She opened her photos app and flipped through the images Grant had sent her. Six-year-old Carson in his lime-green soccer uniform, his smile showing the gaps of two missing teeth. When had he lost those? Faith in her high chair, face, hands, and tray smeared with something red. Spaghetti sauce?
Hannah clutched the phone to the center of her chest. Since Lee’s death, being away from the kids ripped her up inside.
She rode the elevator to the ground floor and headed for the lobby, where she passed two bouncers and a short line of patrons waiting to pay their entrance fees.
“Could you hurry up?” one woman complained. “The parade’s about to start.”
Hannah exited onto the concrete apron and took a solid breath of cool night air. Vegas spread out flat and open in front of her. The club was located in an industrial neighborhood. An express tire and lube sat dark across the street. The building next door housed a hotel uniform distributor. Except for the motel on the other side of the parking lot, the surrounding businesses were closed. Lights glared from a billboard advertising Carnival.
Two couples hurried past her and went inside. The parking lot was
oddly empty considering the packed space inside. But then, the main
show was about to start. She supposed no one who paid a seventy-five-
dollar cover charge was going to leave before the big event.
She made her way to the rear of the large lot, where she’d parked the rental car. As she walked, she opened the voice memo app on her phone. “Contact Timothy in London.” She slid the phone into her purse.
By the time she crossed the fourth row, she was shivering and regretting the sleeveless sheath dress and strappy Jimmy Choos she’d selected for the party. She spotted the sedan fifty feet away and quickened her pace. Her jacket and flats awaited.
Shoes scuffled on pavement. Quick footsteps and labored breathing sounded like someone running.
“Fucking bitch,” an angry male voice said.
What the—?
A body collided with Hannah, knocking her over. They both went sprawling across the pavement. Pain shot up Hannah’s spine as her tailbone hit asphalt. A body landed on her and rolled off. A young girl of about fourteen looked up at her. Slim and small, she was dressed in crotch-skimming spandex hot shorts and a tube top. Tears slid from terror-rounded eyes.
“Come back here!” Footsteps on pavement.
The girl grabbed Hannah’s shoulder. “Please help me. If he catches me, I’m dead.”
“Who?” Alarmed, Hannah scanned the lot.
“
He’sgonnakillme.”
Panic blurred the girl’s voice. Hannah could barely understand the words.
A man emerged from between a minivan and an SUV. He was a lean six two or three, with black hair and a goatee. His gaze swept the scene and locked on Hannah. He paused, hard eyes considering her.
Hannah untangled her legs and scrambled to her feet.
He focused on the girl. “Let’s go.”
Breathless and whimpering, the girl cringed on the pavement. The man moved toward her. “I said—”
Hannah scooped her purse off the ground and stepped between them. “I don’t think she wants to go with you.”
“I don’t give a fuck what she wants.” His dark eyes narrowed to mean slits. “You’re gonna want to mind your own business.” He leaned sideways to peer around Hannah and held his hand out toward the girl. His fingers curled in a
Come here
gesture. “Let’s go.”
“No.” The girl’s voice trembled.
His head tilted, as if he couldn’t believe she’d defy him. He shoved Hannah out of the way and grabbed the girl by the arm, dragging her upright.
Options raced through Hannah’s mind. Precious few of them. She wanted to run back to the club, but she couldn’t make her feet turn around. The pair would be long gone before she could return with club security or the police. Wanting more agility, she slid out of her heels.
The girl’s eyes pleaded. Her lips moved.
Help me
. The man started dragging her away. But she threw her butt backward and sank her weight low, fighting in earnest now.
Hannah sucked in a deep breath and screamed, “Help!”
“Fucking
move
,” the man shouted at the girl. He slapped her hard across the face. But she continued to resist.
Hannah dug her phone from her purse, her thumb already dialing 911.
Come on. Come on.
The dispatcher answered.
“Assault in the parking lot of Carnival. Send police.” She could hear the dispatcher asking questions. The man shifted his grip on the teen from her arm to her long ponytail and stalked toward Hannah, dragging the girl in his wake.
“Hurry,” Hannah said into the phone.
The opportunity to run had passed. Her options whittled down to one. In the split second he spent covering the pavement between them, she analyzed body targets. She had a single chance. A man of his size could easily incapacitate her with one blow. At five-ten, Hannah was tall for a woman, but he had several inches and a fair weight advantage. His fists looked well used.
