“It could be connected, or not. The photographer could’ve been watching Bancroft when he peeked through the lens in our office and figured he could cash in for a double,” I say, then look at our shots with Raina again, comparing them to Bancroft’s. “These aren’t time-stamped, but if I remember correctly, this happened two nights before Valentine’s Day Dinner.”
Max joins me in this study, revisiting Bancroft’s photos, as well. “Look at Delia’s outfit. It’s the brown leather kink suit. She only wears it for the Savage Playroom, remember?”
“Yes,” Vincent replies.
He walks to the desk and pulls up a handwritten registry where he keeps track of our hosts’ activities with each of our guests. Fun times are always recorded when they’re not scheduled in advance. Max and I watch Vincent with renewed interest as he flips to the page in question.
“Savage Playroom. Delia, Asher, and Bancroft. February 12th,” he confirms.
“So the photos were all taken on the same day, the same night,” I conclude, then pull up the CCTV archive on my laptop, “which means we might have a shot at finding something or someone within that twenty-four-hour window that doesn’t fit.”
“We might. I’m not so sure, though. Our cameras aren’t hidden, and if the guy knew what he was doing…” Max ponders, then lowers his gaze and scoffs. “It’s worth a shot, though; you’re right.”
“I’ll set up a private meeting with Bancroft for later,” I tell them.
My nerves are stretched thin. This morning, the universe was favoring us. I had hope for a brighter future. I was determined to build something with Raina and my brothers-in-arms. Now, I stare at these wretched photos and wonder how much damage they can inflict.
How easy will it all burn down, if we don’t get this fucker first?
16
MAX
Bancroft’s face speaks volumes.
Shame and anger burn red in his cheeks, his jaw and lips trembling as he pores over the photos of him, Delia, and Asher. There was no point in showing him the ones with us and Raina, but I made sure to tell him we were also captured in compromising positions, if only to keep a certain sense of camaraderie in our shared victimhood.
“This is unconscionable,” he says, leaning back in his wingback chair.
We’re in the reading room behind closed doors. Alex and Vincent are out dealing with this mess, each in his own way, while Asher and Delia were given the day off to give Bancroft some privacy and enough time to digest everything.
“I completely agree,” I tell him.
The flames roar in the fireplace, casting an orange light over his pale face. “And this is all you received, I mean, along with the photos of you and your partners?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And no ransom demand, no phone call or email? Nothing else in the mail?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. We checked every single mailbox registered in our names and our companies’ names.”
“How long has it been since you came into their possession?” Bancroft asks, and I realize his legal wheels are already spinning in his mind.
Checking my watch, I’m pleased to have an accurate answer for him. “Almost six hours ago, on the dot.”
“They’ll probably wait twenty-four hours before another communication,” he grumbles, visibly disgusted. “They want us stewing in our own juices, wondering who sent the photos, who took them, what they might want. They’re working an angle, and the suspense is key.”
I pour him another double scotch and watch him chug it like it’s nothing but flavored water, then pour a third.
“Have you dealt with anything like this before?” Bancroft asks.
“Nothing like this,” I admit. “I was a sniper with the Rangers, Mr. Bancroft. The only thing I’m familiar with is the quality of the lens used to capture the images. That’s it. You?”
“No one has ever tried to blackmail you or Alex or Vincent over Haus of Sin? Really?”
I shake my head again and smile. “No, sir. We run a tight ship here. Invitation-only. There would be horrific legal repercussions if any NDA is broken. A couple of years ago, a former hostess tried to go public to score a book deal for herself, but we have friends and allies in pretty much everyindustry, including publishing. We shut that down before she could even send in her book blurb to an interested agent.”
“It’s impressive, given the type of business you run here. Congratulations, Max.”
