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“Do you really think you can get us there quicker than taking the subway?” she asked. “I want to get there as fast as we can.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I must’ve done pretty well because as we pulled up to Club Privé, Sienna told me I’d made it five minutes faster than her usual commute. But I didn’t feel like celebrating when I saw the two police cars parked nearby.
“Shit. If they sent two cars, it’s got to be bad inside,” Sienna said.
“No ambulances mean no one was hurt,” I pointed out. “That’s good, at least.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, a distracted expression on her face.
A part of me wanted to delve into what was going on in her head, but we both needed to get inside more than I needed to satisfy my curiosity. I parked my car, and Sienna and I headed for the employee entrance around the back. As we walked inside, she reached over to take my hand, her fingers cold as they laced between mine.
I gave her hand what I hoped was a comforting squeeze, and as we stepped into the main club area, I was immediately glad I was here for her.
I didn’t know if it looked worse than my office because there’d been different stuff to break and throw around or if whoever did this had just been angrier than the person who trashed my place.
Again, that little thought tugged at the back of my mind, wondering if maybe the two were connected or if this was just a coincidence.
Then the smell of alcohol hit me, and I nearly gagged. Next to me, Sienna stared at the destruction, the hand covering her nose and mouth the only sign that the eye-watering stench affected her at all.
It looked like every bottle from behind the bar had been hurled against a wall or the floor, leaving glass everywhere. Tables and chairs were flipped and broken, some with enough force that the pieces were scattered across the room. The lighting on the stage had been torn down, all the glass parts shattered, wires cut, metal bent out of shape. Like in my office, food was everywhere, but it also seemed like whoever had done this had dragged in trash from outside and dumped it.
“Sienna!” Laila hurried over from where she’d been talking to a tall, lanky cop. The manager’s eyes were red-rimmed, but they flashed with anger more than anything else. “Thanks for coming in so quickly. The cops wanted to talk to all the employees right away, so Gavin and I decided to start with management and then work down through each department.”
“Of course,” Sienna said, accepting a hug from Laila before stepping back next to me. She didn’t, however, take my hand again. “Is it just this room, or did anywhere else get hit?”
“Just this room,” Laila said. “All the offices and private rooms were locked up pretty tight.”
“Wasn’t the club itself locked?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Laila nodded. “And the alarm was set, but it didn’t go off.”
“The offices and private rooms have separate alarm systems,” Sienna said, frowning. “But not as many people have access to those codes.”
“Do they think it’s an inside job?” I asked.
Laila shrugged. “If they do, they’re not saying. It’s mostly been them talking to Gavin, Carrie, and me while a couple of their CSI guys do their thing.”
It wasn’t until she gestured toward a pair of men on the stage that I realized the four uniformed officers weren’t the only members of the NYPD here. I counted at least two detectives and a couple of crime techs.
My office getting trashed hadn’t merited this kind of manpower, which made me wonder just how many strings Gavin and Carrie could pull in this concrete jungle.
“Was anyone here when it happened?” I asked, forcing myself to bring my thoughts back under control. Everyone was tense enough. They didn’t need my irritation adding to an already volatile situation.
“We always have at least one member of security on the premises at all times,” Laila said. “Today, that was Lamar Fulton.”
She pointed to a dark-skinned man who looked to be in his early twenties. He was talking to a stocky man in a bad suit but didn’t look injured.
“He’s okay?” Sienna asked.
“Apparently, around eight this morning, he did his rounds and then used the men’s restroom. While he was in there, someone barricaded the door, trapping him inside. He was stuck until Gavin got here about an hour ago.” Laila’s hands shook, and she shoved them into her pockets. “If Lamar hadn’t been in the bathroom…”
“Maybe that’s what they were waiting for,” I suggested. “If he follows the same routine, someone could’ve known that and waited for when he usually goes to the bathroom before breaking in.”
“Which would mean it wasn’t just some random thing,” Sienna said.
“I honestly don’t know which would be worse,” Laila said. “Random means it’s more likely to go unsolved, but someone connected to the club means that someone we know did this.”
