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“I got the same impression. I am just trying to figure out how we will even begin attempting to find them. Where did they even come from?”
“Who knows,” Derek shrugged. “They just appeared out of nowhere several months ago, but word around the Agency is that they’ve been around way longer—years even. They just haven’t been as aggressive with any of their work until now.”
“You think this whole Roman Atwater thing is more than Conrad is leading on?” I asked.
“Could be; your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that if they sent for you to be transferred here to our Unit—it’s a big deal.”
“It just doesn't sit right with me that someone would go after a corrupt pharmaceutical entrepreneur without any clear motive.” I scratched the back of my neck, trying to wrap my head around all of this. The biggest problem in this whole case is the motive, and there isn’t one. How could there be no motive?
“You think there is a motive to be found?” He tilted his head in question.
“There has to be; you don’t just go around brutally killing lab technicians for no reason.”
“If it is motive you are looking for, then I think we need to start with looking back on Atwater’s history and get more information on this drug of his.”
I hummed and nodded my head, thinking deeper about the case and what the actual reasoning could be behind the aggressive violence.
I moved to the table by the door and grabbed my wallet, stuffing it into my slacks. Derek pulled his phone out of his jacket and unlocked it, responding to a message he had just received.
“Dean just messaged me; he and Marcus are already on their way to the club. They will meet us at the doors to get us in.”
“It truly is that exclusive of a club, huh? I suppose we should get going then. Wouldn’t want to keep the bro squad waiting.” I chuckled and picked up my keys, following Derek out the door and shutting it behind me.
The Landing was unremarkable from the outside. It looked like any other oversized cement building in the city. The tall black-tinted windows reached from ground level to chest height and stretched up to the roof of the building. The double doors were black with gold trim and gold handles shaped like airplanes—presumably where the name comes from.
Two security bouncers, wearing earpieces, stood on either side of the double doors while a third manned the growing line of people attempting to gain access to the club.
Marcus and Dean were exactly where they had indicated, standing one step below the doors next to the third security guard. They gestured for us to approach them.
“These two are our guests, my good man,” Marcus said to the bouncer and patted him on the back of his shoulder as if they were buddies. The security guard mumbled something under his breath and crossed their names off the guest list attached to the clipboard he was holding.
He waved a hand without another word, and the four of us proceeded into the club. I'm not sure how these two ended up on the guest list for this exclusive place, and I wasn't about to ask.
The interior was all black, with the lights from the DJ booth standing out as they cut across the room to the music. The main floor had a sunken dance floor with a two-step drop leading into it. At the rear of the dance floor was the primary bar. On the opposite side of the dance floor from the bar, there were stairs that led to the upper level, where the VIP suites were situated, lining the entire balcony.
The VIP Suites had a prime view of the entire dance floor, surrounding it on all sides. Already, most of them were filled with guests ordering bottles upon bottles of alcohol, and the waitresses were bringing them out one at a time with sparklers to elevate the overall experience.
“I hope you are ready for the best night of your lives, gentlemen,” Marcus said with an amused tone as he rubbed his hands together before reaching over the shoulders of Derek and me, pulling us into a rough hug. Derek grimaced and quickly pulled himself out of Marcus’s grasp, straightening his jacket and scanning our surroundings.
When we left the apartment, I decided to let go for once and enjoy myself. I smiled at Marcus, patted him on the back, and gestured to the crowded bar.
“Shall we then?”
“We shall!” Marcus enthusiastically echoed and took the lead, heading straight for the bar. We managed to find a single spot to squeeze in between a couple making out and the section reserved for waitresses to order drinks for the VIP suite guests. Three bartenders were working in separate sections, one man and two women.
The woman closest to us immediately caught my attention. I found myself unable to take my eyes off her as she made her way down her section, pouring drinks for her customers with a little flair. My gaze couldn't help but roam up and down her body, taking in her thigh-high black boots and a tight dress that hugged every curve. She had beautiful brunette hair gathered at the top of her head, with wavy tendrils falling over her face.
Suddenly, I was all too happy to be at this particular nightclub tonight.
Every now and then, she would spin a bottle around her palm before pouring it or throw it in the air and catch it behind her back as she returned it to the rail—her movements fluid and precise. I’ve been with many women in the past, but none of them have ever captured my attention the way she does. I couldn’t help but feel the pull that I felt towards her.
Growing impatient with how long it was taking us to order drinks, Dean pulled himself up onto the bar and gave a loud whistle at her. I’m pretty sure no woman appreciates being whistled at like a dog, but telling him that was a little late.
“Sweetheart, over here!” He yelled across the bar.
She shifted her gaze to us, giving Dean a stern glare, clearly annoyed at how he got her attention. She bit her cheek in complete annoyance and walked over to us.
“This bar is extremely busy, and I am all out of patience tonight; what’ll it be, boys?” She stood in front of us, pressing her palm on the edge of the bar, the other on her hip. She continued to give Dean an irritated look.
