Page 72 of Velvet Vaughn

Chapter Fourteen

Bremen’s occupied a converted mansion on Lindell Boulevard, its courtyard framed by wrought iron and a canopy of pin oaks just starting to leaf out. Anja counted exits on her way in. There was the main entrance, a side gate near the parking court, and a service door tucked behind a boxwood hedge, which she mentally noted.

The staff moved among the guests in black suits with brass name badges, refilling drinks and clearing plates before anyone noticed a glass or dish needed attention. Six employees circulated through the courtyard in the first ten minutes.

“You’re doing it again,” Leo murmured, his hand at the small of her back as they crossed the flagstones.

“What?”

“The thing where you inventory a space instead of looking like you’re at a wake.”

“I can do both.” She accepted a glass of white wine from a passing tray and didn’t drink it. “Multitasking is a skill.”

He smiled, and then Jasmine Ortega spotted them from across the courtyard.

“Leo.” She kissed his cheek, then turned to Anja with genuine warmth. “It’s good to see you again, Anja.”

“You too, though I wish the circumstances were different.”

Jasmine pressed her lips together before answering. “This is a hard one. Tim onboarded half of us. He was a good man.”

“I’m sorry.” Anja meant it, even while she watched Jasmine’s eyes for anything that didn’t match the grief in her voice. She found nothing.

They moved through the gathering in loose orbit after that, Leo introducing her to people she hadn’t met at the gala. Names blurred together after the fifth handshake. There was a younger associate named Priya who worked contracts and kept glancing at the buffet as if she hadn’t eaten since Sunday. She met an HR director named Wallace, who spoke at length about Tim’s kindness during his own divorce three years ago. Brad Hatton arrived with Renee on his arm, his tie loosened and voice pitched for an area twice the size of the courtyard.

“Leo De Luca.” Brad clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to rock him forward. “And lovely Anja.” He gave her an appreciative once-over. “You look magnificent.”

“Brad.” Leo’s smile tightened at the edges. “It’s a wake.”

“I’m aware of that. I’m allowed to compliment a woman, aren’t I?” Brad’s arrogant confidence suggested no one had ever told him he might be wrong about anything. Or if they did, he ignored them. “Terrible business, all of it. Tim and Vic before him. Makes you wonder who’s next.”

“Brad,” Renee warned, low and pointed.

“What? I’m saying what everyone’s thinking.” He lowered his voice as though it made it more appropriate rather than less. “Vic’s death doesn’t sit right with me. He worked hard to build a career, and we’re supposed to believe he drove to Kansas City to end it? Doesn’t track.”

Anja kept her expression neutral. Brad’s remarks weren’t suspicious on their own. Grief made people voice thoughts they’d otherwise keep to themselves.

Marv and Christine Collins drifted over next, subdued and soft-spoken. Marv offered a story about Tim’s golf game that had everyone chuckling.

Anja excused herself under the pretense of finding the restroom and instead worked her way along the courtyard’s perimeter, logging every detail that felt wrong.

The side door near the hedge, the one she’d marked as locked when they arrived, now stood open three inches. She nudged it with two fingers. No draft, no obvious explanation, just open. She pushed it shut.

Near the drink station, a man in the same black suit as the other staff adjusted his cufflinks and scanned the guests, but she got the distinct impression he wasn’t concerned with refilling glasses. His badge read David in brass letters. She’d counted six staff members earlier. He wasn’t one of them.

Overhead, mounted under the eave of the main house, an exterior camera she’d noted earlier had swiveled ten degrees off its original angle, no longer covering the courtyard’s center, focusing on the tree line instead.

None of it screamed danger. Together, the details hummed like a live wire plugged into her spinal cord.

She was still working the angle when a woman in a fitted black dress detached from a cluster near the bar and strode toward her.

“You’re Leo’s plus-one.” The woman offered a hand, rings catching the light. “Danica Webb. Kellerman Gates. Leo and I go way back.”

“Anja.”

“I heard about the break-in.” Danica’s tone stayed light and conversational. “Terrible timing, on top of everything else. Did they take anything from your apartment?”

Anja’s pulse didn’t change. Neither did her expression. “I don’t have an apartment here. I’m not local.”