The Deception (11 page)

Walking back into the bathroom, she pulled the hair dryer out of the vanity and plugged it in. Combing her fingers through her long hair, she couldn’t help but remember the feel of Will’s hands as he’d massaged her scalp while he’d pressed kisses all over her lips and cheeks and nose and eyelids, moaning about how beautiful she was and how he wanted to taste her all over.

Her pulse leaped in response to the memory. Whatever else he might be, there was no doubt Will Rutledge was a damned fine lover and she was kidding herself if she thought she’d be able to forget about him. It infuriated her that, despite his hurtful accusations, if he called and suggested another night of scorching sex, she’d be all but dragging him to the nearest bed.

The fact that he’d left believing the worst of her was unfortunate, but what could she do? She could hardly telephone Rutledge Advertising and ask to speak with him. He probably wouldn’t even take her call. Besides, she still didn’t know where he fit in as far as the illegal activities at the brothel were concerned. He was a friend of Pete’s, but that didn’t necessarily prove him innocent. It hadn’t seemed to matter while she’d been in the throes of the best sex she’d ever experienced, but now, in the harsh and unforgiving light of day, she couldn’t deny the possibility of his criminality, however slight, concerned her.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Savannah applied her makeup with the speed of an expert. A few dabs of concealer and some foundation went a long way to covering up the dark circles under her eyes. After applying blusher to her pale cheeks, a touch of mascara to her eyelashes and a slash of chocolaty-brown lipstick, she felt confident no one would be any the wiser about her sleepless night.

She left the bedroom and walked into the compact kitchen. With no time for breakfast, she picked up her second hand black leather Oroton handbag off the table—a lucky eBay find—and slung it over her shoulder. Pulling open the front door, she closed it firmly behind her.

With a silent vow to put into action her plan to return to the Black Opal as soon as possible, she headed toward the train station. She owed it to herself to get to the bottom of what was happening at the brothel before she allowed herself to get any more familiar with the delectable William Rutledge.

* * *

Max O’Connor
had heartburn. Pain twisted in his chest and burned with white-hot heat. He groaned in agony. Despite his pleasantly cool, temperature-controlled office, sweat gathered on his upper lip and pooled under his arms. Another groan escaped his clenched lips. Oblivious to Max’s suffering, the man on the other end of the phone continued his tirade.

“What the fuck is goin’ on Max? I pick up the paper and find a front page story about my own fuckin’ brothel. How the fuck did that happen, Max?”

Max wheezed and tried to breathe through another attack. “I know, Vince. I know. Mate, what can I say? I told the little twit to give me something sensational and she came back with this. I was talking about finding one of those soapy stars with their pants down, not this kind of shit. I had no idea—”

“Bullshit, Max! Don’t try that shit with me. I know how it works. You’re the fuckin’ editor! Nothin’ in that paper gets printed without your say-so.”

Max did his best to placate him. He forced himself to appear unaffected by Vince’s anger, despite the fact that his insides were quailing.

“You’re right, Vince. I’m sorry.”

“Of course I’m fuckin’ right.” Vince’s voice was even louder. “That’s why I’m so fuckin’ pissed. My own
mate
goes and does this to me. What the
fuck
!”

Max cleared his throat. “The girl who wrote it only passed it by me on Sunday afternoon—a few hours before we were due to go to print. We’d reserved the space for her. I could hardly refuse to run it. It would have raised suspicion. She’s a smart girl. Used to be part of the press gallery in Canberra.”

“I don’t give a fuck who she is and where she worked! She could be Oprah fuckin’ Winfrey for all I care. It better not happen again, you understand?” Vince’s voice dropped lower. “Have you forgotten what I did for you, Max?”

Fear clutched at his belly. The implied threat was unmistakable. His knees turned to jelly. Stumbling, he fell into his chair as another bout of pain seized him in its fiery grip. In desperation, he reached for the packet of Rennie again and forced a nervous laugh.

“Shit, Vince. You know I haven’t forgotten.”

“I fuckin’ hope not.”

“Mate, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I didn’t have a clue she was writing about it until it was too late.”