She lowered the phone. If she could just get him to drop the girl. The teen could run while Hannah distracted him. At minimum, Hannah needed to keep them here, in this public space, where chances were better that eventually someone would hear or see the commotion. A patron was bound to come out of the club any second. If he got away with the girl, who knew what he’d do to her.
She had to stall him however she could until the police arrived.
He neared, his eyes shifting from angry to wary as if he was confused by her decision to hold her ground. Hannah took advantage of his hesitation. She sent up a silent prayer and lunged. Clutching the cell in her fist, she swung her arm in an upward arc as if pitching a softball into his groin. Her blow caught him square. He doubled over, swearing.
Hannah’s shoulder bounced off his torso. She stumbled, catching the movement of his arm in her peripheral vision as it arced toward her face. She turned away, but the back of his fist impacted with the side of her head and spun her around. She slammed against a minivan. Something popped. Sound muted. Hannah staggered to her feet. Her cell phone clattered to the blacktop. Her purse strap slid off, her bag falling to the pavement.
The man was on his knees, but his head was up, and he was staring at Hannah. He wouldn’t be incapacitated for long.
“Come on.” Hannah crawled to the teen and prodded her. They clambered to their feet. She grabbed the girl by the arm and pushed her toward the rental car just a few vehicles away. Hannah snatched her phone and purse from the ground and dug in her bag for the car keys. Her fingers closed over them, and she yanked them out. The club was too far. They’d never make it on foot. She clicked the fob and unlocked the car doors. “Get in!”
Sobbing, the girl jumped into the passenger seat. Hannah slid behind the wheel. The sound of the doors locking filled her with relief.
We’re
going to make it
. Hannah started the engine and put the vehicle into reverse. She looked over the seat and pressed the gas pedal with her foot.
A weight smacked against the vehicle and rocked the car. The girl screamed from the passenger seat. Hannah startled, her pulse shooting through her veins. The man glared through the windshield. His upper body lay across the hood.
“Get out of the fucking car, now!” He slapped both palms into the glass. “Or you’re dead.” He pointed at the girl.
“It’s going to be OK,” Hannah said. Heart careening, she stomped on the gas pedal. The car lurched backward. He slid off the hood. Turning the wheel, she shifted into drive and accelerated, all her thoughts on the bouncers in the lobby of the club. Damn rental was sluggish.
One minute
. They’d be there in one minute. She glanced in the rearview mirror. He was standing in the center of the aisle, arms crossed over his chest.
As if he was waiting.
Hannah paused, apprehension sliding over her like a damp cloak.
“He’sgonnakillme he’sgonnakillme he’sgonnakillme
.
”
The girl rocked back and forth, zombie-like, in her seat.
“You’re OK.” Hannah focused out the windshield. The main aisle was just ahead. “What’s your name?”
“Jewel.” The girl sobbed again and grabbed the armrest.
“It’s going to be all right, Jewel.”
A mammoth black SUV shot toward them.
No!
She applied the brakes and spun the wheel, trying to avoid the collision.
Too close.
Crash!
The SUV hit the front of the rental car, pushing it sideways. The driver’s side fender smashed into the concrete block base of the overhead light. Metal crunched. Glass shattered. With no seat belt, Hannah hurtled forward, hitting the steering wheel hard, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Head spinning, she wheezed.
The young girl’s panicked screams filled the car. As Hannah’s lungs seized, lights d
anced in her vision. She watched, detached, as another figure appeared in the passenger window, a metal bar in his hand.
Tire iron?
He was shorter and darker than the first man. She caught a glimpse of a square face and mean black eyes. He raised the iron over his shoulder and baseball-batted the glass, shattering it. Small bits of glass rained into the vehicle. Jewel’s screams melted to sobs. He reached through the opening and pressed the unlock button with his knuckle. He wrenched open the car door. Jewel went feral, arms and legs flailing. But her kicks and wild fists had no effect on the big body that leaned into the car.
A second shadow slanted across the windshield. “Get that blond bitch. She saw me. And hurry up. She called the cops,” the first man said.
The driver’s door handle rattled. “You’ll have to pull her out that side. The door’s stuck.”
“Fuck it. Just go. We need to get out of here.” They dragged Jewel from the vehicle. One of them reached back into the vehicle and took Hannah’s purse and phone from the floorboard.
