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Chapter 5
Raphael
My phone buzzed with a message from Ben.
Ben: Your pap is named Malcolm Dennis. Prolific in London. Typically targets young female celebrities and sells the photos with suggestive headlines to trashy news sites.
He followed with a couple of pictures of the man in question. I recognised him instantly as the person who’d confronted Alexandra at the art gallery.
In one, Malcolm had his beanie hat pulled low and collar up as if incognito. That would make no difference to me. I’d recognise him in a heartbeat.
I passed through the nightclub, the first room a wide space with a star-studded ceiling, orange-lit bars to the left and right, and masked yet elegant men and women in clusters of seating with champagne in ice buckets. Fake flames flickered up columns, giving the effect of entering Hell, the club’s name played out in its decor.
I’d bypassed the queue with the help of my palace-issued ID. The princess might not have taken her team, but the club’s security was clearly used to bodyguards pursuing their principals. They hadn’t blinked an eye at me.
At the far end, an opening in the wall gave way to a dark cavern with a different vibe to the chill bar room. I entered, and a wall of noise slammed into me, red lights chasing along the perimeter and the black walls dripping with condensation from the packed-in bodies. Humidity stuck my black t-shirt to my body, and my senses scrambled from the all-out assault.
I scanned the crowd for a glimpse of her. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people crammed together on the dance floor, a lot of flesh showing but too many pockets of shadow obscuring my ability to search. I scanned every masked face. I could blame the single pint of beer I’d drunk, but my heart raced like there was a reason to be afraid.
Alexandra’s regular team was untroubled at her being in here, so why was I?
In my haste to reach her, I’d paused halfway across the road, then darted back to clue in Johnnie and Will. Both men had shrugged off my concern and had gone back to watching their match.
They were off the clock. She hadn’t invited us along, which meant my presence here wouldn’t be welcome, but I couldn’t leave it alone.
Blame single-mindedness, but I was in this city to do a job, and it didn’t matter to me what time of day or night my services might be required. I had nothing else to do and every instinct screaming that this was where I needed to be.
Red lights chased under my feet, and I prowled the perimeter of the floor, edged past two devils who were simulating sex against a wall, or maybe actually fucking, and finally reached aset of steps that ran up to a mezzanine level. A bouncer guarding them lifted his gaze at my approach.
“VIP only,” he mouthed at me and tapped a discreet sign that said the same.
I held up my pass. This thing was a magic bullet, because he shone a penlight on it, nodded, and unclipped the velvet rope to allow me to proceed.
Up I climbed, the elevation providing a useful vantage point over the heaving club but giving me no joy in my hunt. The DJ switched up the tune, and all hands rose, obscuring the faces even more.
I could search this place for an hour and come up empty. There were side rooms. Hallways. Fuck knew how many hidden corners a lass could get lost in.
At the top, I emerged onto a broad platform with private booths and a barely lit bar at the back. If downstairs had the feel of exclusivity, this took it up a notch. None of the sticky floor and cheap beer I’d known from my student years—the last time I’d gone clubbing. Here was polished and high-end, with uniformed staff and subtle hints of luxury and concealed lighting. Judging by the wealth practically dripping from the clientele in the form of purposefully displayed watches and glittering jewellery, it was a rich kids’ playground.
At the very far end was a smaller dance floor, and my pulse skipped at a glimpse of a woman in the centre of it.Found her.
Even in a lacy white mask that hid her features well, I knew her. Alexandra’s pearl-coloured dress offset her tanned skin and rose dangerously high on her thighs. Her blonde wig hid the brunette locks I’d obsessed over, knowing just how they looked spilling down her back.
Heated thoughts bombarded me. Of winding her hair around my fist. Guiding her mouth so I could taste her. I’d never kissedher, yet I’d been so close I almost knew the shape of her lips against mine.
The jackass with her, I assumed her boyfriend in a black mask that matched hers, plucked a glass from the tray of a waitress, threw back the drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Alexandra did the same and giggled, stumbling as she tried to set the cocktail glass back on the tray. The waitress disappeared back to the bar. Alexandra fell on her friend, her laughter not stopping.
Damn. If I thought she was tipsy when she got here, she’d wandered merrily into drunk-skunk territory. Plus her man was the same, the two of them keeping each other standing. It was her business what she got up to, but it bothered me that she’d left herself so unprotected, especially knowing she was being hunted. Why not take her team? Even one person to watch over her?
Movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention.
A man emerged from a passage at the far end of the booths. A bathroom hallway, by the sign above the exit. My blood pumped faster as I identified Malcolm Dennis, the exact hunting paparazzo I’d worried about.
He slipped into an empty booth, his gaze locked on to Alexandra. Below the level of the table, he toyed with something. Had to be his phone, or maybe a small camera, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I needed a plan and fast.
Backtracking, I returned to the bouncer at the top of the steps. “That guy in the end booth is a photographer. He should be kicked out.”
The bouncer jumped his gaze to where I subtly indicated. He shrugged but didn’t shift.