“I’ve got enough fuckin’ problems around here at the moment. Another one of my girls tried to run on Saturday night. I had to deal with it.”

Max feigned interest. Anything to take the heat off him. “Which one?”

“Malee. She’d been with me for two fuckin’ years. She was one of my best girls. She really knew how to get ’em in.”

Max forced another laugh. “I hope you taught her a lesson. I hope you made her suck cock until she gagged.”

“She won’t be suckin’ any more cock. I can tell you that for sure,” Vince chuckled.

The sound of his mirth made Max shiver. His answering chuckle was anything but natural. “That’s what you get for being ungrateful. It sounds like she deserved everything she got.”

“Oh yeah, she deserved it all right. No one fucks with Vince Maranoa.”

The line went dead in his ear and Max dropped all pretense of humor. Another attack seized him. He clutched at his gut and groaned. From fear or pain—he could no longer tell.

* * *

Making her way along the carpeted corridor of the
Daily Mirror
’s offices, Savannah nodded greetings to various work colleagues before heading toward her cubicle. Stowing her handbag in its customary place beneath her desk, she logged onto her computer and checked her emails.

As she suspected, there was a new message from Lucy and another one from Chloe. She swallowed a groan.

What was she going to tell them?

She and Will had just disappeared. She hadn’t even called her friends later to let them know she was okay. No doubt they were frantic.

Opening the email from Lucy, she read the message.

What the hell happened to you last night? I know that headache was nothing more than an excuse. Believe me, I was pleased when you decided to get out of there. Knowing WR could recognize you at any moment was giving me indigestion. But then he left with you AND DIDN’T COME BACK! Don’t even think about not spilling all. Call me AS SOON AS YOU GET IN!!

Okay, so her best friend since high school wasn’t as concerned about her as she’d thought. Clearly, she assumed she’d left with Will Rutledge. There wasn’t even a
hint
of alarm in her email.

Savannah was miffed. For all Lucy knew, he could have drugged her and forced himself upon her. Did she really think the man was so far above reproach she didn’t even express the slightest hint of worry that her best friend had last been seen in his company and no one had heard from her since? Obviously, she did.

After reading a similarly themed email from Chloe, Savannah drafted a reply to both of them. She wasn’t ready to talk to Lucy or Chloe about what had happened. She hadn’t yet sorted it out herself.

Got home safe and sound. Alone. Thanks for your concern, but no need to worry. Talk soon. S xx

She clicked on “send” and sank down low in her chair. Until she’d determined how Will was involved with Maranoa, she wouldn’t spend another second thinking about what had happened between them.

An image of his gloriously naked body flashed through her mind. Her lips twisted into a wry smile. Okay, forgetting about their night together might be easier said than done. It didn’t mean she couldn’t give it her best shot.

Glancing up, she noticed her editor striding toward her, his sizeable belly leading the way. His face was flushed and his gaze glinted with determination. She swallowed a groan and logged out of her email account. As short on niceties as he was on height, Max got straight to the point.

“Savannah, I want you to do a follow-up on yesterday’s story. We’ve received hundreds of emails about it. People are outraged and they’re dying to know more. You have to strike while they’re still salivating.”

She blinked in surprise. “I thought you said it was too dangerous for me to go poking around in places like that? Who’d have thought a jump in sales was more important than my safety?” Her voice was as dry as Milo’s kitty litter. She still hadn’t forgiven her editor for refusing her byline. Not even having the grace to look embarrassed, he plowed on.

“Forget about what I said. That was yesterday. The only thing is, I’d rather you have a look at some of the other brothels in the city. Widen the scope a bit, you know? I’m sure the Black Opal’s not the only one involved in shady dealings. You could do a whole series.”

“But, Max I can’t just—” Her protest was cut short.

“You’re not listening to me, Savannah.”

He spoke to her like one would speak to a preschooler. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes.

“Go onto Google and do a little research,” he continued. “Widen the net. I want to expose every last one of these places for what they are. You’re a good writer. I’m sure you’re up for the challenge and I’m also sure I don’t have to remind you how good another sellout story will look to the people responsible for paying your wages. With all the cutbacks around here, it will help shore up your position if you manage another sellout. You never know when the bean counters will turn their gaze on you.”

