Flame (3 page)

Chapter
5

Colton

It’s happening. I feel it. The
Talon Group is making strides. Things are changing. I’m making an impact.

My veins
pump with happy healthy blood and I laugh out loud.

Life
is good.

I’m back
on 2nd Avenue, today’s assignment for The Talon Group now in motion. Disguise back
in my gym bag, blue Buick back in step behind me.

I love
fooling people. I so do.

Something
tells me I’m going to have a hard time fooling this Sofia, the girl with the face
I need to paint.

Whose
rocking body makes me hard, even now as I drive this crappy old car.

Talked
to my buddy,
Goffman
, about her over the weekend.
Tough girl. Grew up right here in
Wynwood
. Dad used to
work homicide. Gay brother owns a floral boutique on Collins.

She was
suspended for a week for being too rough with a suspect four years ago. Discharged
her weapon twice. First time was at a standoff with about twenty other cops. Second
time was injuring a man running from a domestic disturbance. Sent for a full psych
evaluation two years ago for unknown reasons, then returned to duty after a six-week
leave. Promoted last year to the Organized Crime Section. Bisexual. As I picture
her face, I can’t help but feel a jolt of electricity.

And that
kiss.

Man,
that kiss.

It was
on fire.

As I’m
about to turn left onto the Venetian, my phone rings. It’s Tommy Nero.

“Tommy!”
I say as I pick up.

“Colton,”
he says. “Want to come by for lunch?”

“Perfect
timing,” I say. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Tommy
Nero owns
Leonetta’s
, the best restaurant on Miami
Beach. Right on the water with a spectacular view.

Big,
bald, and thick, Tommy looks like a tank. Although, I never look at him for
long because he’s always surrounded by girls in bikinis. Tommy is my kind of
guy.

We became
friends as semi-pro boxers. He worked as an enforcer after detaching his retina
in a fight, then went legit with this restaurant. Maintains his contacts in the
underworld, though.

We’re
sitting at one of the octagonal cabanas that are part of the outdoor dining room.
Leonetta’s
is packed, as it always is at lunchtime.

Tommy
is wearing what he calls his “tourist costume,” a flowered blue shirt with white
pants and flip-flops.

“How’s
that place you run?” he says as he takes a bite of shrimp cocktail.

“Abundant,”
I say with a smile. “You should come over some night, grab a
chica
or two.”

“Too
loud for me. Plus when you open your doors, I’ve already been asleep for two
hours. What can I say? I’m a morning guy.”

The waitress
brings us a feast of lobster
fra
diavlo
and steak with horseradish mayonnaise. I cut off
a piece of the rare sirloin, dipping it in the horseradish mayo.

“So what
did you want to talk to me about, Tommy?”

Tommy
takes a bite, wipes his mouth, and sits back in his chair. His eyes cut a swath
into mine.

“Known
you a long time, Colton buddy. But I heard some things lately. Things I don’t
like.”

I
chew my steak. Delicious. “Like what?”

“Guy
asks me where he can get some action. Young action. Too young action, if you know
what I mean.”

“Sounds
like a real sleaze. Hope you taught him a lesson.”

Tommy
smiles. “I did.”

I
take a piece of lobster tail, dip it in butter, and eat it. “I’ve been on the
other end of that right hook. I don’t envy him.”

Tommy
drops the smile and stares at me, which is enough to make most mortals have a
bowel movement. I stop chewing.

“Okay
Tommy, I’ll bite. Why are you telling me this?”

“This
guy was under the impression that the owner of Heat can supply him a Lolita or
two.”

“Lolita?”

“Underage
girls, Colton.”

I
feel a wretch in my stomach as I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Tommy, that’s
ridiculous.”

Tommy
leans forward. “Colton, I’m serious.”

I
throw the napkin down and stare back at Tommy. “And I’m serious when I say
that’s ridiculous. You know me. I like girls. Lots of girls. But they’re all of
age. One hundred percent of them.”

We
stare at each other for almost a full minute, neither breaking our expression.
Then Tommy’s face relaxes a little.

“You
don’t know, do you?”

I stop
eating and lean back. “Know what?”

“Colton,
I believe you. But I had to test you. I’m relieved. If you knew, I’d bury your
body parts in several places.”

“Tommy,
it’s me, Colton! What the fuck are you talking about?”

Tommy
looks out at the ocean and leans his elbows on the table. “Well, all this made
me curious. Couldn’t believe my buddy Colton Stark could be involved in
anything like this. So I did some digging on Stark Worldwide and came up with
some interesting info on your buddy Jasper van
der
Voort
.”

