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Fifty-two

AFTER LUNCH , a quick shower, and a change into fresh clothes, Grey and Riley entered the Argo casino. Blazing lights ran along the ceiling of the never-ending room, slot machines buzzed and flashed. The entire room was one big neon sign.

People cheered, cussed, and cried—the room a maker and breaker of dreams. Riley loathed this place. Loathed everything about it. Her skin crawled with each step they took. Each employee they interviewed was stiff and unrelenting. Even when they’d showed the photographs they’d brought of Kelly and Jared.

They stood in the bar, waiting to speak with the bartender next.

An employee in an Argo uniform—white blouse, short gold skirt, and cobalt blue vest with Argo stitched in gold thread on one side of it—approached the bar, took a seat on a stool, and slipped off her vest, setting it on the empty stool next to her.

She ignored the staring men and kept her gaze fixed on the bartender. He strode to her side of the bar. “What can I get ya?”

“Hey, Simon,” she greeted the bartender. “I’ll take a martini, dirty, two olives.”

“You got it, honey.”

She unbuttoned the sleeves of her crisp white blouse and rolled them up. Always pristine white shirts, always looking so professional when they dealt lies, even if they didn’t know it. The entire place was one big illusion, one big lie. Riley’s life had been saturated in them.

“Rough day?” Simon asked.

“You could say that. My feet are killing me, and I had a player who insisted I cheated.”

Called out for cheating. Flashes of Riley’s childhood came roaring back. The entire building enveloping her in its claws.

“Hey.” Greyson leaned over and whispered, “You’ve got this. We’ ve got this. Yeah?”

She nodded, but the words wouldn’t come. I’m stronger than this place. I’m stronger.

“Hi.” Riley found her voice and shifted into work mode. She could do this. God was with her. She would not fall. “How’s it going?” she asked the lady.

“Could be better.” The woman pulled out a vape, took a stiff inhale, then blew it out. “You a player?”

“No. I’m Riley and this is Greyson,” she said, gesturing to him, and he lifted a hand in greeting.

She lifted her chin, greeting him back as she eyed them warily.

“We’re looking for two friends.” She handed the woman Kelly’s and Jared’s pictures.

“Friends, huh?” the lady said, not buying a word of it.

Time to take a different tack. “We’re private investigators. We’re looking into the disappearance of these two,” she continued, holding the photos up higher.

“Can’t help you,” she said, as another employee took a seat at the bar, pulling off his vest in turn.

Riley went for broke. “Kelly really is my friend, and she’s in great danger.”

“Oh yeah?” The lady actually made eye contact this time. “From who?”

“A man who has gone by the name of Ralph Masters for six years.”

“Six years, huh?” the lady said. “That’s an interesting amount of time.”

“Please, could you help us?” Riley said. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to Kelly.”

“And why do you think this Ralph Masters guy would harm her?”

“They stole a lot of money from him.”

“Kelly stole money?” The woman laughed.

“She and Jared. They’re on the run and being chased.”

“Maybe they shouldn’t have stolen the money.” She took another vape, then blew the misty white cloud out.

“True. I have a hard time believing Kelly did it myself, but regardless, I don’t want her to die because of it. He already sent a man after us who tried to take us out numerous times.”

The lady’s eyes widened. “And why would they also want to kill you?”

“Two reasons,” Grey said. “One, because Kelly sent Riley something that’s apparently of great interest to the people at the Expressive Wellness Retreat and Spa that Ralph Masters owns. And second, because they don’t want us reaching Kelly and Jared first.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’d protect them.”

She arched a brow. “Even though they stole?” She twirled the tiny swizzle stick in her empty glass and motioned Simon back over.

“I have to believe they stole the money for a reason,” Riley said. That didn’t make it right, but she truly believed in her heart it wasn’t just a theft for theft’s sake.

Riley glanced at the woman’s nametag she’d been too sidetracked to notice until now. “Kimmy,” she said, “I know this is a lot to take in, but I’m really worried about her.”

“Because some spa owner is after her?” she chuckled.

“It’s far from a regular spa. They run a racket through their illegal casino.”

“They bugged our room,” Greyson added, taking a sip of the Coke the bartender set in front of him.

“Seriously?” Kimmy asked, her jaw slackening.

Riley nodded.

“Hmm.” Kimmy frowned. “And how long ago did you say that owner appeared?”

“Six years ago.”

Kimmy looked at Simon as he set a new drink in front of her.

“You don’t know it’s him,” Simon said.

“Him, who?” Riley asked, leaning forward.

“There was a man out here named Lance Winslow,” Kimmy said. “He disappeared six years ago.”

“Is that right?” Grey rested his forearms on the bar.

“Yeah,” Kimmy said. “He ran a cult outside of town. The house is vacant now. Has been since he left, but he did terrible things there.”

“Such as?”

“Well, Kelly and Jared’s closest friend, Claire, was one of his ... I don’t know, what’s the word for someone who joins a cult?”

“A convert, maybe?” Grey offered.

“Sure,” Kimmy said. “Let’s go with that.”

“Kim,” Simon said, trying to hush her. “It’s none of their business.”

“If it could help Kelly and Jared, I’m going to help.”

Simon shook his head but moved to the next customer.

“What can you tell us about Claire and the cult?” Riley asked.

Kimmy lifted her vest off the stool next to her and gestured for Riley to take the seat.

Grey remained in place.

Simon watched out of the corner of his eye while helping the other customer. But Kimmy continued, “Lance took in girls with a solid amount of money. He took the money for himself—claiming he was freeing the girls of the burden of worldly possessions like money.”

“And Claire?” Riley asked.

“She used to be a regular here before the cult.”

“A player?”

“Mm-hmm. Came in daily to play the slots. She and Kelly were good friends. And Jared too. And one day she stopped coming in. Kelly said she’d gone with some man to his place out in the desert, but she didn’t know where. They searched for her but couldn’t find her until she returned to town a waif.”

“A waif?”

“She had this kidney disease. Said Lance promised he’d healed her. By the time she came back, she was on death’s door, literally. Died a few days later. Her ex-boyfriend, Tate, never recovered, and neither did Kelly or Jared. They were—”

“Wait.” Riley narrowed her eyes. “Did you say Tate? As in Tate Matthews?”

“Yeah, Tate Matthews.” She blew out a vape puff. “You know Tate too?”

Riley turned to Greyson.

“Yeah, we do,” he said. “That explains the conflicting stories about Tate.”

Riley nodded.

“What conflicting stories?” Kimmy frowned.

“Long story. You were saying they were set on finding Lance. Did they find him?”

“They found the cult house, but he was long gone. This was six years ago. Police went out, too, but by the time they got there, everyone had vanished, and it looked like they left in a hurry—clothes on the floor, drawers open, that sort of thing.”

“You think Ralph Masters could be Lance Winslow?”

“That retreat crap sounds like a scam he’d pull.”

“Can you tell us where to find the cult house?”

“Sure, but why would you want to go there?” She took a sip of her drink, then set it down. “It’s just an empty property the townie kids use to party in.”

“I’ve learned to chase down leads wherever they head,” Riley said.

“Little Riley MacLeod,” a baritone voice said with a hint of sadistic pleasure.

The familiar voice sent shivers down her spine. Please , please , no.

“It’s gotta be you. You look just like Carla. You must be her daughter.”

“ MacLeod ?” Kimmy said, disgust forming on her face. “You’re a MacLeod kid?”

“Was. Was ,” Riley repeated, then stood and turned to face the man who’d killed her father.