Page 15 of Brother's Keeper

The idea of the guestbook lingered in my mind. I needed to get my hands on it before the stubborn investigator came back here with a search warrant and turned the place inside out. How I could grab it without Holland’s notice remained a question until a flash of light shot through the windows behind me.

Holland and I turned simultaneously toward the source. Outside, sun beamed off the windshield of a second patrol car rolling to the curb. The sedan’s doors swung open, and Felix and Tobin stepped out.

Holland sighed loudly. “No need for them to be here. It’s a dead end for now. Come on—” she slid her sunglasses onto her nose—“let’s break the news.”

“Go ahead,” I replied. “I gotta take a leak. You think this place has a public bathroom?”

She shrugged before exiting to meet the other investigators on the sidewalk.

I barely waited for the door to close behind herbefore I darted to the back of the room. The long, low counter supported an antique cash register with modern credit card equipment, a rotary dial phone, and a tablet for internet access. The solid wood front faced the service side of the room while the back was comprised of shelves and a few drawers that stored office supplies like printer paper, pens, a phone book, and more.

Ducking down so I wouldn’t be seen by the trio outside, I searched for the leatherbound guestbook. It wasn’t in plain sight, which left my focus drifting until I noticed the topmost drawer was outfitted with a lock.

I crept over to it. Pressing my thumb beside the keyhole helped guide my thoughts to the mechanism inside. Within seconds, the inner tumblers turned. Not a great accomplishment—I could have picked it with a paperclip almost as fast—but it was satisfying, nonetheless.

Footsteps thumped on the upper level. Someone strolled the hallway overhead. I paused with my hand on the drawer pull and my ears tuned to the movement to ensure the unseen someone wasn’t headed my way. A distant door opened and shut, then quiet fell again. I expelled a held breath and yanked the counter drawer open. A short, wide book trimmed in black and gold rested atop a pile of miscellany.

I grabbed it and set it on the floor before my bent knees. After a moment’s deliberation, I opened it and counted back to the date I needed. Skimming down the rows of signatures yielded the name I searched for.

Frederick Sumner had decent handwriting, legible enough I easily picked him from the list. Around it, adozen other people had checked in, including me. The sloppy scrawl of F. Farrow stood out in bold, black ink. Grabbing the top corner of the page, I tore it from the book’s binding as the front door swung open and shut.

“Son of a bitch,” I hissed.

The book snapped closed, then coasted on a whim to land inside the drawer I mentally slid shut. The torn page remained in my hand, and I wadded and stuffed it into my suit coat pocket before standing to face the intruder on the other side of the counter.

Felix’s head cocked in suspicion as he stared at me. His golden eyes swept up and down, but he was too late to catch me in the act.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Looking for evidence.”

He frowned. “Whatever you found would be inadmissible in court. Illegally obtained evidence—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I waved him off and moved quickly around the counter while his voice chased me.

“We don’t do that. It’s dirty cop stuff.”

A backward glance found him genuinely distraught, as though he’d expected better. I scoffed to myself.

Fighting dirty and fighting to win often looked the same. You would think the investigators would be tired enough of being on the losing side of the war against the Hex that they’d be willing to bend the rules. But Felix could keep his moral superiority because there was no “illegally obtained evidence” to be had. The missing page from Isha’s guestbook would be reduced to a pile of ash as soon as I had a moment’s peace.

“Come on,” I called to him on my way to the door. “Nothing else to see.”

Nothing to see, perhaps, but we both stopped in our tracks when we heard a chilling sound from above: a scream.

Bolting past the investigator, I raced up the stairs. The cry I’d heard was not the kind spurred by the throes of passion. It was a sound born of fear. Or pain.

Felix began his ascent as I arrived on the upper level. Doors lined one wall, each corresponding to a separate bedroom. It wasn’t unheard of for the girls to host clients overnight or take callers this early in the day, but it was unusual. Pleasure was most commonly bought and sold after business hours.

I’d been too far away to accurately guess the location of the sound, but some of the sleuthing was done for me as doors opened and women poked their heads out. I looked to the end of the hall and the door of Isha’s suite. I was ready to fling it wide at range when it swung in and Isha emerged, looking as alarmed as the rest of them. Only one door remained shut, and it was familiar to me. BDSM Liv’s bondage dungeon was closed up tight.

Felix crested the steps, nearly crashing into me.

“Don’t worry, ladies!” he called. “We’re here to help!”

Down the hall, Isha’s expression turned violent. Her shout halted my approach. “Fitch, get that cop out of here! We can handle our own business, and no, we won’t be pressing charges.”

She reached Liv’s door and pounded her fist against it. The thundering sound seemed to echo in my ears.

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