Minutes later, men shouted. Footsteps approached. Hannah’s vision blurred as her eyes teared.
“Miss, are you all right?” Someone was at the car window. “Hold on. The police are pulling into the lot.”
Too late
. Sirens blared, and voices shouted. The emergency crew arrived, pried the door open, and lifted her out of the vehicle. A single idea dominated her thoughts: in the span of five minutes, she’d failed, and that poor girl was gone.
Chapter Three
Mother. Fucker.
What to do?
Smoothing his goatee, Mick glanced over the seat at the girl lying prone on the floor of the SUV. “You just fucking don’t get it, do you?”
Her only response was a whole-body flinch. The two girls who shared the second row of seats in the big SUV had drawn their legs up onto the seats. Three more girls crowded the third row. None would so much as look at Jewel, as if the sight of her was enough to earn them a pounding.
Maybe it would.
Mick had learned early on in this business there was nothing like a good beating to make a girl behave.
“What are you going to do with her?” His little brother, Sam, glanced at him from the driver’s seat. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. One hand dangled over the top of the SUV steering wheel. His white wifebeater showed off full sleeves of multicolored tats covering wiry arms and shoulders.
“I want to kill her.”
“That would be fun.” At twenty-three, his skinny brother was a Chihuahua, small but always eager to attack. Regret filled Sam’s words. “The boss would be pissed.”
They both went quiet for a second, remembering their last meeting with the boss, when Mr. K had personally castrated one of his other lieutenants before slitting the man’s throat. Bad management skills weren’t tolerated.
“You’re right,” Mick said.
Sam was the only person on earth that Mick trusted.
His little bro could kill effectively with any weapon, explosives, or his bare hands. The US Army had trained him well, then kicked him out when his love for violence became too apparent over in Iraq. Sam had never been the same after he’d come back. Instead of PTSD, Sam had acquired a bloodlust that he couldn’t legally satisfy back in the States. Killing was as natural to him as swimming to a dog.
“She’ll pay.” Sam flicked his cigarette out the window. “Just in another way.”
Curled on the floor of the SUV, the girl cringed. Mick craned his head over the seat. “I’ve told you this a hundred times: We own you. If you try to run, we will hurt you. What is it about that statement you don’t get?”
Sam steered the SUV off the main highway and drove into a residential area. Small, cracked houses squatted on small, cracked lots of dried earth. He turned right and passed two vacant properties before pulling into a stained concrete driveway. A small whimper sounded from the backseat as he shifted the car into park.
“You gonna kill the blond?” Sam asked. “She saw us.”
Mick scratched his goatee. “Maybe.”
“It’d be fun.” The gleam in Sam’s eyes caught the moonlight. “No restrictions on her. I’ll do it for you if you want to keep your hands clean.”
It wouldn’t be the first time Sam had killed for him. At the age of twelve, he’d taken out the neighborhood bully with a hammer to the head to defend his brother. That kind of loyalty couldn’t be bought. Not that Mick had needed the help, but he’d wanted to consider all his options. He had a tendency to overthink a situation. They hadn’t been caught, and Mick had learned to trust his little brother’s killer instincts.
Jewel groaned.
Mick leaned over the seat. “Hear that, Jewel? Whatever happens to that bitch is on your hands. You involved her in this.” He got out and opened the back door. “Let’s go.”
Five girls made a hasty exit, but Jewel, with her hands tied behind her back, was wedged in tight. He pulled the knife out of his pocket and unfolded the blade. Her eyes widened as he leaned over her. His hand trembled. He wanted to do it. But she didn’t belong to him. She belonged to Mr. K.
The boss had hammered the math into Mick’s head. An ounce of cocaine or a hit of crack can only be sold once. A girl can be sold hundreds of times.
“Get the fuck out of the car.” He reached in, sliced the plastic ties, and grabbed a handful of her hair. “I said
now
.”
Jewel stumbled across the curb. She went down on her hands and knees on the hard-baked earth of the front yard. Mick closed the vehicle door. Anger flowed into his chest. Hot and thick, it fueled his body almost as well as coke. He kicked her in the ribs, sending her sprawling. He reeled in his excitement.
You break it, you buy it
was the boss’s motto.
“Get up.” He stalked toward her.
She rose onto her feet, swaying like a drunk. Mick grabbed her by the arm. “Inside.” He opened the door and threw her across the threshold. She fell to her knees on the stained carpet, balled up like an armadillo, and stayed there.
