Forever Hidden (Forever Bluegrass #2) (21 page)

“See, over there. That’s not even his wife. She’s a hooker, and a cheap one at that. But what do you expect from someone whose daddy had to cover up a rape charge when he was a juvenile?” the wife whispered loud enough for Deacon and the man he was talking with to hear.

“Is that true?” Deacon asked the husband.

He tossed back his drink and nodded. “He’s friends with that Swiss banker’s asshole son. What’s his name? Bischoff. Entitled doesn’t even begin to describe those two. That jerk over there slapped my wife’s ass. She's a damn senior member of Congress, and the party leader yelled at her for filing an internal complaint against him. They forced her to drop it. His daddy donates too much money to the party. Oh, excuse me. I see my wife signaling me.”

Deacon watched the dirty junior congressman slip his hand up the slit of his date’s dress in front of everyone. Zain came to stand by his side as they watched the spectacle. “His name is Sebastian Oliver. Let’s head that way and stop at the bar to have a little guy talk,” Zain winked.

Deacon casually poured his drink into the potted plant and headed toward the bar. He slammed his empty glass on the bar top. “Bourbon. The good stuff this time,” Deacon ordered as he saw Sebastian take notice from the corner of his eye. “Zain, come on, man, you’re a freaking prince, and I have more money than most countries. Why,” Deacon groaned, “are we stuck at these parties? I want some action.” He elbowed Zain and sent him a wink. “You know the kind I’m talking about.”

Zain let out a sigh. “This is the last one I have to show my face at to appease
His Highness
. We’ll be rewarded at Barrett’s party soon enough. I hope he found some good entertainment this time.”

Deacon ignored Sebastian as the man stumbled over toward them. “Hey, you know Barrett Bischoff?”

“Yeah, who are you?” Zain asked with such royal indifference that Deacon nearly laughed.

“Sebastian Oliver,” he said cockily.

Deacon couldn’t help himself as he looked at the short man, slightly bloated from alcohol abuse. “Who?”

Sebastian turned red. “I’m a congressman. My father is Kurt Oliver, the actor.”

“Oh. So you’re friends with Barrett?” Zain asked with a hint of disbelief.

“Barrett’s my man.” Sebastian grinned. “We party together all the time. But I haven’t seen you there, Zain.”

Deacon bit back his grin. Sebastian obviously knew the power players in the room. No introductions were necessary as Sebastian rattled on, trying to prove he ran with the party crowd.

“You wouldn’t. I only go to select private parties. The last one I went to in Abu Dhabi was a disappointment, though. The women,” Zain shook his head, “just weren’t up to my standards. I hope tonight is different.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Sebastian crowed. “He hired a modeling scout to find him some new girls.”

“I wonder how the scout found them. It was probably some guy he found online,” Deacon snorted.

Sebastian shook his head. “No. Vic works with Tristan Models. They’re like, famous.” Sebastian lowered his voice. “And he even has an inside track in the industry helping line these girls up. It’s how they can find the best of the up-and-coming models.”

Deacon smirked. “I guess we’ll find out tonight, huh, boys?”

“Cheers to that,” Zain said with a smile as Sebastian fed on being included. “Crap. Dean, we have to go. I have one more job to do before Barrett’s party.”

“You have to go?” Sebastian all but whined. “What do you have to do?”

“A friend of mine is a model, and she needs me on her arm. You know, to get even more attention. Luckily, I can ditch her after a couple of parties,” Zain explained as Deacon held his tongue.

“Why would you want to ditch a model?” Sebastian asked.

“She’s one of those women who thinks she’s equal. Dumb blond just doesn’t know when to shut her mouth and put it to better use. Like I told Barrett, tonight I’m just looking to unwind.”

Sebastian nodded his head. “I’ll catch up with you soon and see you two there.”

Deacon and Zain casually said their goodbyes and headed out of the party hotel. As soon as they left the room, security swarmed them and they made their way to the car.

“I’m calling our FBI contact to let them know it’s definitely Barrett’s party. I wish Barrett would send the freaking location, though,” Zain said as he pulled out his phone.

