Page 49 of Unlocked

He leaned close, his mouth near her ear. "What's the play?"

"We wait," she said. "Lady Arabella will be here soon."

He was willing to let her take the lead on this if it made her happy, but only because he was right beside her. They were going to have a serious conversation after this about coming here alone, and there would be no room for argument on that point.

Ten minutes later, a woman appeared. Tall, commanding, leather corset gleaming. She exchanged a few words with Lebowitz, and he stood, smoothing his jacket.

"They're going to a private room," Tatum said quietly. "Lebowitz likes to be dominated. Just not in front of an audience." She tapped her watch. "Sessions run about two hours. Around the one-hour mark, Lady Arabella takes a break. That's our window."

Archer stared at her. He knew what went on here. He made it his business to know what the more interesting members of the Society were into. He knew about Lady Arabella, had spoken to her on occasion. But being told the details by Tatum made his gut churn in a way he hadn't anticipated. She'd been watching Lebowitz for weeks. Studying his patterns, his preferences. Coming back here again and again, alone, gathering intelligence with the methodical patience of someone who had no idea how much danger she was in.

She was brilliant. She was reckless. She was going to give him a heart attack.

"How long have you been following the three of them?" he asked.

"Long enough." She gave a small shrug. "Staring at paperwork wasn't getting me answers fast enough. I thought following them might."

"Tatum—"

"Don't." She met his eyes. "I know what I'm doing." And then she proved it by filling him in with the kind of calm precision that told him she'd been doing this for a long time.

"Kelly has a gym he practically lives in. Works out, talks too much, occasionally hooks up with young trainers who think he still has connections. It never lasts once they find out he's under indictment. Then he goes home to his wife. North was an alcoholic with a favorite bar in the financial district. He liked to play the big man there, and it worked until the TV piece ran. Then people started avoiding him. I was going to approach him there, but I waited too long." She paused. "So now we're here."

He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her that knowing what she was doing didn't make it safe. But the set of her jaw told him this wasn't the time.

"Alright," he said. "What's your plan?"

"We wait. Then we move."

Fifty minutes later, Tatum slid off her stool. "Now."

Archer followed her down the hallway, senses on full alert. The music faded behind them. The lighting dimmed. They were moving into the private areas, away from the crowds.

Tatum stopped at a door. Small. Unobtrusive. "Observation room," she said quietly. "People like to watch, I guess."

Archer was impressed. He'd missed it entirely the first time he'd come here, and he was surprised she'd found it at all. Although he shouldn’t be. But she was constantly surprising him. She stepped inside, and Archer followed, closing the door quietly behind them.

The room was small and dark. One wall was glass overlooking the room next door. He and Tatum approached it.

Archer went very still.

Timothy Lebowitz stood restrained at the center of the space. Arms stretched wide. Legs secured. A ball gag in his mouth. Lady Arabella circled him like a predator, her voice cutting, cruel, the insults creative and personal and designed to humiliate.

And Lebowitz was eating it up.

Beside him, Tatum watched with clinical detachment, checking her watch. How many times had she sat through this? Just the thought of it made his skin crawl. He had no desire whatsoever to see Lebowitz in this condition. It was going to give him nightmares. He genuinely didn't know how Tatum had managed it.

Two minutes later, Arabella delivered a particularly cruel blow and left the room. Tatum cracked their door open, watching. Listening. Arabella's voice drifted down the hall, transformed from dominatrix to something lighter, almost playful. She was heading out for a smoke with the bouncer.

Tatum started out the door, but Archer held her back. At her glare, he whispered, "Give her a minute. You don't want her coming back because she forgot something." He stood next to Tatum, close enough to feel the tension radiating off her. Close enough to catch the scent of her perfume beneath the leather and glitter.

Focus.

The sound of the adjacent room door opening reached them.

"What—" Tatum started.

"Shh." Archer pulled her back to the glass.