Chapter 5

Faye

“Rosie-motherfucking-Gold,” she says with a warm laugh and clap of her hands. It’s impossible not to smile at Hadley Finch. She isn’t a friend. An acquaintance at best, someone who went to the same school, lived in the same town, but that’s where the commonalities end. Everyone in Fiasco knows who she is. And everyone who’s ever watched a horse race knows her last name—Finch. Two things people in Kentucky—Fiasco, especially—took seriously: horses and bourbon. Hadley’s folded into both worlds.

“Hadley, thanks for working with me,” I say with a bright smile, moving down the back stairs of Midnight Proof. The truth is, I’ve been eager to start. A few days of getting settled and watching as my sister actively tried to either avoid me or blatantly ignore me stopped being entertaining after my first night here.

“Faye, are you joking?” She talks more loudly as we walk farther into the building. The sounds of a trumpet and saxophone croon over the melody of piano keys. “You’re going to bring me so much business. I looked you up online when Cortez pitched this favor. And damn, I might have started crushing on you right then and there.”

I chuckle at her enthusiasm. I hadn’t remembered much of Hadley, mostly what gossip fueled and the randomness of being strangers. But she seemed fun to be around and had that easy, comforting energy that was always so refreshing to find. I glance down the hall toward the crowded speakeasy. Glasses clinking and a nice hum of chatter kicks up my anticipatory nerves.

“I have a spot for you to use as a dressing room.” Waving for me to follow, she moves down the long hallway, past the restrooms and what looks like a space she uses as an office. “It’s small, but the only talent I’ve had to accommodate are my jazz band and the occasional singer.”

I look into the small space, and it’s not much smaller than my last apartment. “It’s perfect. I usually come mostly ready to go. Just a few costume additions and I’ll be set.”

“Feel free to keep your costumes here and any props.” She nods at my arms draped with two garment bags and my makeup case. As she leans against the doorway, I hang my things and shed my jacket. “Cortez has assured me that you’re simply working someone for information for him. That there is no chance of something dangerous transpiring here.” That’s a bold claim. There’s always the possibility that things could go wrong. I know to be prepared for that. But I understood why he would have said it—to ease her mind. This was a big ask. She searches for a response, but before I can give it, she adds, “This place is important to me. It’s separate from what’s normally associated with the last name. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

I give her a nod in understanding. Reaching around to the thigh strap that holds one of my knives, I make sure the slit in my skirt doesn’t ride too high for her to see it. There’s also a palm-sized stun gun in my bag and a switchblade tucked into the make-up case that she just moved to the vanity. Safety means being prepared.

“I’m helping a friend. And the only thing you or anyone else will ever see is that I’m here to entertain.” It’s not a lie, just not the entire truth. I can’t ever promise anyone that something won’t go wrong. I know that better than anyone.

“Great. The jazz band will start your set in about an hour. Come take a look once you get settled—water, drinks, whatever you might need. The bartenders know you’re part of the staff. It’s a packed house tonight. Plenty of people in town for the next few weeks; seasonal depression hits hard this time of year and people want nothing more than to escape and explore bourbon country as well as its recreational benefits.” She hesitates for a second. “I’m not anticipating too many locals on a Thursday night, but people are going to catch wind that you’re performing here.” I know what she’s getting at, but I let her say it. “People are going to talk. They’re going to come out to see you.”

“That’s the hope, isn’t it?” I say with a confident smile, easing the little bit of worry her thoughts just dredged up. “You can ignore how you hired me—forget about the request from Cortez and treat me just like another paid employee. And I will do a damn good job.” I look around the room first, taking in the size and how perfect it is for a show. I tell her, “I don’t owe anyone an explanation, Hadley. But if you’re curious whether I’ll be able to do this when Mr. Dugan from the Hardware store, Prue the Librarian, or even if a Foxx comes in here?—”

“Mr. Dugan would never be seen here.” I don’t miss how she didn’t say anything about a Foxx brother, however.

I tip my chin up just a fraction of an inch. “It’s irrelevant who sees me, because I’m more than confident in what I do, how I dance, what people will see when they watch me. I’m not the same person I was when I left Fiasco, and I have no problem with letting people recognize that. And as far as you’re concerned, I’m purely your new entertainment.”

She smiles wide. “Well, all-fucking-right.” With a single clap, she spins away from the little room, calling out from down the hall, “Look out, Fiasco, Rosie Gold is ready to turn heads and bulge pants tonight!”

I’m back in a town that I used to love, but one that’s filled with people who still have no idea why I left, who had forced me to barely look back. I carried it everywhere I went. Everywhere except when I was Rosie Gold. I was different when I danced burlesque. Dancing had only ever been a hobby. Being thrust into adulthood meant earning a living over the tinkering of hobbies, so I planned to leave dancing behind and join the police force. Start a life. But then life turned on its axis, and there were no longer expectations of getting married or settling down to have kids. There was no pressure to choose stability over exploration. I needed to earn a paycheck, and that was it. And suddenly, the possibilities felt endless.

