Chapter 19

Faye

All my hard work and long nights of watching and placating Brock Blackstone led to this event. It was why I came back to Fiasco in the first place. And yet here I was, at 4 p.m. the evening of this private auction, about to waltz into a small-town boutique shop and hope for something that would match what I needed.

Loni’s Boutique is nestled right in between Fiasco Flowers and Fiasco Creamery, but when I cross the threshold, I’m pleasantly surprised by the displays of trendy sweaters laid out in an ombre of greens to blues. But it’s the dressmaker’s bodice to the left side of the room near the lingerie table that’s draped in the kind of dress tonight calls for. Sexy, elegant, and meticulously constructed. The soft pink layers of chiffon hug the dress stand as the light picks up the shimmer from each crystal bead sewn intermittently from the bodice and straps down to the thigh-length skirt. Its straps are so thin they almost look nonexistent except for the way the crystals shine. Their length and position allow for the dress to drape low in the front, showing off the perfect amount of décolletage.

“It’s beautiful,” Lily says, sliding up next to me.

I do a double take, not having noticed she’s standing beside me. “Hi—” Looking behind her, I see Laney following, with Grant stuffing his hands in his pockets just as the door closes. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Lark wanted to see if any new band shirts came in since last time,” the youngest Foxx says, rolling her eyes. “I like that dress. Are you going to get it?”

I smile at her, and her Aunt Laney gives me a wave as she comes closer. “It’s too pretty not to.”

The store owner comes over and asks, “If you’d like, I can do some quick alterations.”

“That would be amazing.”

“Alright, let me move some things around in my dressing room, and then we’ll get you all set. I think it’ll look perfect on your figure,” she says.

“Is that for one of your performances?” Laney asks.

I glance toward Grant, who’s watching the both of us. He was always good at intimidation. I remember that from when he had done one of the training sessions at the academy—he was one of the few K9 officer units in this part of the state when he was with the department. It felt like I was about to get an interrogation from him, or at the very least, the promise of questions sooner rather than later.

It’s not a complete lie when I say, “A performance I’ve been planning, but apparently I forgot the most important piece.”

“Laney!” Lily calls out from the back of the shop.

When I look at Grant, I can tell that he’s trying to piece things together about me. I don’t think it’s possible that Lincoln’s left him in the dark completely.

He clears his throat. “You know, Del told me how he kept in touch with you. Helped him out here and there on some work while you were down in, where was it?”

Crossing my arms, I smile at him, answering easily, “Louisiana. They needed someone to talk with a handful of people who had been performing at a club. Jog their memory about things they had seen, but maybe hadn’t registered as suspicious.”

“We never really lose that edge, do we?” he asks. “No matter if we retire or turn to something else, we always have a gut feeling or instinct when something feels off.”

He knows there’s more to me being here; I just need to hope it won’t interfere with tonight. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Uncle Grant,” Lily calls out, saving me from having to answer any more questions. “Can we please get matching slippers? They might have a size big enough for you, too?”

He nods as he moves away and approaches his niece and wife.

Out of the corner of my eye, Lark rummages through the t-shirt display. “I went to that tour. I was in Washington, and someone said if I wanted to see Dave Matthews Band live, then the only place would be at The Gorge.”

Glancing at me briefly, she goes back to looking through the pile. I think she’s dismissing me until she asks, “Well, did you?”

“See them there?” I laugh. “No. Sold out. But I scalped a ticket in Seattle and got to hear a few of my favorites.”

She quits looking for her size and then walks away.

Fucking small towns . There’s no reason I should be running into any of them here. And as charming as this store is, the last thing I was prepared for was an interrogation and a pre-teen’s wrath. Truthfully, I’m more jilted by the latter. I don’t know why it bothers me—wanting her to like me, but I do.

An hour later, and I’ve been perfectly fitted in what might be the prettiest dress I’ll ever wear. It almost seems like a waste to wear it for someone like Brock Blackstone. But I don’t have any other options. I have just under three hours before I need to be ready for the car service. He didn’t ask why I was being picked up at Midnight Proof, but I wasn’t about to give him the address for my family’s farmhouse. The less he’s aware of who I was before Rosie Gold, the better.

“So you make jewelry now, too?” Maggie asks as she leans against the doorway in my makeshift bedroom. “Another surprise hidden up those sleeves?”

“Yup,” I say, focused on what I’m doing, before her words sink in. “Wait, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She looks around the room, taking inventory of what gym equipment I’ve had to move to make space for my things. I watch her attention flick to the line-up of small weapons laid out on the floor near her elliptical. “Those are interesting accessories.”

“I’m a single woman who takes her clothes off as entertainment. I’d be careless, borderline stupid, not to have some sort of protection with me.”

“I heard about some kind of high-profile event tonight. Is that where you’re going?”

It has me pausing. I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to understand her sudden interest. “How would you hear about something like that?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Better question—why are you attending?”

We stare at each other for a moment, neither one of us tipping our hand. But she’s the one to crack first when she says, “There’s so much you don’t know. And somehow, I feel like I’m the one in the dark.”

Narrowing my eyes on her, I let out a sigh when I ask, “Then why don’t you enlighten me, Maggie? I’m not the bad guy here.”

“You sure about that?” she mumbles, and my head rears back.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shout after her as she steps into the hallway.

But per usual, she doesn’t respond to my question. “Nice dress, by the way,” she calls out, and then a few moments later, the front door slams shut.