“I guess we can tell Sydney she doesn’t have to come out of retirement,” Zain said after hanging up.

Deacon shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. Sebastian said Vic used people inside the industry to find these girls. We know we can find Bailey and take down Vic, but I want to bring the whole operation down.”

“So, we can cross off the nonfashion industry parties and focus on who has connections to Tristan Models and, more importantly, to Vic,” Zain said.

Deacon watched the cityscape and lights pass by as he pulled at the strings in his mind. It still came back to who had told Vic that Sydney was asking questions about him. The answer had to rest with Patrick Mawler or Teddy Brown.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sydney looked in the mirror. All that was left was her great-grandmother’s lipstick. Sydney had grabbed one from the house and now opened the package and pulled out the black lacquered tube. The door to the suite opened, and she heard Deacon’s and Zain’s familiar deep voices.

“Syd, are you about ready?” Deacon called out.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Sydney said from behind the closed bathroom door. She twisted the tube of bright red lipstick and took her time tracing it along her lips. The color was sexy and made her think of a seductress biting her lip as she looked at her lover. It was a powerful color that emboldened her as she settled the hat on her head.

The tight laser-cut white lace highlighted all her curves and gave peeks at the skin beneath. The bright red lips demanded attention and the hat hid her eyes mysteriously. Sydney opened a large, rectangular box and pulled out the black leather over-the-knee boots her designer friend had shipped to her. She slid her legs into the supple leather, loving the embellishment of stitching around the heel and knee. Her skirt stopped at her upper thigh and the band of silky skin across her mid-thighs drew the eyes downward to complete the picture she presented.

Sydney took a deep breath and stood up. Tonight her body was the distraction. Under the cover of her hat, she would be taking in every detail, every person, and she would help bring down anyone participating in this trafficking ring.

Sydney opened the bathroom door, and for the first time in a long time, was nervous about how she looked. She wasn’t eighteen anymore, and the only person whose opinion she cared about was standing across the room talking to one of her best friends. The guys had changed from their tuxes to jeans and fitted shirts that showed off their chests and flat stomachs.

“I’m ready,” Sydney said softly as she watched Deacon and Zain turn to look at her. Zain grinned, but Deacon just stared, his brow creasing and his lips turning into a frown.

“Is something the matter?” Sydney asked self-consciously.

Deacon shook his head. “I’m trying to decide if I’m in heaven or hell. Heaven, because I’m lucky enough to have you as my girlfriend. I still don’t know how that happened, by the way. It's hell because I’m going to sit back and watch as other men drool over you all night long. It’s going to be torture keeping my hands to myself. You’re simply stunning. An elegant, sexy, classy seductress.”

Sydney smiled, embarrassed that Zain overheard Deacon’s praise as Deacon stepped forward to kiss her cheek. “I’ll just think of it as foreplay. And tonight, when we’re finally alone . . . well, I’ll just let you think about that every time you see me tonight,” Deacon whispered in her ear before stepping back and giving her body a slow once-over.

“You don’t happen to be armed under there, do you?” Deacon asked.

Sydney laughed. “Where would I put a weapon? Besides, we are going to be going through security, aren’t we?”

Deacon shook his head. “I have just the thing.” He hurried over to his bag and pulled out what looked like a large tube of lipstick.

“What’s that?” Sydney asked as he handed her the red tube.

“A stun gun. Just take off the top and press that button. It’s all charged and ready to go.” Deacon showed her. “You can put it in your purse and most security wouldn’t think about asking a model about an extra tube of lipstick.”

Sydney pressed the button and saw the volts of electricity dance at the end of it. She knew she would be surrounded by Zain’s security, but she felt better having something she could rely on. She unzipped her boot and slid the tube into the top of it. “Thank you. So, are we ready to do this?”

“That’s my cue to leave. I’ll meet you at the second party. Zain can fill you in on all the details, but we learned some fashion insider is feeding Vic the names of up-and-coming models. There’s a good chance Bailey will be at the party tonight. Now, be safe. Let us know if anything seems off, okay?” Deacon ordered.

