Brooks pointed. “Emmy’s at the bar. Let’s ask her.”
We marched to the bar, and Scout tapped Emmy on the shoulder. The younger girl spun and gasped. “Shit, you scared me.” Her eyes were unfocused. She tried to concentrate on my face, but her gaze kept listing to my shoulder.
I raised my eyebrows at her full drink. “I really don’t think you need that.”
She stumbled back against the bar. “Has anyone told you you’re kind of a control freak?”
“I’m trying tohelpyou.”
Scout waved to get Emmy’s attention. “Hey, forget the drink. Have you seen Georgia?”
“Not in a while.” Emmy took a defiant sip, smirking at me.
I sighed. “Do you remember the last time you saw her?”
She swayed, then looked at the arched doorway that led to the inner depths of the Bankses’ mansion. “She and Alden went upstairs.” A lascivious grin. “For obvious reasons.”
“Ew. Doubtful.” Scout shook her head. “When was this?”
Emmy tilted, and I steadied her so she didn’t fall into the bar. “Hours ago.”
“Hours?” I frowned at Scout.
She inhaled deeply. “I swear to god, that girl is going to be the death of me. Speaking of.” She turned to Emmy. “You should probably listen to Isabel and call it a night.”
“Whatever, Mom.” Emmy rolled her eyes and turned back to the bar.
“Should we take her home?” I asked Scout as we walked away. “She’s pretty drunk.”
“I could throw her over my shoulder,” Brooks volunteered. “She’s small.”
“Oh sure. So she can kick and scream that we’re kidnapping her? Hell no. If Emmy wants to embarrass herself at another party,” Scout said, “that’s her problem. We’ve got a house to search.”
I groaned. “Our boss’s house. At threeAM. I’m going to kill Georgia.”
“Get in line.”
I held my breath as we crept under the arched doorway, waiting for someone to run up and stop us. It was one thing to show up at your boss’s house for a party, another to start snooping through his personal space. And being caught red-handed while trespassing was not how I wanted to meet Easton.
Somehow, the house seemed bigger the farther we walked, opening into soaring, cathedral-like ceilings with lofty windows that must give the Bankses an incredible view of Los Angeles in the daytime. At night, the windows revealed nothing but a surprisingly impenetrable darkness. Ahead, a long, faintly lit hallway led to a steep spiral staircase. We’d come to a fork in the road.
Scout tilted her head. “Emmy said up.”
So we climbed, Scout and I balancing on our heels, the pounding bass of the party fading into a gentle background noise the higher we went. “My toes are numb,” I complained, kicking my foot against the railing just to feel something.
“When I’m rich, remind me to buy a single-floor mansion,” Scout said as we arrived at a another hallway riddled with doors. “None of this maze shit.”
“Well.” Brooks drew a deep breath. “Should we start knocking?”
“How many people do you think we’re about to catch having sex?” Scout strode to the first door. “My guess is three.”
I frowned, scrambling to catch up while doing the math. An odd number?
We worried for nothing. Door after door swung open to reveal empty guest bedrooms, a couple of offices, a home gym. We searched the floor, then pounded all the way down to where we started and peeked into every door leading off the dim hallway, but all we managed to do was startle the waitstaff washing dishes in the kitchen.
“This is insane,” Scout said, phone pressed to her ear. “Where the fuck are you, Georgia?”
“Could she have gone home without telling us?” I asked.
