“Emily.”
The chuckles from those remaining started before they made it through the doorway.
Alec shot him an affronted look. “You keep dragging my wife into these discussions.”
“Because she keeps proving me right.”
Alec muttered under his breath as laughter followed them into the hallway. But his protests were half-hearted. Everyone knew who wore the cuffs in that relationship.
Chapter 10
A tired neon sign buzzed overhead. Leland gave it a cursory glance and grunted. “Driftwood?”
Alec didn’t break stride. “A little on the nose.”
“Tacky.”
“I doubt it gets better inside,” Alec muttered, hand on the door. “Let’s get this over with.”
Inside, Leland grimaced as he took in the room with a single sweep. The place was clearly trying to sell an experience. It had better lighting than most public clubs. Beach-chic décor. Attractive people dressed to be seen could very well convince newcomers they were somewhere sophisticated.
It took him less than ten seconds to spot the problem. Too many people, not enough oversight. Sightlines were poor. Scenes bled into each other. He didn’t see anyone actively monitoring the floor.
The place looked polished. The safety measures weren’t.
A man in a black T-shirt with Driftwood Staff stamped on the chest stepped forward, holding out a lockbox.
“Phones.”
Leland didn’t move. “This is business.”
“Club policy,” the man added.
Leland slowly met his gaze, staring down at least half a foot to do it. The man hesitated, clearly uncertain.
“Where’s your manager?” Alec asked.
“Pete’s the owner.” He jerked his chin toward the bar. “The one with the tie.”
Leland headed that way with Alec beside him. Neither surrendered their phones.
The owner met them halfway across the room, already sweating.
“I don’t know what this is about,” he said before either of them spoke, “but if it’s licensing, everything’s current—”
“Relax,” Alec said easily. “We’re not here to shut you down.”
The man didn’t look convinced. “What do you want?”
“We’re investigators. One of your members is missing.”
The owner’s expression shifted—subtle, but there.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“We didn’t say you did,” Alec replied.
Leland stepped in. “We need your sign-in logs. And your surveillance.”
