Chapter 4

I should probably warnyou now: somebody dies at the end of this story. I'll ease your mind a little and let you know it ain't me, otherwise how else could I be telling this tale. But somebody dies. There will even be tears. The mystery for you is… who?

I didn't plan on running into Holden Hart ever again. Sure, I'd have loved to shove him up against a wall, yank his trousers down, drop to my knees, and lick out his tight ass till it was wet enough for me to ram my cock inside him as deep as it would go. But Hart was everything I'm not. And although my heart skipped an unexplained beat every time he chanced across my mind, my heavy-handed sense of denial kicked in and put me in my place, shoving thoughts of Hart out of my head almost as soon as they'd appeared. And hell, wasn't I grateful for that. Otherwise, how else was I going to get my job done?

"Mr. Baxter?"

The voice came from behind me.

I was on my way home from the Velvet Viper. The sun had risen as I stepped out of that slithery den and laid long golden slabs along the streets of Wilde City running from east to west. It had risen quickly by the time I strolled past Wilde City Tower, which was when I heard my name called. I turned to discover Holden Hart stepping from his Lincoln limo. Lucy held the door open for him while Lois sat behind the wheel. Or maybe it was the other way around. Hart smiled, stepped up to me, and shook my hand. Did I smell like precum? The curious ripple that swept across his forehead told me perhaps he'd picked up the scent. But he hid all other indications.

"How's the hand?" he asked. Still locked in our shake, he raised my hand to inspect. "Be good as new in a day or two. You're out early."

"Been on the job," I told him.

"I still haven't asked what you do."

"Well, when you do, I'll tell you."

Hart laughed good-naturedly. It wasn't really meant to be a joke, but he turned the comment into something light instead of being offended by my abrupt ways. Nice trait.

"You're something of an enigma, Mr. Baxter," he said with a smile.

I smiled back, a little outta character for me, but I couldn't help it. The man was growing on me even more. "I get the same feeling about you."

"I know you baulked at an invitation to my launch party on Saturday, but would you reconsider? I really would enjoy your company. Do you have a bow tie?"

"No, I don't." I realized too late that, in answering, I'd inadvertently accepted his invitation. I felt my cheeks redden. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened. What was it about this man that stripped me bare, made me blush, and triggered emotions I hadn't given a damn about for as long as I could remember?

"That's all right. I'll see to it Lois has one ready for you on the evening. In the meantime…" He looked up just as the morning sky was filled with a loud drone. A huge shadow consumed the skyscrapers moments before a giant airship blocked out the sun and floated toward the spire of Wilde City Tower. "If you'll excuse me, my father is here in town for a champagne brunch up at the Rainbow Palace to launch his new fleet of airships. I must get going. I look forward to seeing you Saturday night."

He turned and headed for the enormous revolving brass and glass doors leading into the tower lobby, followed closely behind by Lucy and Lois.

I watched him spin through the doors and disappear. I started to walk away, my heart beating faster than it should have been. Then something stopped me. Something possessed me. I needed to know more. I needed to know why Holden Hart suddenly had a hold on my heart. I craned my neck and gazed up at the colossal airship now docking onto the spire of the tower far above, lines securing the ship to the building, a gangplank extending down from the passenger compartment of the airship to the walkway encircling the spire.

Passengers began to disembark the ship on their way down to the Rainbow Palace.

All I wanted to do at that moment was make my way up to it.

Casually slipping through the revolving doors leading into the lobby of Wilde City Tower was easy. Slipping past the guards attending the elevators and checking invites to the Hart Air and Shipping Industries brunch on the eightiethfloor of the building was not such a cinch. As I walked toward them, my now-scruffy rags caught a suspicious glance from the baboon on the left, and I immediately aborted any plan to try to schmooze my way into the elevator, instead heading straight for the fire escape.

Walking up eighty flights of stairs might have seemed like a good idea at the time… till I reached the fortieth floor. By the fiftieth floor, my legs were on fire. By thesixtieth floor, I wondered how an old coot like Moses managed to climb a whole damn mountain lugging ten commandments chiseled on stone slabs, and I told myself, hell, if he can do it, so can I! By theseventieth floor, I realized a little deliriously that Moses went down the mountain with the stone tablets, not up, and I kinda hated the Bible even more. By theeightieth floor, I simply collapsed to the floor in a pool of my own sweat and waited until I caught my breath, hoping nobody would rush onto the fire escape, slip in my pool of sweat, and tumble all the way down the eighty floors of stairs I just climbed—

—which thankfully didn't happen.

Instead, I just sat there on the top stair, my back against the wall and my chest heaving, till I finally stood and realized how truly drenched my clothes were with sweat.

"Pssst."

I was hiding behind a rack of dishes, and the waiter whose attention I was trying to grab was, from this distance, pretty much the same height and build as me. He turned when he heard me, one eyebrow raised.

"Can I help you?"

"More like, can I help you," I said. "How much do you earn an hour?"

"A dime. Plus tips. And the tips in this joint ain't bad, I gotta tell ya—"

I slapped some cash in his hand. "Here's three bucks for you to scram and give me your waiter's uniform."

The guy started stripping off almost before I finished my sentence.