I’m staring off, a bit dumbfounded, trying to make sense of whatever that just was. I know there’s more to unpack, but tonight isn’t going to be the time to figure it out.

My dress was a jackpot in more ways than just being stunning. It needed to match the jewelry this time around. And the long chain necklace that glitters also has a little extra flare. The 2mm camera was under fifty bucks and fits perfectly into its crystal onyx center. My phone will act as its Wi-Fi hotspot in my clutch bag so that everything from tonight is recorded and stored in the cloud. Tech doesn’t need to be complicated to work in my favor—between the mirroring software I had coded and cheap gadgets like this, it makes private investigating far more comprehensive than simple stakeouts and note-taking.

I’m not going to miss a single moment or face. I’ve spent the past few weeks filtering through countless emails and fulfillment orders from freight companies regarding Blackstone auctions. Procurement could mean a lot of things. But a private auction that the FBI was sniffing around meant there’s more than authentic paintings and Fabergé eggs to be sold. Cortez still hasn’t shown his cards, but that doesn’t mean I can’t figure out other ways to see them. So I dug into the details of exactly what types of things Blackstone had been “acquiring” for tonight. I wasn’t going to wait and see. The bill of landing that listed out what was delivered to Blackstone’s estate wasn’t what I’d expected—multiple quantities and variations of erectile-dysfunction drugs, fertilizers and chemicals, a single line item that just read “snakes,” which, again, troubling, but the smuggling of reptiles didn’t seem like something Cortez would have been so elusive about. None of that felt like the bigger picture, but simply details.

“The only thing I need from you, Faye, is confirmation on the attendees,” Cortez says over my phone. “If the auction happens and you’re within earshot, then take note of who is purchasing.”

Pulling the straps of my dress on carefully, I slide the zipper up the side of my waist.

I turn to the side and, damn, that’s perfect.

As I pick up my phone from the bathroom sink, I make sure he can hear me when I say, “You can tell me exactly who I should be looking at, Cortez. That would make my job here easier.”

I toss my lipstick into my glitter handbag that has a special sewn-in compartment that holds my karambit knife. The small blade has a finger hole for easy maneuvering when necessary. I adjust the elastic of my garter belt, functioning to hold up my thigh-high stockings and doubles as a convenient spot to fasten the palm-sized pepper spray. They weren’t much, considering I didn’t know what Blackstone was capable of, but having weapons makes me feel safer. They always have.

“All I can say is that if anything feels off, or if you need to get out of there, then get out. This isn’t a situation where the cavalry is waiting to raid this place. I have some support, but you need to operate here as if you’re on your own. I need you to be smart.”

I keep playing back Cortez’s words—if anything feels off, then get out of there. It’s like telling someone to “be safe.” It doesn’t add value other than the fact they didn’t want to see you hurt. Of course I’ll pay attention and listen to my instincts—I’ve been operating solo like this for a while now.

The car ride is quick, but I feel prepared. My make-up and jewelry, along with the weapons and the killer dress, are all a mask as I stroll up the stairs and over the red carpet leading into the estate. When I pass by another few security guards stationed along the main hall, I catch Blackstone’s wandering eyes canvassing my body. I shake off the grotesque shiver it pulls from me and smile instead.

“Rosie,” Blackstone says as he greets me at the threshold of the main ballroom. “You’re the prettiest little thing I’ve seen in a long time.” He kisses along my knuckles, his wet lips slobbering more than is necessary, but I do my best to school my grossed-out reaction. “Is my girl ready for me to taste tonight?” Holding up my arm, he guides me to show him a 360-degree view of what I’m wearing. I’ve already calmed my mind and made sure I’d be fully settled into my role as Rosie Gold tonight. Had I not, I would have retched all over the Brioni tux that looked a size too small around his neck and arms.

I force a coy smile and step into his embrace. “Brock, I’m always ready.”

“Good.” He raises his hand and signals a waitress over. “I’ll take a whiskey ginger and please bring a glass of champagne for my beautiful girl.” Grabbing my hand, he kisses my knuckles again. More slobber. “Come, I want to show you off.”

A ballroom like this should be bathed in rich colors and warm lighting, but instead it feels cold, stark, and almost sterile. With its modern design and clean lines, generic grays and cool-toned blacks, it’s the opposite of what most people from Fiasco would consider “rich.” The people gathered in groups throughout aren’t much better. Designer tuxedos on men who are only slightly engaged in their conversations, because each one we pass turns their head to either smile or study.

It’s not until Blackstone pulls me onto his lap, his fingers digging into my hips, that I realize he meant he literally wants to show me off. Every single person who greets him has also been introduced to me— his Rosie Gold. Perched on his leg as my pedestal. If I wasn’t working to keep a tally of every big name I recognize, repeating their names back to them so that they’re properly recorded, then I would have been disgusted by the smell of his breath that lingers along my skin. Or the way he moves his palm down from my hip to the hem of my dress. It takes a great deal of focus not to flinch each time. I purposefully try not to linger on one face or place for too long. My pulse races as I take in the headcount and try to remember the items in the shipping documents. Would I be able to place items with people I’ve been introduced to? I’m too in my head about all the items that need to be remembered here.

It’s why I don’t notice the small group of men approaching. Not until I see Blackstone raise his arm, signaling the group closer as he says, “Gentlemen. Come and join us.”