The living room was empty except for Lisa, Sam’s girlfriend. The other girls, smart little bitches, had scurried for their holes like rats. Leaning over the glass table with a rolled dollar bill up one nostril, Lisa was halfway through a short line. Stringy white-blond hair hung over her pasty face. Sound effects—bells—from the game show on the TV clanged through the room. She snorted the last of the powder in one quick sniff, then swiped her hand under her runny nose. “What happened?”
“Bitch tried to run.” Mick crossed to the glass table. “You’d better not have done all my coke.”
Lisa shrank onto the couch cushion. “You said I could have one line. That’s all I did. I swear.”
Still eyeballing her, he stepped up, opened the square tin, and checked his supply. The glimmer of fear in her eyes pacified him. He nodded, and she exhaled.
That’s what he wanted to see: obedience and appreciation. He was in control. It didn’t matter that Lisa was Sam’s girlfriend. Mick could have her any time he liked. But he was done with whores. The finer things in life were trickling into his grasp, one by satisfying one. He’d come up in the world, and he wasn’t letting anything shove him back down again.
“What are you gonna do with her?” Lisa gave Jewel—curled, shaking, and smelling like fear—a glare. Lisa wasn’t going to let that little bitch ruin what she had going. If one girl escaped, what would stop the others from thinking they could do the same? Mr. K demanded a high level of efficiency, and no one who could testify against Mick would ever walk out of this house alive.
“I don’t know. I have to think.”
He turned to Jewel. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as if she didn’t want to see what was coming.
Smart thinking on her part.
Anger flared fresh in his veins. Tonight’s act of rebellion could ruin everything. This gig was good, but he was tired of worrying about Mr. K’s rules.
He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her toward the back door. She got her feet under her body and stumbled behind him. The yard was a twenty-by-twenty rectangle of concrete and dirt, walled in by a heavy wooden fence that sagged in places. His big pit bull slunk out from behind the garage to greet him.
“Sit.” Cringing, Butch obeyed. If only the girls learned as quick as the dog.
A small metal shed squatted in the rear corner. Jewel stumbled as Mick shoved her into the darkness. She fell onto her knees then curled up into a miserable ball. He handcuffed her to a pipe sticking out of the dirt. Then he walked out, shutting the door and fastening the padlock. Dumb bitch acted like Mick was new at this. He wasn’t. He’d practiced taking a girl to the edge of death and holding her there. Some girls held on a long, long time.
He went back into the living room. His brother was kicked back on the sofa, his posture deceiving. No matter how relaxed Sam appeared, violence flowed just under his skin. His eyes were coke-bright. Mick snorted a spoonful and poured himself a glass of vodka. The numbness slid over him like crushed ice flowing through his veins. Five minutes later, he felt reenergized, as if anything was possible.
Jewel was off-limits, but there was no reason he couldn’t kill the blond. Mick went out to the car and got her purse. Back inside, he flopped in a chair and pulled out her wallet. It was a fancy job with two zippered compartments. He rubbed a hand across the deep gray leather. Felt expensive. He slid a thick stack of bills from the billfold.
Sam whistled. “She’s loaded.”
Mick split the cash with Sam.
“Thanks, bro.” Sam peeled off two bills and tucked them between Lisa’s enormous boobs.
Mick nodded and opened the second zippered compartment. He pulled a driver’s license from the clear pouch. Hannah Barrett lived in Scarlet Falls, New York. He stared at the thumbnail-size picture of the blond bitch. Not the most beautiful woman in the world, but even in the crappy digital photo, there was something about her that made a man look twice. Confident and intelligent, she was the kind of woman who hung from rich dudes’ arms.
A stack of business cards bulged from an outside slot. He took one out and read it aloud. “Hannah Barrett, Attorney-at-Law, Black Associates.” Office and cell phone numbers were listed, as well as her e-mail address.
Mick contemplated his options. He glanced at the license and business card. He knew where she lived. Finding her wouldn’t take any longer than plugging her address into Google Maps.
On the sofa, Lisa climbed onto Sam’s lap and ground down on him, her giant tits right in his brother’s face.
Watching them, Mick got hard, but he wanted new and shiny. The blond was cool, aloof, untouchable. She was exactly what he deserved.
He opened his laptop and accessed the map function. Taking turns driving, he and Sam could drive straight through to New York in thirty-nine hours. But first things first.