“He’s
not my buddy. He’s my dad’s best friend. Runs the company while I play on the
beach and smile for the cameras. You know that.”

“Colton,
he has a reputation abroad. Takes lots of trips to South America.”

I
eat another piece of steak. “I know. I love it when he’s gone.”

Tommy’s
eyes dig into me. “You don’t know what he does there?”

“Frolics
with women, I assume.”

Tommy’s
face contorts into a frown. “Not women, Colton. Girls. Little girls. Some boys,
too. We’re talking young here. Sick young.”

As I
swallow, the meat gets caught in my throat. I gasp, then chug some water to
wash it down.

Everything
stops. We freeze frame. My skin feels clammy.

“I wouldn’t
put it past him,” I say, glancing over at the waves. “He is the Emperor of
Sleaze, but I can’t imagine him pimping out little girls.”

“Colton,
he brings them here.”

My hand
now shakes. I seem to have broken out into a sweat too, even though there’s a cool
breeze.

“How
do you know this?” I say.

“Can’t
say. Let’s just leave it as I know. He’s got a stash of them here somewhere. A little
harem, apparently.”

I feel
another wretch beginning in my stomach, stronger this time.

Suddenly
a lot of things make sense to me. Things I hadn’t consciously noticed before.
Plus a series of images flash in my head.

Jasper
in Costa Rica sitting on a boat with a group of kids. Jasper at that party many
years ago, emerging from a room. The day he wouldn’t let me onto his yacht.
Plus forty-six or so other signs I missed.

Shit,
I’ve been blind.

Oh,
God.

I
believe it.

I
do.

The
wretch in my stomach expands upwards.

“Excuse
me,” I say as I bolt to the men’s room.

I barely
make it into a stall before I vomit into the toilet.

I
stay there for a few moments, shaking and sweating.

The
guy used my name. Colton Stark.

My
name!

I
can’t let this happen. I may break the law to steal money from an evil man so I
can do good with it, but I can’t let my name be tarnished like this.

I
grit my teeth and clench my fist as I lean on the toilet seat.

I refuse to allow my name to be tarnished like this!

I’m suddenly
infused with a powerful desire to kill Jasper.

I
close my eyes, take a deep breath, and flush the toilet.

A
plump tourist in a yellow flowered shirt washing his hands stares at me as I
emerge from the stall and walk to the sink.

“You
okay, buddy?” he says.

I nod
yes, and then he leaves.

I put
my hands under the faucet and splash cold water on my face. Then I look at myself
in the mirror.

I don’t
like the man staring back at me.

This
needs to change. My Self-Detonation plan has just been reactivated.

But
if I do this, I’m going to have to nuke my life. The unfortunate truth is that,
with this knowledge, there’s no choice anymore. Human trafficking of minors is over
the line.

Way over
the line.

Jasper
van
der
Voort
is going
down.

Chapter
6

Sofia

Alone in my car, I open the
Dunkin’ Donuts bag. Inside is a burner phone and a plastic clip of some sort.

I’m
parked several blocks away from
Tony’s
Gym. It’s
2:43. Why did
LaTashia
tell me to park so far away?
I’m going to have to start walking soon.

I’m
about to get out of the car when the burner phone rings.

“Hello,”
I say.

“Don’t
say my name,” says
LaTashia
.

“Okay.”

“Did
you get the clip?”

“Yes.”
I pick up the piece of plastic.

“It’s
a firefly for the Bentley.”

“
Ohhh
, I understand.”

A firefly
is police slang for a transponder. She wants me to plant it in Colton Stark’s Bentley
so we can follow it. I’m guessing she wants me parked far away so maybe he’ll offer
me a ride to my car and I can clip this on something in his car.

“Got
it,” I say.

“The
firefly is set to a non-official frequency. Don’t want any eyes on this besides
you and me. I’ll text you the login address. Use your clean laptop.”

“Okay.”

“He
goes to an Asian spa for a massage every morning. Stays in there for about an hour-and-a-half.
Sometimes two hours.”

Asian
spa? Every day? Happy ending massage? Colton Stark? Something doesn’t add up
there.

“Not
his style,” I say.

“Part
of our problem,” she says. “Work on that. Save this number. This is the only way
we’ll talk about this. Not one word in the office.”

“Okay.”

She clicks
off without saying goodbye.

Shit,
this is serious. If she went to this much trouble, she really believes we have an
informant in OCS.

Who?

I
get out of my car, grab my gym bag, and start walking to
Tony’s
Gym.

