5
EDEN'S LAW
CALLAHAN
Harrow's tracker led me to Mayfair, to a building that looked like every other Georgian townhouse on the block until you noticed the discreet camera above the door and the way light didn't quite reach the windows. The brass plaque beside the entrance read 'Eden House', in letters small enough to be overlooked if you weren't looking.
I'd heard the rumours. Every investigator in London had. Eden wasn't a brothel or a sex club in any conventional sense. It was a members-only establishment where consent was law and power was currency and people who moved in the highest circles came to shed their public faces behind closed doors and stricter rules than most parliaments.
It was BDSM for the elite. Discretion guaranteed. Membership exclusive enough that getting past the door required either an invitation or the credentials that proved you belonged in rooms where judges, politicians, and criminals with expensive lawyers negotiated pleasure and pain under protocols more rigorous than most legal contracts.
I had neither an invitation nor any credentials. But I had Harrow's location blinking on my phone, and desperation made me creative.
The door opened to a foyer that smelled like sandalwood and leather and money. A woman sat behind a mahogany desk, elegant in the way that suggested former ballet training or finishing school or both. Her hair was pulled back in a severe knot, her dress black and perfectly tailored, her expression neutral in the way that security personnel learned to be when their job was gatekeeping instead of violence.
“Good evening.” Her voice matched everything else about her: polished, controlled, assessing. “May I see your membership card?”
“I'm afraid I left it at home.” I smiled, let contrition colour my voice. “I'm Callum Reed. I'm a guest of Mr. Harrow's. He should have added me to the list for tonight.”
Her fingers moved across a tablet. “I don't see a Reed on Mr. Harrow's guest list.”
“That's odd. He specifically asked me to meet him here at ten.” I checked my watch, let concern show. “Perhaps there's been a clerical error? This is rather embarrassing.”
“I'm sure it is.” Her expression didn't shift. “Unfortunately, without proper authorisation, I can't grant you access. Eden's privacy policy is quite strict.”
I leaned against the desk, close enough to be personal without crossing into threatening. “I understand completely. Privacy is paramount. But Mr. Harrow is expecting me, and I'd hate to disappoint him. Perhaps you could call through? Just to confirm?”
She studied me for three seconds, calculating. Then she reached for the phone.
I moved before she could dial. Nothing violent. Just a stumble, calculated and clumsy, my hand bracing against thedesk and knocking her coffee cup toward the edge. She lunged to catch it, instinct overriding protocol, and in that half-second of distraction, my other hand slipped the key card from the tray beside her tablet.
“I'm so sorry.” I steadied the cup before it could spill, set it safely away from the desk's edge. “How clumsy of me.”
“It's fine.” She was already resettling, already reaching for the phone again. “If you'll just wait here, I'll verify with Mr. Harrow.”
“Of course.” I smiled, pocketed the key card with practised ease, and took two steps back toward the door. “Actually, I've just realised the time. I may have got the arrangement wrong. Let me check my messages and come back if there's been a misunderstanding. I'd hate to interrupt Mr. Harrow if he's already engaged.”
I was out the door before she could respond, heart rate steady despite adrenaline singing through my veins. The key card sat in my pocket like stolen fire. I walked half a block, circled around to the rear of the building where service entrances and fire exits offered access points that avoided the front desk entirely.
The card worked at the side entrance. The door clicked open, admitting me to a corridor painted in deep burgundy and lit by sconces that cast shadows more than light. The air tasted different here. Heavier. Scented with something that might have been incense or might have been the accumulated presence of people who came here to shed civilisation's constraints.
I passed a door marked Private and heard sounds inside. Voices. Moans. The crack of impact followed by breathless laughter. Eden's soundproofing was good but not perfect. Or maybe it was deliberate, the audio bleeding through just enough to remind you what happened behind these doors.
I took the stairs, each step silent, every sense alert for security or staff or members who'd question why someone was moving through Eden's corridors alone. But the building seemed designed for discretion even internally. I saw no one.
The second floor opened onto a wider corridor lined with numbered doors. I stopped outside a room, pressed my ear to the wood, and listened.
“...exactly what I promised.” Harrow's voice, muffled but recognisable. “Three months. All charges dropped. The investigation will conclude that evidence was compromised.”
“And the witness?” Another voice, male, younger, uncertain.
“Will recant. People change their stories all the time when they realise the alternative is worse.”
“I don't want anyone hurt.”
“No one gets hurt. They just get persuaded.” A pause. “Now. Are we here to discuss business, or did you come for something else?”
“Something else.”
