Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
He’s gorgeous.
Trying to keep my thoughts purely professional, my focus returns to his eyes. They’re mesmerizing, like he’s actually looking back at me. The whiskey color shines from the photo, and his half-smile makes me wonder what he’s like in person.
He looks like a celebrity. Important. He exudes power in his fitted black suit. On my shifts, I’ve never responded to a call that’s taken me anywhere near Club Greed. And I certainly haven’t been inside of the establishment.
Club Greed is like a fortress. Its own little city. You have to be a member to even step foot in the parking lot, and well, it’s not a place I’ve ever considered joining.
Although, I’m low-key kind of curious.
It’s rumored that many members of the Russian mob are members. Someone once claimed they saw Yuri Cheknov, alleged boss of the Russian syndicate here, driving away in a Maserati. This club is very elite, and I’m a clearance-aisle-at-Target kind of girl.
I place the photo down and Katherine catches me up to speed on how the girls were murdered only days apart from one another. I thumb through the case files of each woman as she speaks.
“And the killer leaves a calling card,” Katherine says.
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
“Each girl had the words ‘Say My Name’ scrawled in red lipstick across their chests.” She points to a picture of a deceased woman in another file with those words on her porcelain skin.
I fight back the gasp that travels up my throat. I mean, I’ve studied to be a detective, so this shouldn’t shock me, but it’s Saint Pierce, for heaven’s sake.
“These are the three women,” she continues. “Suzie Parks, Lindsey Jane, and Julie Landers. They each used stage names. Scarlett was the first discovered dead, followed by Strawberry, and this morning’s fatality is Ginger.”
My eyes roam over Ginger’s striking red hair and radiant smile.
“He’s the key,” Katherine says to the room, her finger pointing to the picture of Devereaux. “Club Greed is the one link we have to the three women right now.”
The room goes silent for a moment as all eyes home in on me.
“What do you think, Chloe? Can you handle this assignment?” Captain Adler asks.
My eyes return to the photo of the breathtakingly gorgeous man at the center of this investigation. I nod, steadfast in my determination to find out whether he’s a murderer. “Yes. I can, sir.”
“We have little intel about the club. All we know for sure is the victims worked there,” Katherine says.
“What exactly happens at the club?” I ask.
“Whatever they want,” Katherine says. When my brows shoot up, she quickly tries to reassure me this aspect of the job is safer than it seems. “You’ll be fine.”
I reign in my doubting expression and nod. “Yes, ma’am.” I don’t sound convincing, and she’s probably pegged me for a complete sexual noob. I am. I’ve been so busy working on my career that I’ve had little time for a social life.
Both of my failed relationships were mundane in the bedroom. I can’t imagine either of them being members in a club like this.
“You’re our only female option. They’d see right through me. I’m old, and you’re younger. You fit the stereotype of the girls who work there. And your long blonde hair and pretty green eyes certainly help.” She hands me a few files. “This is for you to study before your interview at Club Greed tomorrow.”
I swallow the ball of nerves threatening to choke me. “Tomorrow?”
She gives me a curt nod. “Yes. We’ve given you a fake last name and full backstory for you in your file. Memorize it. Breathe it. Live it.” Her expression changes to one of reassurance. “You’ll do fine.”
I gaze back at the picture of Devereaux Huxley, hoping she’s right.
I spent every free second and my entire morning studying every word of the files Katherine handed me yesterday. If they gave me an exam on Devereaux Huxley, I’d ace it. However, I fail at pulling off sexy.
I cock my head to the side, staring in the bathroom mirror at the absurd dark eyeliner sprawled out from the corner of my upper lid. Since I wanted my makeup to give off seductive vibes, I went where all professionals of their trade turn—YouTube. However, the smokey-eye tutorial I watched has me looking more like a twelve-year-old girl trying to be a punk rocker for Halloween than a sensuous woman who entertains wealthy men for a living.
“How am I ever going to pull off being a Greedy Girl?” I mutter.
I can’t leave the house like this, so with a wet wipe, I tone down the goofy eyeliner.
Pulling off sexy is hard AF. I followed the instructions on the eye tutorial to the T but my eyes look like someone punched me, or worse, that I’m impersonating a raccoon.