Page 131 of Double Down
Suddenly hungry, I eat quickly so we can leave.
The spa feels like an entirely different building. The second I cross into the area, we’re surrounded with fake serenity.
White stone walls, minimalist furniture, trickling waterfalls, and music that’s supposed to lull you into peace but only makes me want to grind my teeth.
Everything is clean, perfect, controlled. Which means everything here is also a lie.
The manager is waiting in the lobby, middle-aged and lacquered in composure that doesn’t quite hold. Her smile is stretched so tight the tendons in her neck say what her mouth won’t. She’s polished—glass-smooth skin that screams diligent serums and peels, a neat chignon, navy sheath, low heels—but her fingers worry the edge of a tablet, betraying nerves. “Mr. Masterson,” she says to Conrad, voice pitched pleasant, “gentlemen. I didn’t expect?—”
“That’s the point of surprise inspections,” Conrad interrupts smoothly, tilting his head in the direction of her office. “I was hoping to have a chat about your vendors?”
Her eyes flash, just for a second, before she pastes the smile in paste and follows him.
I start to follow and then hesitate, awareness filtering in. Of course, Conrad is going to peel her away with talk of contracts and supplies.
It’s the perfect distraction. The staff wouldn’t be as forthcoming if she were around.
Storm and Maverick slip down the hallway toward the treatment rooms, already blending with staff. Atticus disappears into a side corridor, no doubt aiming for the surveillance feeds. Which leaves me exactly where I want and need to be: the front desk.
The receptionist is young, maybe early twenties, with dark circles under her eyes and a quick, nervous smile. She glances at me, then at the hallway where her manager just vanished.
Relief floods her face, as though she’s been waiting for someone, anyone, who isn’t that woman.
I lean against the counter, casual but close. “Morning. I’m Phoenix.”
Her shoulders sag a little. “Hi. Rachel.”
“Busy day already?”
She huffs out a humorless laugh. “Always.”
We let the silence stretch just long enough for the music and water sounds to fill in the gaps. Then, I tilt my head and lower my voice. “I’ll cut straight to the chase. I know there’s a regular menu here. And then there’s the…other menu.”
Her eyes widen, darting toward the office. “I don’t?—”
“You do.” I keep my voice soft, steady. “Look, I’m not here to trap you. I’m here to stop people from getting hurt. And people are getting hurt.”
For a moment I think she’s going to deny it again. Then her lips press into a thin line and she leans closer. “Mr. Carrow isn’t here to scream at me and fire me?”
The girl is practically shaking as she shoots terrified looks at where Storm wandered off to.
I grab her hand to calm her. “No, we just need you to be honest with us.”
She looks at me for a long moment then nods. “She calls it premium aftercare. Injections, antiwrinkle shit, lip boosts, weight loss shots. She is even talking about doing the fat dissolving shots soon. None of it is on the books.”
My chest goes cold. “Where’s it coming from?”
The receptionist bites her lip. “Some guy. He comes in through the back hall with a bag. Most of the clients have eye masks on when he is here. She says it’s ‘sensory relaxation.’ But it’s because he doesn’t look like a doctor. He does all of it, and then he sneaks out. In and out before anyone notices.”
I glance at the waterfall, at the calming music, at the pristine perfection of the spa. And I want to set it all on fire.
“How often?” I ask.
“A couple of times a week. More since…” She hesitates. “Since the senator’s wife.”
Of course. Mrs. Langford.
“Did you see his face?”