“Okay. But I feel I might not be the most help. You two are the ones who are going into the nest, so I want you both to promise to be careful, too,” Sydney said, pinning both the men with a look until they agreed.

“Love you,” Deacon said before kissing her on her cheek once more.

“Love you, too,” Sydney said softly as she watched Deacon stride out the door.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute?” Zain teased.

“Don’t make me test my stun gun,” Sydney said as she pulled a black fitted jacket from the closet and slipped it on.

Zain gave her an elegant bow that made her laugh before holding out his arm to her. “Your prince awaits.”

Sydney slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Then let’s do this.”

The limo pulled to a stop at the VIP entrance of the stadium. Fans mixed with athletes and celebrities as journalists snapped pictures and asked questions. Sydney saw the heaters lining the red carpet and unbuttoned her jacket.

“You ready for this?” Zain asked with an encouraging smile.

“Of course,” Sydney said with more determination than she actually felt.

Zain’s security surrounded the door before it was opened. He slid out first and waved before turning and holding his hand to help Sydney out of the limo. The old trick of getting out of a car while wearing a short skirt and a ready smile instantly came back. The poses that were made to look like natural movements designed to get the best photos were like riding a bike. With Zain’s hand at the small of her back, Sydney smiled, posed, and worked her way along the red carpet.

“Sydney, are you back?” a reporter yelled.

Sydney smiled mysteriously and stopped in front of him. “I didn’t think I had gone anywhere. I’ve been busy putting my clothes on catwalks instead of myself, that’s all.” She laughed before moving to the next reporter.

“Are you and Prince Ali Rahman dating?” was shouted from multiple directions.

Zain smiled down at Sydney and expertly laid out the standard "We’re just friends," line and added a wink to it that left the reporters with neither a confirmation nor a denial.

“Sydney, over here!” A woman waved and Sydney recognized the name of the most popular magazine on the woman’s press pass.

“This is the last one,” Sydney said to Zain without moving her lips—a talent you have to perfect if you walk enough red carpets. She and Zain stepped forward and allowed the cameraman to snap off a series of photographs.

“It’s wonderful to see you’re out of retirement,” the woman led off.

Sydney smiled. “Well, I don’t know if you would say I’m out of retirement. I’m just here to enjoy what I hope to be a good football game.”

“Is this one of your creations?”

Sydney smiled and slipped out of her jacket to give the photographer a chance to snap her dress at all angles. “It is, thank you for asking. But now I am freezing, so we’re going to head inside. Thank you so much for your questions, though.”

Zain expertly slid her jacket back on as they walked the rest of the way into the stadium where they were met with a tour guide. Sydney kept her eyes out for people she knew as the guide drove them on a golf cart to the football field for the pregame show. It was another formality that they had to go through to blend in. They signed footballs, took pictures with fans, and shook hands with other celebrities and athletes before they were finally guided back inside.

“There’s a row of suites and conference rooms hosting the parties you expressed interest in. The first couple are right next to each other,” the guide explained as he drove them through the underbelly of the stadium to the elevators.

The doors opened on their floor, and a smiling hostess was there to greet them and direct them to the parties. Sydney looked around and saw the line of swag, posters, and photo ops lining the hallway for the different magazines, businesses, and sports channels.

“Okay, this is the first party where Patrick appears,” Zain whispered as they walked in right behind a well-known actor.

Sydney pasted on her smile as she took in the room. “I see him. Ready for a show?”

“What do we do first?” Zain whispered as he sent a wink to a singer eyeing him from across the room.

“Get all the people staring at us to pose for pictures in the photo booth over there. It’s hooked up to social media.” Sydney did the fake surprised gasp as she saw some acquaintances. Once she made eye contact, they were swamped. Rappers, athletes, and even a few actors rushed over.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Syd cried as she hugged some former models who had done nothing but backstab her during her entire career. “Selfie!” And that was all it took to get everyone into the photo booth.