He stared at her meaningfully. Savannah lowered her gaze. Max knew that she couldn’t afford to lose her job. Besides, what he said made sense. There probably were other brothels in the city carrying on illegal activities. The thought of other poor girls being subjected to what was happening at the Black Opal made her blood boil. It was only right that they be exposed.

Apparently satisfied by her lack of response, Max nodded. “Good, I’m glad that’s settled. Get onto your sources and see what you can find out. I want something on my desk by Thursday.” He turned and stalked away, ending the conversation as abruptly as he’d started it.

Savannah’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. Finding her feet and her tongue, she pushed away from her chair and shouted, “Max, that’s only two days away! I can’t make contact with the girls working in other brothels in that time. It’s impossible.”

Max stopped and turned, his face dark with a frown she knew from experience was not to be taken lightly.

“Savannah, I don’t want to hear excuses. You managed it the first time around. I’m sure you’ll manage it again. We have to strike now, while the public are still outraged over our expose´. Next week it might be something else that has them all hot and bothered and we’ll miss our opportunity. Now, get on with it.” He stalked away, hauling his bulk in the direction from where he’d come.

Her thoughts turned sour.
Yeah, right
.
Just get on with it.
Like it was that simple.

There was no way in the world two days was enough time to allow for fresh sources to be contacted and persuaded to talk. She didn’t know what planet he was on, but the women she’d spoken to at the Black Opal were extremely wary about coming forward with information. She couldn’t simply waltz into another brothel, snap her fingers and get people to talk to her. Even last Saturday night, it had taken a good couple of hours of gentle persuasion to finally get Malee talking and it had been Malee who had made the initial contact.

She couldn’t possibly achieve that kind of trust and openness from an unfamiliar sex worker who might or might not appreciate the media looking into their livelihood. It was beyond ridiculous to suggest otherwise.

Chances were zero to none that she’d come up with the kind of story Max was angling for in the time frame he’d allotted. The only brothel she had a hope of cajoling further information out of its employees by Thursday was the one she’d already visited. Max may have asked her to ‘widen the net,’ but if he wanted a story that week, he’d have to accept it would be on the Black Opal.

Besides, he was in the business of selling newspapers. Hers wasn’t the only job that depended upon sales figures. She was sure once they’d managed two sellouts in one week, he’d forget all about his request to investigate other establishments. At least, she hoped so.

With a sigh of resignation, she took out her cell and scrolled through her list of contacts, stopping when she found Malee’s number. Pressing the send button, she prayed silently that the girl would answer. The phone rang for what seemed an eon of time before it was finally directed to voicemail. Malee’s message had obviously been recorded for clients as her voice, even with its broken English, came through low and sultry.

 
“It’s Malee. If you’re after good time with very sexy girl, please leave message. I fit you in—all of you—just how you like it.”

Savannah spoke quietly into the phone. “Malee, it’s Savannah O’Neill from the
Daily Mirror
. I really need to get back into the brothel tonight. Please, call me.” After leaving her number, she ended the call. All she could do now was wait.

* * *

Dylan listened to the voicemail message for a third time and reluctantly accepted the truth.

It was her. It was Savannah who had written the story.

How much she knew, was anyone’s guess, but from the accuracy of her article, it was clear she’d spoken to at least someone inside the brothel with firsthand information.

Dread tightened his gut. She had no idea the danger she faced. No one fucked with Vince. If he found out, she’d wish she were dead already.

Did he risk warning her away? Would she even listen? He’d be forced to tell her how he’d come upon his knowledge. Was he ready to do that? Was he ready to have her look at him with eyes full of sadness and disappointment, yet again? But what choice did he have? A warning from him might be enough to keep her away, keep her safe. After all, she was his sister.

Quiet panic gripped his insides. He’d already eradicated two of Vince’s “problems” in the space of less than a week and that didn’t count the first time. What if Vince ordered him to get rid of her? His own sister?