He tightened his fist, causing the hard edge of the key card to cut into his palm. It would be a shame not to use one of the few tools he’d been given to help nudge the investigation along.
Without another thought, he tapped the card against the reader and slipped inside. Once the door closed behind him, the alarm began shrieking.
He punched a sequence of numbers onto the keypad. If Ira had changed the security code, Tommy was screwed.
With each individual tap, the buttons let out a chirp. By the time Tommy completed the sequence, the shrieking stopped and he audibly exhaled.
“So far so good,” he whispered out loud. He wasn’t in the habit of talking to himself, though in that particular case it helped lessen the tension.
He moved toward the stairs leading to Ira’s office and the VIP room beyond. When his foot hit the bottom step, he heard music drifting from one of the second-floor rooms. He wasn’t alone like he’d thought.
On any other day, someone blasting music wouldn’t be cause for alarm.
But on any other day, Tommy never would’ve attempted what he was planning to do.
The Vesper was closed until nine, and Layla had assured Tommy her dad was spending the day with a woman he’d recently started seeing. Was it possible H.D. had decided to bring her by the club to impress her with his work in progress?
Tommy shot a wary look toward the top of the stairs. He didn’t know which was worse—catching Layla’s dad getting intimate with his new girlfriend or having Ira catch him breaking into his office and immediately seeing right through any excuse Tommy tried to sell him.
Whoever was up there had purposely locked themselves inside. Yet they’d also blasted the music so loud it drowned out the alarm. It was entirely possible they still thought they were alone.
Tommy continued up the stairs. At the top of the landing he noticed the door to the VIP room was slightly ajar. If he edged up close enough, he might be able to get a glimpse inside. But that also put him at risk of being seen.
The song switched to the Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” which was exactly the kind of music H.D. listened to when he worked. In the background, Tommy could just make out a series of dull thumping sounds that . . . if it really was Layla’s dad and his new girlfriend . . .
Then again, it was just as likely the mural was ready and Ira had hired a crew to move the furniture back into place. It all made perfect sense, except—why would they have alarmed the place?
There were a thousand different ways this could blow up in his face, but despite having every reason to leave and few to stay, he made for Ira’s office anyway.
He tried the card on the door, but not surprisingly, it didn’t work.
Luckily, it didn’t need to. The door was unlocked.
Ira’s office being left unlocked could only mean one thing—Ira was in the VIP room.
It was as good an excuse as any for Tommy to bolt while he could. Under the circumstances, no one could blame him for playing it safe.
The music and thumping continued, and against his better judgment, Tommy pushed the door open and quickly slipped inside.
With its dark walls and notable lack of windows, it was the drabbest of all Ira’s offices. Unlike the ones he kept at Jewel and Night for Night, it hadn’t received the usual ego makeover. There wasn’t a single framed magazine cover or newspaper article.
Still, this was where Tommy had seen the picture of the cartoon cat, and he was determined to bring it back to his friends, along with any other incriminating piece of evidence he might find.
He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and got to work. The desk was covered in neat stacks of papers that left Tommy wishing he’d brought along help. But they’d all agreed to work separately so they could cover more ground, chase different leads, and not risk the wrath of whoever was watching. Still, it would’ve been nice to have company. Tackling the corner nearest the door, Tommy went to work. He moved quickly, methodically. He couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by anything not directly connected to the case.
The plan was to photograph anything even vaguely incriminating, then return it to where he’d found it. His guess was that the desk only appeared disorganized. Knowing Ira, nothing was random. He’d definitely notice if something was misplaced.
So far, it was mostly purchase orders and bills—the everyday bureaucracy of running a string of successful nightclubs. Or at least that was what he thought, until he came across a heavy file titled Unrivaled Finalists.
The first document was a list of their names and contact information, along with a photo of each of them. The date listed at the top left corner was the same date the interviews had taken place.
Had Ira already chosen the finalists before the contest even began?
And if so, did that mean he’d been setting them up from day one?
His fingers trembled with rage. It was one thing to think the worst of his dad. It was another to prove he’d been right all along.
Tommy had always assumed Layla made the cut because of her blog. As a club promoter, her numbers were poor. But her posts about Madison’s disappearance amounted to free publicity for Ira. He’d given her insider access to the Madison scandal, and in return Layla didn’t hesitate to write about it.
Aster was easy. She was beautiful, snooty, spoiled, rich, and willing to do just about anything in pursuit of her dreams. In other words, she was just the sort of girl the whole world would be all too willing to root against.
But that still left Tommy. Up until the moment Ira had offered him the job, Tommy was convinced he’d blown the interview. But