As Sydney tumbled out a couple minutes later with a grinning Zain, she saw that she had gotten Patrick’s attention. “Why are you grinning like that?” she asked Zain as she pretended not to notice Patrick walking her way.

“Because your old competition got jealous and tried to give your fake boyfriend a thrill in the photo booth. Remind me to be your date more often.”

Sydney rolled her eyes before Patrick got to them. “Amazing, just amazing. I have to shoot you right now,” Patrick gushed in his overly eager artistic way. “And while I do, I’m going to yell at you for not telling me you were coming!”

“Patrick! I was hoping you’d be here. Do you know Zain Ali Rahman?” Sydney introduced them as a feeling of guilt and worry turned her stomach. Patrick was a friend, and she felt horrible thinking he could be part of this. But if he actually was . . . well, that feeling was even worse.

“So, you like my design then?” Sydney laughed as Patrick turned his attention back to her.

“Love. Love. Love. They set up a black room and a white room for me to take pictures for a huge spread in their magazine. You have to let me shoot you. You think your man candy can fend for himself for a minute?” Patrick asked as he shot Zain a wink.

“I’m kind of insulted I won’t make it into your photo spread. I guess I’ll console myself with that hot brunette over there.” Zain shot them a half smile before ambling away while Sydney rolled her eyes at him.

“There is so much we have to get caught up on,” Patrick gushed as he took her arm and led her to the attached room being used for photo shoots. Sydney saw two of Zain’s guards discreetly take up position on either side of the door. “So, you think you still have it?” Patrick goaded as he pointed her to the black backdrop.

“I don’t know. I may have forgotten everything in my old age,” Sydney quipped as she posed for shot after shot.

“I know, you’re almost like, thirty. But the camera still loves you. Here, look at these.” Patrick came to Sydney and handed her the camera before dropping his voice. “I found your email strange, asking about Durante and that Vic guy. I thought something might be going on so I’ve been asking around for you.”

Sydney could have sworn her heart stopped beating. She tried to keep her hands from shaking as she stared blankly down at the camera. If anyone came in, it would look like they were discussing the pictures. “What did you find?”

“The models don’t seem to know anything, but while they’ve been getting ready, I’ve chatted up some of the agents. It seems that no one really understands how Tristan Models works. Their specialty, foreign models, is what keeps them afloat, but it shouldn’t bring in the money they are flashing around to pick up major talent. What I found most interesting was one agent’s story of a man trying to get a sixteen-year-old girl to meet him. He promised to make her a big star. Wanted to meet her at the mall. He didn’t give an agency name, but just said he worked with a modeling agency. He didn’t know she’d just signed with QYN. She told her agent who told this man to back off. The next day, his social media account was gone and his phone disconnected.”

“Did the agent get a name?” Sydney asked.

“No, all she got was that he sounded European. However, the model did get something. She asked how he discovered her. The man told the model that an industry insider saw her at a Teddy Brown open-casting call,” Patrick said seriously.

“Teddy? Do you think . . .?” Sydney stopped herself from accusing their friend.

“I hope not. But Teddy hasn’t been acting himself since last year’s spring collection bombed. I feel horrible even suggesting it. But when I asked Teddy about it, he snapped at me. Told me there were thousands of people there, from established models to agents and photographers. It could have been anyone.”

“That’s true,” Sydney had to admit.

“Now, can you tell me what this is about?” Patrick asked as he quickly glanced at the open door.

Sydney had to decide if Patrick was involved or not in a split second. She looked at his spiked hair, thick black-framed glasses, and decided he couldn’t be. He was Patrick. He was bullied in high school, worked his way up to become a well-known photographer, and always treated his employees and models with respect. “A sex trafficking ring. I emailed you all about that man, and then he showed up in my room and attacked me in the middle of the night. He knew I had been asking about him.”

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t tell anyone . . . Teddy. I talked about it with Teddy. I just can’t—” Patrick couldn’t finish as the horde of models fell into the room with glasses of champagne in their hands.

“Patrick, don’t we get our pictures done?”