“I need that by tonight, Rhode.” I heard him say. “Pull in Jack and Davis if you need. Cole’s working on the parents now.” There was a pause then, “Good. Talk soon.”

“That woman’s hiding something,” Wilson announced.

No shit, I thought.

“Run down the club for me again.”

We’d already debriefed last night when Wilson dragged his miserable ass in after a four-hour drive from the airport.

“No signs of prostitution. No drugs. No coercion. No one underage. Consent is mutual and strictly adhered to. Other than Sloane, everyone who is there wants to be there and enjoys their time there. No rumors. No badmouthing other members. Nothing. If something wasn’t going on with Sloane, I’d say the SOIB got it wrong.”

“What about the horseback rider who called the police about the underage girl?” Wilson pushed.

The phantom girl was the reason the Marshals decided to look into Club Joi. A man who had been out riding his horse on the state park land that bordered the mansion reported to the police he had seen a woman running near the gate naked. When the man got closer to the fence that surrounds the property the rider said it wasn’t a woman, but a young girl and she looked like she’d been whipped. The police who investigated found no signs of the girl but one of the detectives didn’t like the vibe of the mansion and took it upon himself on his own time to case the place. That detective broke rank and sent his intel to the Marshal Service hoping they’d do something. Which they did; they contracted Takeback.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve been to the club every night it’s been open and one of us,” I tipped my head toward Cole, “has been watching the place the other nights and it’s been quiet. No private parties I wasn’t invited to. No cars in or out. As for the whipping, I haven’t seen anything that hardcore. Spanking is the only impact play I’ve seen. No humiliation, no rope play, no Dom, sub, or anything that resembles BDSM. That’s not their kink. It’s vanilla sex with a twist. They like to watch and be watched and some like to share.”

“Sounds boring,” Wilson mumbled, and I had to choke back my laughter.

Cole didn’t bother. He also didn’t hold back his comment, “Damn, boss, good old fashion vanilla not do it for you?”

Wilson ignored the jab and continued, “Lorenzo Kelly?”

The owner’s son. One of the reasons Wilson flew from Idaho to California.

“The guy is a grade-A dickbag. I got the feeling no one likes him. I can’t say he did anything that would be considered against the rules but everyone at the party gave him a wide berth. He’s an entitled prick and doesn’t hide the fact he thinks he’s above everyone else. His father owns the club so it could be that no one wants to accidentally say or do something to offend him and lose their membership. Or it could be they’re trying hard not to punch the asshole in the mouth, so they steered clear to stay out of trouble. I didn’t like the way he was eyeing up Sloane, but straight up, I wouldn’t like anyone eyeing her up. So, if it was just her, I’d cop to being jealous, but he was studying the women, all of them. And no one was getting off on the way he was doing it. It wasn’t kink, it was filth.”