Mick took his phone and computer into the kitchen for privacy. He called Mr. K’s well-paid contact in the Vegas PD. While he waited for a callback, he accessed his spreadsheet and entered his income totals for the week. Emptying his pockets, he counted the total cash income, took his cut, and stuffed the rest in an envelope. He saved his file and e-mailed it to the boss’s accountant. Then he made the call requesting the recycling of one of his assets. Jewel would be gone by Tuesday.
Thirty minutes later, his contact called him back with the information. Hannah Barrett had given the police a decent description of him, but Mick had successfully avoided surveillance cameras. She was expected to sign her statement and head back to New York ASAP. The detectives would call her if they needed her to ID a suspect.
Like Mick was going to let that happen. If the police managed to finger Mick, Hannah Barrett’s eyewitness testimony would be the key piece of evidence in their case.
Mick closed the computer and went back into the living room. “Hey, Sam. How do you feel about a road trip? We’ll make the drop and take off right afterward.”
Sam’s eyes brightened. “I’ll get my stuff.” He pushed Lisa aside and disappeared down the hallway.
Mick turned to Lisa. “You’ll have to handle business for a few days.”
“Sure.” Her nod was quick and eager. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d left her in charge. Mr. K required girls to be recruited out-of-state.
He opened his tin and took out a bag. “There’s enough in there for you to have a little party when you get home each night.”
She reached for the coke.
Mick lifted it out of her grasp. “If you don’t make the totals each night, I’ll be taking the money out of your hide when I get back. If you do a good job, you’ll be rewarded. Understand?”
She nodded, eyes locked on the baggie.
He dropped it into her open palm. Her greedy fingers closed around it slowly, as if she couldn’t believe it was all hers.
“Follow my rules, do your job, and there’ll be more when I get back.” He reached out and lifted her chin until her gaze lifted to meet his. “If you don’t, I’ll know.”
Her eyes widened. Fear rimmed her irises with white. “OK, Mick.” Her voice shook.
“Jewel is being picked up Tuesday night. Make her clean up, and keep her alive until they come for her,” he instructed. “But just barely. I don’t want her to be too energetic.”
“OK.”
“I’m going to pack.” He went into his bedroom and pulled out a duffel bag. Everything he owned fit inside. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the closet. New York would be cold. On top of his clothes, he tossed the kidnapping kit: zip ties and duct tape. He grabbed an extra box of bullets and a flashlight from the top shelf of the closet. He patted his pockets. Gun, knife, check.
He paused, looking back at the bed. Just in case . . . He slid his hand under the mattress and withdrew a bundle of cash. He’d been saving his cut for months, plus skimming a little off the top each week. He tucked it in his bag.
Sam was waiting in the living room, a small duffel bag in one hand, his usual backpack in the other. “Ready.”
“What’s that?” Mick nodded toward the duffel.
“Just a few toys.” God—or maybe the devil—only knew what Sam had in that bag.
Mick reached for it, but Sam pulled it behind his back. “It’s a surprise.”
“OK.” Mick backed off. His brother had always been short-tem
pered, but after Iraq . . . Mick had learned it was better to let some things go. Once Sam went apeshit, there was no calming him down until his rage ran out of steam. Mick swiped the manila envelope of cash from the coffee table. “Let’s go.”
Sam followed him out to the garage. Mick unlocked the door and raised it. His hand trailed along the shiny black fender.
Sam whistled softly. “Badass car.”
Mick unlocked a wooden storage bin in the rear of the garage. He took out two assault rifles and a box of ammo Sam had bought
off one of his ex-
military pals. He put the firepower in the trunk and covered it with a tarp. Then he slid behind the wheel and settled into the black leather seat with a satisfied groan. The engine started with the satisfying rumble of a V-8. He grinned at his brother through the open window.
Mick backed out of the garage. Sam opened the back gate, closing and locking it with the chain and padlock after the Charger passed through. He got into the passenger seat.
“No smoking in the car.” Mick stroked the steering wheel and inhaled the new-car smell.
Sam sighed. “OK, Mick. Gonna be a long drive, though.”
“I’ve barely driven her. She isn’t even broken in yet.” Mick thought about the cool blond waiting for him in New York. He couldn’t wait to break her. “Tell you what. When I’m done with the blond, I’ll let you have a crack at her before I kill her.”