Two minutes later, I waltzed into the room with a tray of glasses filled with bubbling champagne in my right hand and a linen napkin folded over my left forearm. The band was playing, the guests were laughing and mingling, and the drinks were flowing freely. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows atop the tower, I observed the airship still docked to the building, the last of its passengers descending the gangplank before swanning into the Rainbow Palace, the gentlemen adjusting their bow ties, the ladies aglitter with their diamonds and aflutter with their feather boas.

"What the hell are you doin' here, Buck?" The question came from my own mumbling lips as I spotted Hart across the room, as dashing as ever. But here I was, some stupid gumshoe disguised as a waiter just itching to know more about him, to get another glimpse. What was I? Seven years old?

Suddenly, the band stopped, and the whole room turned toward the entrance from the airship gateway at an announcement that echoed through the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your hosts for this morning's celebrations… Mr. and Mrs. Howard Hart."

Applause erupted as a handsome older gentleman with silver hair escorted his elegantly dressed wife into the room. With all the adulation and attention, it was like a mirror version of Holden Hart's entrance into his club the night before. Yet as I glanced in Holden's direction, I couldn't help but notice he was the last to clap at his parents' grand entry. And to this private dick, the smile that accompanied Holden's applause was a well-practiced one, but lacked any genuine affection.

As Howard Hart and his wife took center stage on the dance floor to nod their thanks to the crowd, Howard took a glass of champagne from a bowing waiter and addressed his guests.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us on this exciting and auspicious occasion. Hart Industries has, for the last decade, taken you across land and water. The Hart Express was the first to lay its train tracks from east to west via every major city in the nation, taking you cross-country in first-class comfort. Our ocean liners were the first to take you south for some tropical thrills, or north to some ice-capped chills, in splendor and elegance. Now, my wife Crystal and I are pleased to launch a brand new fleet. One that will take you from one continent to another in luxury and grandeur, with a view of the world like no other you've experienced before. Please raise your glasses to Hart Industries" all-new armada of airships, to transport the rich and famous across the globe in my own Zephyr Fleet!"

As Howard Hart raised his champagne glass, the room erupted in cheers and ribbons of white streamers shot into the air and cascaded in curly rockets through the crowd. The band burst into life once more, sending everyone onto the dance floor. A deluge of dames and dappers descended on me, clutching glasses of champagne from my tray, spilling it down my white jacket and across the floor. They didn't care.

Except one person.

"Sorry, old chap, didn't mean to splash you. But I need a drink."

He said it before I saw him… or he saw me. But as soon as the words left his lips, we both looked up and our eyes met.

"Mr. Baxter?" Holden Hart asked before eyeing me up and down in my waiter's uniform. "Is this what you do? You're a waiter?"

The tone in his voice was not judgmental. It was not condescending or holier than thou. In fact, if anything, he said it with excitement. And maybe a little joyous envy.

"Not quite. To be honest, I ain't sure how to explain this one."

Hart smiled. "You don't have to explain anything. To be perfectly honest, I'm happy to see you." He downed a huge gulp of champagne.

"I kinda get the feeling you're not that happy to see your dad. Am I wrong?"

His first response to that was to polish off that champagne in one fell swoop. "Perhaps that's a conversation for later. Right now, all I wanna do is—"

He gripped my left forearm, scrunching the napkin in his fist. Goddammit, at that moment, I wished that napkin wasn't there at all. Nor the sleeve of my jacket. Or shirt. I just wanted his fist wrapped around my skin. So bad.

"Ladies and gentlemen," came another announcement from the floor, again from Howard Hart. "May I introduce you to my proudest achievement, my son, and heir to the Hart Industries empire… Holden Hart."

Holden let go of my arm… reluctantly, from the slow slip of his fingers. He placed the empty glass on my tray and took a fresh one. "Next drink we have, hopefully I'll be serving you," he whispered with a wink before turning to the applauding crowd and waving with a smile.

The first thing I wanted to do right there and then was get the hell outta there. I wanted to kick myself for being there in the first place. I wanted to punch a wall, hurl a chair, then beat off to a mix of frenzied emotions.

The second thing I wanted to do was stay, let my shoes glue themselves to the floor while I watched Holden Hart speak, while the sound of his eloquent, confident voice turned my cock hard and my legs weak.

But what I did do at that moment, as Holden took the floor and began to speak—

—was drop my tray.

Just as Holden Hart quelled the crowd and greeted his audience with a gracious, "Ladies and gentlemen, please, I'm not the kind of man who's used to applause as a greeting—"

—that's when some louse backed into me, sending my tray and glasses to the floor with an almighty smash!

As the entire crowd turned to stare at me, Holden quickly won everyone's attention back by joking, "But that kind of greeting, the sound of champagne glasses hitting the floor, I'm more than used to that!" Everybody laughed before Holden raised his glass and everyone in the room but the waiters followed suit. "To my father. The future of transport not only in this nation, but the world."

The crowd cheered once more.

Arms went up in the air with glasses held high.

At the same time, I ducked low, scurrying across the floor, ditching the tray and napkin at the waiter's station before pushing my way out into the stairwell exit.

There I untied the waiter's bow tie, which was choking me, and realized I had a new mystery to solve: What the hell was my obsession with Holden Hart?