It’s easy to play a part and lean into Rosie—the confident fantasy of a woman who’s unapologetic about using her body to tease, entertain and get what she wants.

I lean against the bar, taking in the space, trying to figure out my path of choreography. The bartender pours me a club soda that I sip on as I map Midnight Proof. The chandeliers hanging in the center of the main space are warmly lit and bathe everything in just enough light. It’s the perfect mix of sophistication, while the velvet red drapes make it feel more like a theater than just a speakeasy. It’s exactly the kind of Gatsby-era vibe you’d expect in a speakeasy. Mix it with the leather couches and wrought-iron metal accents, it’s masculine, yet really fucking pretty. The lounge-style room means that I can easily work with the audience and have a little more fun.

“Drinking on the job?” Cortez says as he leans next to me.

I tilt the club soda toward him. “Considering it.” My eyes flick down to see what he’s wearing. Jeans that fit tight in the thighs, brown boots, and a white-collared shirt tucked in beneath his sports coat. Even if he took some time to get ready, he still looks exactly like an off-duty cop. “Didn’t realize you’d be here tonight,” I say with a curious lift of my eyebrow.

“I need eyes on this guy but, more importantly, I need to know exactly who he’s shaking hands with,” he explains. I watch as two women give Cortez an interested glance as they pass by. “In a perfect world, you get on the invite list for that private event, Faye.” My surveillance determined that Blackstone is running his private auction this month—something that piqued the FBI’s attention immediately. The estate he rented to host this private affair is smack dab along the county border.

Cortez’s gaze flitters away, and he hums, like he just realized something.

“What?” I ask, curious if he’ll share more with me.

“Ace Foxx wasn’t who I thought I’d see rubbing elbows with him,” Cortez says as he stands tall. “I can’t say I’m all that surprised. This just got a helluva lot more juicy. Do you remember any calls or emails between them?”

On the coattails of Atticus Foxx is another man I don’t recognize, and behind him is the person I’d watched too closely for far longer than anyone ever should.

Brock Blackstone is nothing more than a swindler. A man who runs one of the largest auction house businesses in the US. He’s a curator, having developed a knack for getting people what they needed. The same way Christies or Sotheby’s auctions things, like antiquities and priceless jewelry to fine art and historical land markers, Blackstone Auctions does the same. But I discovered quickly that it’s Blackstone’s private auctions that are worth a little more attention.

I shake my head. “I would’ve flagged it.”

If I thought it through, Foxx Bourbon is the most sought-after brand of bourbon around the world. It isn’t surprising to see the head of that brand with someone like Blackstone. I just hadn’t prepared for it. That’s a problem. I should have. Their bourbon is auction-worthy. The reselling of rare bourbon ranges anywhere from a few hundred dollars over label pricing to somewhere north of ten, even twenty thousand. Blackstone Auctions holds auctions all over the world, but it’s the figurehead’s private auctions that are in the FBI’s crosshairs. What he procures for these auctions, and for whom, is what I’m supposed to find out. Cortez is tight-lipped about exactly what they’re looking for, just that they need any and all intel.

“If there had been any sign of a Foxx involved, Cortez, I wouldn’t be involved in this.” I push away from the bar and move farther away from where Blackstone and his small party have settled in. As much as it pissed me off, I’d made a deal. I needed to stay clear of the Foxx family if I was going to be back in Fiasco for any length of time. We had an agreement, and I was bending it by being here.

“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” Maggie asked in disbelief. It had only been a few weeks since I came back from the Police Academy over in Frankfort. Before then, I was away for my undergrad. I only traveled back home during breaks. It felt good to stretch my legs and have my own life away from home. But I missed being here. I knew she missed me, too, but she was busy with school now. The University of Kentucky kept her living at home, but she went out with friends when she wasn’t in class or studying. She would be okay without me here.

“I’m having second thoughts about what I really want to be doing, and I need to clear my head. I found an apartment, and I’m going to get some space from here.” I folded up the clothes in the laundry basket, trying to control my trembling hands. I felt sick having to lie to her. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted to keep my plans, but that wasn’t possible anymore. If I wanted everything to stay buried, and for Lincoln Foxx to keep his end of the agreement, then I needed to leave. I fucking hated him for making me leave like this.

“Faye,” Maggie said quietly. Her eyes watered as she watched me move around my room. If I stopped moving, I’d start crying, and I couldn’t do that right now. “Mom’s upset. She didn’t get out of bed for work, and I’m worried ... I think ? —”

But I cut her off. “I can’t—” I correct myself. “I’m allowed to change my mind, Maggie, about what I want to do for the rest of my life. And becoming a police officer sounded better than the reality of it.” I swallow down the way it hurt to say any of this. “Mom understands. Why can’t you?”

She widened her stance. “That’s what you’re sticking with then? You changed your mind about a career you’ve been talking about for the past decade of your life? Are you sure you have nothing else to tell me?”

I had made a choice, and I’d make it all over again if it meant protecting the people I love. And if that also meant I had to lie to my sister about it, then I would.