Chapter 2: A Trip Down Memory Lane

Coffee and pie. Deke remembered their early days, when they kept a bottle from storage for themselves. They'd hole up at someone's house and sleep off the drunk the next day. That had gotten old. Even if none of them were married, they acted like old married people anyway, never partying until the wee hours of the morning anymore.

Trent shook his head. "Not me."

Pete looked at Deke, who frowned. "I think I'm going to fall into bed. I was up early."

"Yeah?" Pete said. "What was her name?"

Deke's bed had been decidedly empty last night. He hadn't even gone to the local bar for a beer after dinner. Instead, he'd put himself in front of a screen to find a reason for his restlessness. Something was going on in the world, and he was sensing it. He'd been tired and having vivid dreams for days. The internet had only provided conspiracy theories of a one-world government, controlling everything. It made sense, but he wasn't prone to being that suspicious—not that he'd admit his fascination for internet conspiracy theories to his colleagues; they'd probably laugh at him. Having been a Marine sniper, he knew how the world worked. It just didn't work how he would have liked. If it did, then Brenda wouldn't have betrayed him, and they'd have those kids they'd dreamed about on those hot desert nights they'd spent together. He shuddered at the near-miss of the wreck his life could have been if he hadn't discovered her duplicity before he left the Marine Corps and committed his life to her.

"A Marine doesn't kiss and tell," Deke said.

"Yeah, right. Question everything—and I'm questioning if anyone was in your bed last night," Trent said.

Deke just shrugged as he rode down in the freight elevator with his buddies. They were finding it harder and harder to procure buildings with freight elevators that went to the roof. Maybe the next one would be on the top floor of a building, instead of the roof. As gargoyles, they all understood the advantages of being at the highest point. Those instincts had served them well in their military days.

The elevator doors opened to several women, milling about the street. Kel Holloway stood in the back of the truck, waiting for them to bring down the chairs. He had a presence about him that probably made the women stay away. He stood six-feet tall and almost as wide—and all of it muscle. His lips formed a grin line.

Looking around, Deke realized if wanted to bring a woman home, he'd have his pick. They loaded the chairs. Kel closed the truck door, then locked it. He handed the keys to Trent, who would bring the truck to the garage they rented.

"Well, gentleman, that is a wrap," Trent said, before climbing into the vehicle and driving it away. Kel, Pete, and their other partner, Ben, all walked in different directions.

As if sensing Deke was the only one who would take them home, the women inched a little closer. He wished he was scarier looking or could give off that "stay-away" vibe like Kel. Any time he'd been on assignment as an intelligence operative in the Marines, he'd been plagued by his animal magnetism. He'd cut that career short to go back to being a sniper. A man who carried a large weapon and could shoot you from half a mile away wasn't nearly as attractive—except to Brenda. But he wasn't going to think about her anymore.

Deke stared at the women. Only one of them had the guts to come right up to him. She was a pretty little thing, but she'd most likely still been in diapers when he'd been killing people halfway around the world.

He sighed.

"Hi," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Classic mating-ritual maneuver. Too bad he had decided he wasn't interested—no matter how pretty or enticing she was. No, he was going home to an empty bed tonight. He'd listen to his mother's advice and leave room for something better than a one-night stand. Since not listening to his mother's advice had gotten him nowhere, maybe now was the time to start.

Whatever was changing in the world, he was going to adapt.

Deke put up his hands. "Not tonight." He brushed past her to make sure she understood his words.

"No? Not even if I tell you what I can do to you?"

His body didn't even stir. Nope. Maybe his time of mindless sex was over. He was a man who wanted more out of life. He turned back to her. "It doesn't matter, honey. Go home. Find a nice guy your own age."

She frowned. "But I like older men."

"Then, go talk to a shrink about your daddy issues."

***

Whitney hadn't tracked down Agostina that night, but she'd gotten the woman's phone number the next day. That was almost as good. She sat in her cubicle debating whether she needed to make this call in a more private place. Making a snap decision, she walked to the nearby park and dialed the woman's number.

She didn't expect Agostina to answer, but she did. "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Agostina Reynolds?"

"Yes. Who is this?" she said warily.

"This is Whitney Lewis of The Sentinel."

"You write the articles on the society page?"

At least the woman was familiar with her work. At least someone read her articles. "Yes, I do."

"What can I do for you?" The wariness was gone. This wasn't some naïve woman. She knew Whitney would want something from this. Agostina Reynolds was all about the publicity, wasn't she? That could be used to Whitney's advantage. She had a bargaining tool.

The sun warmed her face as she adjusted her earbud. "Well, I heard from a good source that you know about a pop-up nightclub. I believe the name is Grotesque."

"Where did you hear this?"

"Let's just say it was a conversation in a bathroom."

There was silence on the other end. Whitney waited. A squirrel scampered by, eventually climbing into a nearby tree. Whitney stretched out her legs on the park bench. She could outwait anyone.

"Well, you heard wrong," Agostina finally said.

Whitney's heart sank. "I just want to get on the guest list. I can't find out anything about them, and you're my last hope."