The wind
whips through the alleys. First cool day we’ve had in a while. It’s refreshing.

As I
walk, I ponder who it could be. Not Mike, no way. Not Frank. How about Farrell?
No, can’t picture it. Sly? Wanda? Marshall? No, no, and no. Then there’s
Maldonado. Shit, I bet it’s Maldonado. Don’t know why. Something untrustworthy
about him sets off alarm bells with me.

My cell
phone rings. It’s Jorge.

“Hey,”
I say.

“He’s
at it again. I can’t deal. It’s your turn tonight.”

“Shit.
Okay, fine.”

“Last
night I made him dinner and got the place cleaned up, then he started with the usual.
I had to go. I couldn’t take it. How many times can you have the same conversation?”

“I
know the feeling. Fine. I’ll do tonight. Wish Mom would fucking come home.”

“She
ain’t
coming home, girl, and you know it. This is
Puerto Rican-style divorce.”

I’m
outside
Tony’s
Gym.

“Yeah,
I know. Okay,
gotta
go.”

I click
off.

Tony’s
Gym
is too fancy to be called
Tony’s
Gym. Bright and shiny.
Lots of white.

I
usually work out at a small place downtown. This is a touch too upscale for me.
Big boxing ring in the front. Large rack of various-sized punching bags in the center.
Weights, machines, and a big wrestling mat area in the back. As far as I can
tell there are only three people here—a coach giving a private lesson to
a guy in his sixties who looks like he might pass out soon, and a young girl
working at the desk.

The
girl looks up from her
iPhone
as I approach her. Blonde.
Probably eighteen. She’s wearing a bright pink tank top over large breasts with
striped Spandex shorts.

“
Hiii
,” she says in a sing-
songy
voice.

“Hello,
I’m not a member but I’m meeting one here.”

“What’s
his name?”

“Colton
Stark.”

Her pupils
dilate and she blushes.

“Oh yes,
Mr. Stark just called. He’s going to be a few minutes late. Go right in. The ladies’
locker room is in the back to the right.”

“Thank
you.”

“Feel
free to use any of the equipment until he gets here. I can show you how to use anything
if you don’t know how. My name is Britney.”

I shoot
her a look that seems to make her shrink. She takes a step back.

Oops, too harsh, Sofia.

I put
on a fake smile and say, “Thanks, Britney. I’m Sofia. I appreciate the offer but
I think I’ll be okay.”

She sinks
into her chair and returns to her game of Candy Crush.

The ladies’
locker room has a whirlpool, a steam room, and a sauna. The lockers have electronic
keypads instead of old combination locks. Everything is spotless, almost like it’s
hardly ever used.

I
change into my workout clothes.

While
I wait for Colton, I do three rounds on the heavy bag and then three on the speed
bag. Then I jog in a big loop around the club while mentally reviewing my goals.

First
is to get Colton talking. Listen for clues. Second is to somehow get that firefly
attached to his car. Most car seats have something underneath the passenger seat
that would be easy to clip onto. I assume a Bentley does too, not that I’ve ever
been in a Bentley.

I forget
all my plans as I see him walk in.

God, did he get taller?

He’s
wearing a white shirt and light gray pants that flow off his spectacular frame.
A gust of wind enters through the open front door with him.

Sunglasses
and stubble again. Messy dark hair.

Shit,
I’m doing it again.

Oof
!

I plow
into the hapless sixty-year old guy right in the middle of his private lesson, almost
knocking him over. I stop and help him regain his balance.

“Oh my
God!” I say. “I’m so sorry.”

The
old guy looks at me in shock. “It’s okay,” he says with a smile as he looks me
up and down.

“I’m
really so sorry. I’ll look where I’m going next time.”

The instructor,
a big guy with a salt-and-pepper crew cut, just glares at me. I resume jogging.

Colton
looks back at me as he walks into the men’s locker room, taking off his sunglasses
while smiling.

Zing!

Damn.
No! No! No! I’m going to stay in control of my bodily sensations today, damn it!

I stop
running and do a couple more rounds on the heavy bag again.

“You
found the place,” Colton Stark says as he emerges from the men’s locker room. “Thought
about sending you coordinates in case you got lost.”

He’s
in a blue tank top with black shorts and cross trainers, holding his black
gloves and head gear. His shoulder muscles have deep ridges.

“Funny,
asshole,” I say. “Are you ready to get creamed?”

Shit,
bad choice of words.

“You
have no idea,” he says.

“Aren’t
you going to warm up?”

“No need.
This won’t take long.”

