Page 57 of Unlocked

Not someone who ran an underground sex club.

"Mr. Gray." Her voice was as smooth and cultured as the rest of her. "I was wondering when you'd arrive. It's been a while."

Archer closed the door behind him, leaving Ryker and Rush in the hallway. This conversation needed to be private.

" It has been a while, Calliope. I believe the last time I was here was to help you with a difficult client."

Calliope inclined her head. "Yes, and I appreciated it at the time. However, I must insist that you leave, Archer. I cannot help you."

Archer studied her. Her posture was rigid. Her hands were folded in front of her in what he suspected was an attempt to stop them from shaking, but the tremor was still visible. Her lips were pressed into a straight line, and real fear sparked in her eyes.

"Where's the body?" he asked, keeping his voice even.

Calliope didn't blink, didn't move a muscle. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play games with me. Timothy Lebowitz was murdered in one of your rooms tonight. And now his body is gone."

She made a show of frowning. "I run a respectable establishment, Mr. Gray. If what you're suggesting had occurred, my employees would have told me, and I would have called the police immediately."

"But you didn't call the police," Archer said. "You got rid of the body."

Calliope sat straighter, if that was possible. "Because there was no body. Nothing occurred here this evening."

Resisting the urge to slap his palm on the antique mahogany, Archer crowded closer to the desk. "Let's not lie to one another. Someone died here tonight. Someone cleaned it up. Fast. Professionally. That takes planning. That takes resources." He leaned forward, hands on the desk. "That takes permission from you."

Calliope's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. This close, the tremor running through her whole body was unmistakable. She wasn't just afraid. She was terrified.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she repeated.

"Who took the body?" he demanded.

"No one."

"Calliope—"

"I said I don't know." Her voice rose slightly, control slipping. "I don't know anything about a body. I don't know who you think died here. I run a club. That's all."

Archer studied her. The way she fought to hold herself together, the way she wouldn't quite meet his eyes. She wasn't refusing to help because she didn't want to. She was refusing because she was genuinely terrified of something far worse than him.

He straightened and softened his approach. "You’re being threatened."

She looked away. Bingo! He’d hit the nail on the head.

"Calliope." His voice was quieter now. "I can help you. But I need to know what's going on."

"You can't help me," she said quietly. "No one can."

"Try me."

She was silent for a long moment, her knuckles white where her fingers were clasped together. "Archer, I cannot help you. I do not know what you're talking about." Her eyes pleaded with him.

It was the first time she'd ever used his first name. She was trying everything she had to get him to back off. He felt for her. But he needed this.

"I'm guessing when you got involved in whatever this is, you knew it would be dangerous and that there would be consequences." He leaned over the desk again. "I am one of those consequences. This can go easy for you, or it can go very badly." He let his voice go cold, and he knew his eyes were telling her she was on thin ice. The only question was who she was more afraid of, him or whoever was behind this.

Her composure crumbled. She licked her lips and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. "I need some guarantees," she started.

"There are no guarantees in life, Calliope."