentleman, so it was involuntary. Chambers still shot him a knowing look, then looped an arm over the woman’s shoulders and began toying with her exposed nipple. When Grif just lifted his chin, he said, “Shall we?”
The ballroom had been grand, the slim passageway private, but this room was opulent and rosy, with a thickly carpeted floor, silk-papered walls, and damask curtains hanging from ceiling to floor. Hurricane lamps offered the room’s only light, providing shadowed alcoves and niches where men and their dates could repose in private.
Not that most of them bothered.
Grif now expected the women, scantily clad, but what he didn’t figure on was for them to be draped across every surface, vertical or horizontal, some spotlit or uplit, others dripping shadows. Some were dancing, or moving to a beat that matched someone’s idea of music, while others writhed on pedestals that looked like blocks of ice. Alone or in pairs, they were all smiling and taking requests from the men who were gathered around in groups- smoking, drinking, even reaching out intermittently to sample the golden, embellished flesh.
The largest platform was located in the room’s center, where not one but two women were performing for a cluster of men. The two kissed, sliding their hands up each other’s slim wrists and arms, cupping their soft faces and necks, taking turns tipping their elegant heads back to allow access to their lips, necks… breasts. One of the women slipped pink manicured fingertips between the other’s legs, who arched back in response.
The men applauded.
Grif turned away. Score another point for Chambers, Grif thought, and while the other man didn’t gloat, it wasn’t because he was beyond it… it was because he was already leading Grif to a roped-off alcove with two chairs and a table draped in black silk between them. Once seated-once his fawning escort was kneeling beside him-he motioned for Grif to sit as well.
“So what brings you to Vegas?” Chambers asked conversationally, like there wasn’t a half-naked woman sliding a hand over his crotch.
Grif cleared his throat, trying to ignore Melody, who was clinging to him like her life depended on it. “Not this, that’s for sure.”
All these women. What were they doing here? And why? He could barely stand it for them.
“Fair enough. After all, women are a ubiquitous commodity. You can get this anywhere.” Eyes cold, he jerked his chin at Melody. “Mr. Shaw needs a minute to acclimate. Go get him a drink.”
“Of course.” She leaned over Grif, looming close so the gold-tipped cleavage was even with his nose. “Signal me when you’re ready, darling.”
Watching her saunter away, Grif wondered if vomiting on his shoes would be considered a signal.
Chambers’s girl made to follow, but he stopped her by grabbing a handful of hair. “Not you, dear. Back on your knees. And be discreet.”
Though her eyes were watering, and the strain showed in her neck, she managed a tight smile, which widened when she swiveled back around. Only then did Chambers loosen his hold on her hair.
“Always,” she managed, and made to kiss him on the lips. But Chambers turned his head, his expression sour, and the woman improvised with a quick nibble on his earlobe before she sunk out of sight. The tablecloth lifted, a zipper sounded, and Chambers held Grif’s gaze, unblinking. Then one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, and he held his right hand out to the side. Another concierge materialized immediately to hand him a cigar and snifter, before melting away. Without taking his eyes off Grif, Chambers slid lower into his seat.
Grif returned the cold stare. Opponents, he knew now. Not sparring partners.
“You really should try this,” Chambers said, puffing away. He wasn’t talking about the cigar.
“I’m here to talk murder, Mr. Chambers.”
“Hear that, Bethany? You’re going to have to work extra hard.” A blond head popped up to respond. One- handed, he pushed it back down.
“A woman was murdered after being provided a list with your name on it,” Grif continued.
“Among other names, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Others in this room.”
Eyes half-lidded, Chambers sipped. “And?”
“And she was investigating a prostitution ring.”
“Is that what you think this is?” Chambers laughed, a hearty, hard sound. “Look around. Does any woman here