I laugh
and put my hands on my hips, looking up into his face. His blue eyes bore into me.

Zing!

I swear
I can’t control it. I can control it with every other human being on earth. Why
does this man seem to have complete command of my pussy?

We put
on our gear and climb into the ring.

We tap
gloves and begin moving in circles around the ring. I try not to look at his perfectly
carved shoulder muscles. Nor that tattoo.

I throw
a couple of test jabs at him to see how he reacts. He slips both easily.

“Arrest
anybody today?” he says as he sends a left jab toward my face. I slip to my
left, avoiding it.

“Not
yet,” I say. “Need more evidence.”

I fake
with my right, then my left. He steps back from both, unfazed.

Hmm,
he’s good.

“What
kind of evidence?” he says as he ducks under my left hook and rises with a right
uppercut that I block with my right glove.

I step
back and move to his outside right. He follows me.

“Not
sure yet,” I say.

“You
need the hard kind.”

Did he just say that?

“Hard?”

“Yeah,
hard, solid evidence. Something that’s going to blow a load of good
intel
your way.”

He throws
a jab-jab-cross combination at me. I duck while sending my right fist into his gut.

“Very
nice,” he says. “Maybe you can box after all.”

We
dance in circles some more. His tattoo is more visible now. It’s a bald eagle
with a rolled piece of parchment in its over-sized talons. There’s writing on the
document. I can make out two words... “never” and “people.”

“Milton
Friedman,” he says.

“Huh?”

“My tattoo.
You were trying to read it.”

I fake
with my right and launch a left jab at his face. He blocks it expertly and jabs
my gut with his left.

Something
is off. I’m not paying attention to his center like I should be. My eyes keep drifting
to his silky hair, his hypnotic blue eyes, his expanding and contracting shoulders,
and his crotch.

He’s
more muscular than he appears in his pictures. It’s because he’s tall. Tall guys
carry muscle differently. He definitely has a lot of it. Must workout every day.

He fakes
with his left and throws a right cross at my head. I duck just in time as his glove
grazes my cheek.

Little
too close there. Damn, have to step up my game. He’s better than I thought.

“So tell
me more about this hard evidence,” I say.

“You
need something on a flash drive,” he says. “A self-executing program. All cocked
and ready. Just needs to be inserted into a tight USB port. Once it does,
boom!”

“Cocked,
huh?”

“Yeah.
Just put it in. Then the magic happens. All the info automatically thrusts itself
to the world in long powerful strokes, over and over again, causing eruptions everywhere.”

“What
kind of eruptions?”

“Multiple
eruptions.”

I
see his left fist coming at me so I duck. His right uppercut lands on my chin and
I fall backwards a little.

Fuck, that hurt!

Now I’m
getting pissed.

There’s no way this pasty-ass, rich, white boy
is going to beat me at boxing!

He smiles
at me as we move around again.

God,
that’s the hottest look I’ve ever seen on a man. His face is contorted into a glare
that is both frightening and sexy at the same time. He’s toying with me and he knows
it.

I shouldn’t
be enjoying this, but I am. I don’t know if I want to hit him or pull him down
on top of me.

“Flash
drive, huh?” I say.

“Makes
you excited thinking about it, doesn’t it? Getting your hands on it, feeling it
in your fingers. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. Maybe even more.”

This
guy thinks he’s funny. Fine, I’ll play along.

“How
big is this flash drive?”

“Long,
thick, and fully engorged with data.”

Zing!

Damn
it.

“
Cuz
a lot of guys say they have big flash drives but once
they plug into the USB port they turn out not to be much of anything at all.”

“Not
this one. This one is unwavering, unbending... a full-on savage assault of
streaming evidence that will brutally jam itself into your USB ports...
hard!
... not just the main one but the
one in the back, too.”

I launch
a combination at him, throwing a series of lefts and rights that usually confuse
my opponent. He easily avoids them, not even trying to hit me. Ha, thinks he can
just let me wear myself out as I stay on the outside.

As we
dance around again, I keep getting a flash of getting in a clinch with him. Breathing
in his sweat. Licking his neck.

Focus, Sofia! Focus! You’re here to get info!

I
need to change topics, get him off this sexual innuendo kick.

“So,
what did you do this morning?” I say.  ”Anything fun?”

“Nothing
that two guys in a light blue Buick didn’t see.”

I make
a left jab that hits air, throwing me off balance. He counters with his own left
but I duck sending my left into his gut. As I come up I fake with my right. He’s
expecting a left from me but I smash a right cross directly into his mouth. He stumbles
back into the ropes.