Page 17 of Taking What's Mine

Each footstep sends a thrill of anticipation through me. My lips still tingle from how close Lincoln and I were on the dance floor. I can’t focus on that now, though—this is the real deal. Devereaux is the owner, the man rumored to have shady connections, the man who was once suspected of being a serial killer, and he apparently knows about our interest in Rolfe.

Reaching the top, we find ourselves in a lavish corridor lined with plush carpeting and framed artwork that looks suspiciouslylike it belongs in a museum. The man in the charcoal suit leads us to a set of double doors, knocks once, then opens them. Inside is a private office, decked out in even more luxurious fashion than the main club below. Velvet sofas, low tables, an expensive chandelier shaped like swirling vines of glass.

A figure stands by the window, back turned, one hand resting on the windowpane that looks more ornamental than functional. He’s tall, wearing a crisp black suit. As we enter, he turns, a slow smile curving across his lips. His eyes move from Lincoln to me, and I feel pinned in place by the sheer weight of his attention.

“Welcome,” he says, voice a warm baritone that somehow conveys a subtle warning. “I’m Devereaux.”

Lincoln inclines his head. “I’m Lincoln Zane, and this is Isabel. We appreciate the invitation.”

Devereaux’s gaze lingers on me for a moment. “I couldn’t help but notice you two downstairs, asking about someone… special.”

“Morris Rolfe,” I say, stepping forward. My voice comes out more confident than I feel. “We heard he hosts parties here.”

Devereaux chuckles. “Indeed he does. And you want to attend, I assume?”

A spike of hope mingles with anxiety. “Yes,” Lincoln answers for us both. “We were told it’s invite-only.”

Devereaux nods, strolling to one of the velvet sofas and sitting gracefully. He gestures for us to join him. “I like to keep certain gatherings… exclusive. Rolfe is a valuable member. He has his own circle of friends and acquaintances.” Then Devereaux stares at me, almost like he’s studying me. “You look very familiar. What’s your last name?”

I blink, wondering if I should let him know I’m Dean’s sister. I know Dean knows him. It would be so simple to tell him of our connection and secure an invite instantly. However, I don’t want to clue Dean in on what we’re doing here.

He wouldn’t understand. At all. Overprotective brother vibe and all that.

I quickly shift, looking him directly in the eyes. “Zane.”

We move to the sofa across from him, my thigh brushing Lincoln’s as we settle. I notice the tension in Lincoln’s shoulders, the way he’s prepared to move at any second if things turn south.

“So,” Devereaux says, “I asked you up here because I take this club’s privacy seriously. A while back we had a rough time at people getting in and murdering my staff. I have many walks of life that are members here, and when a new couple comes in asking a lot of questions it makes me curious. I see my wife vouched for you. How do you know her?”

I swallow. Hard. “Through a friend of a friend. I don’t personally know your wife, but am good friends with somebody on the force.”

Devereaux smiles, but it never reaches his eyes. “Ah, I see. You both seem like a nice couple, but I’m not sure if Morris Rolfe’s parties are your type of pleasure.”

Lincoln clears his throat. “We’re exploring.”

Devereaux nods. “Right. So, Morris Rolfe is a good way to explore?”

My mind races. I recall the text message about a password: Angelus. But is it enough? “We want to do business with him,” I say carefully. “Word around town is he’s… resourceful.”

Devereaux’s lips twitch. “Resourceful indeed. And what sort of business would that be?”

I swallow, feeling Lincoln’s steady presence at my side. “Information,” I say, picking my words slowly. “We have certain… security needs that require someone with his talents.”

Devereaux studies me, then Lincoln. “And you think dropping by unannounced will endear you to him?”

“We hoped a password might help,” I say, heart pounding. “Angelus.”

The temperature in the room seems to shift. Devereaux’s eyebrows lift, and he tilts his head. Then, unexpectedly, he bursts into a laugh—low and rich, like he finds the whole thing amusing. “So you do have friends in high places.”

I clamp my hands together in my lap to keep them from trembling. “We know people,” I manage.

Devereaux’s laughter fades, replaced by a contemplative expression. “Very well. I’ll see to it that Rolfe hears of your interest. If he wishes, you’ll get your invite.”

Lincoln’s shoulders relax a fraction. “Thank you.”

Devereaux waves a hand. “Don’t thank me yet. Morris is… particular. He might not trust you right away. You’ll have to prove yourselves worthy. Until then, enjoy my club, spend money, indulge a bit.” He flashes a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s what Club Greed is for, after all.”

I try to keep my breathing steady as we stand. We exchange polite farewells, and Devereaux’s man in the charcoal suit shows us out. My mind reels—this is a major breakthrough, but it alsoputs us squarely on Rolfe’s radar. We won’t be able to sneak up on him so easily now.

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