by April Hunt
Rachel watched as Logan followed his two new friends through the casino, and rescued her cell phone from her cleavage. She’d barely finished typing headquarters’ number when someone yanked the phone from her hands.
“If it isn’t the snooty princess someplace else she doesn’t belong.” Stella’s ruby-red lips jerked into a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile as she stomped on Rachel’s phone with a daggerlike heel. “Are you going to tell me that you being here is a coincidence? Again?”
Rachel lifted her chin and met the other woman’s glare. “No. I’m still looking for my friend, and I think you know exactly where she is.”
“I don’t make a habit of stalking the boss’s playthings. There’s too damn many of them to keep track of.”
Rachel couldn’t call the other woman out for lying, because, sadly, she didn’t think Stella was making up Carson’s fondness for women.
“Since I’m such a sucker for a happy ending, why don’t I take you to the boss and you can ask him about your friend yourself?” Stella’s red-tipped fingers dug into Rachel’s arm like claws.
“As soon as my boyfriend comes back, we’ll do that.”
Stella’s smirk poured ice into Rachel’s veins. “Oh, honey. He’s not going to be coming back. The boss has other plans for him, although they’re not as pleasant as what he has in store for you.”
Rachel stepped back, running into a brick wall. Even if the oversize goon behind her hadn’t had manacles for hands, there’d have been no way Rachel could outrun the gun Stella pulled from her purse.
* * *
Logan’s skin itched with the need to bust into action, and Carson’s two goons divesting him of his gun didn’t dampen the desire one bit. He needed to ditch the assholes and get back to Rachel. Whatever the hell had been tipped into motion wouldn’t end well if he didn’t do something, and soon.
With one thug in front and one on his rear, Logan let himself be led into the casino’s inner sanctum. Above his head florescent lights flickered ominously, giving everything, including the walls, a sickly ashen color. It was a new building, but the damn place could’ve been the backdrop for a horror movie.
“Have to tell you guys, I’m not impressed with your tour. I thought it would be more…lively,” Logan quipped dryly.
“Probably a good thing for you that it’s not.” The goon in front pushed through an exit door.
Hot, humid Vegas air hit Logan in the face as they stepped into a darkened alley. Oblivious to their presence, a homeless man with his cart piled high with personal treasures trudged toward the main street. And on their right, pissing against the building, another man wobbled unsteadily on his feet.
“Hey, asshole. This isn’t a fucking public bathroom,” Goon One growled. “Take your limp dick and get the hell out of here.”
The leather jacket–clad guy ignored the directive, taking his time zipping his pants.
Carson’s thug pulled out his gun and stepped toward the wall pisser. “Hey, fuckhead. Didn’t you hear me? Get lost.”
Less than an inch away from contact, the interloper’s arms whipped out, reacting much too fast for someone who’d been slinging back a few drinks. Carson’s goon folded like a pretzel, the stranger’s fist meeting his nose with a sick crunch.
The thug stumbled into Logan on his way to the ground, giving Logan the chance to divest him of his gun. He pistol-whipped Carson’s remaining goon, not stopping to watch him hit the ground before spinning back around.
Logan and the wall pisser aimed their guns at each other.
Fully prepared to do whatever it took to get back to Rachel, Logan tightened his fingers around the butt of the Glock. “You’d be doing us both a favor if you dropped the damn gun, turned around, and walked the hell away.”
“Not until you do.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Then that’s going to be a problem,” a second voice announced.
Sans shopping cart, the homeless man had sneaked up behind Logan, looking no longer homeless—or helpless—with a silver Magnum aimed at Logan’s head.
He didn’t need to be a mathematician to know his odds sucked ass. “I really don’t care what your beef is with these guys. I’ll leave you to hash it out with them. But I need to get back in that casino and I need to do it right the fuck now. Nothing against you nice gentlemen, but I’m prepared to do anything to make that happen.”
The dark-haired wall pisser stepped closer, not missing the subtle change in Logan’s grip. “Those are the words of a desperate man.”
Fuck yeah he was desperate, more so with each damn second he remained in this damn alley.
Grinning, the stranger slowly lowered his gun. “Stone said there’d be no telling what you’d do if we didn’t get our asses here quick. I guess he knows you pretty damn well, huh? You look a split second away from tearing Carson’s casino to its foundation.”
Carson.
Stone.
Everything clicked.
“You’re the backup.” Logan pocketed the thug’s gun and searched the now-unconscious guy for the one that had been taken from him. Finding it, he slid it back into its holster. “You guys sure know how to make an entrance.”
“Wasn’t on purpose. We improvised when the three of you came bursting out that door.” The nonhomeless man thrust out his hand. “Cade Wright. And the ugly bastard with the ability to pee on command is Knox Steele. I’m Washington, D.C. Special Crimes and he’s…What the hell are you going by these days?”
“Complicated,” Steele answered with a faint smirk.
Logan cocked an eyebrow as he shook Wright’s hand. “Well, speaking from one complicated guy to another, thank you. You guys are a long way from D.C., but I’m not complaining.”
“Me either,” Wright chuckled. “I no sooner told Steele tonight that I expected a little bit more action for the Mil-Tech convention being in Vegas, and voila…we got a call.”
Steele threw his friend a challenging look. “I’ve offered you a life of action and head busting but you keep turning me the hell down.”
Wright shook his head, obviously having heard this before. “It’s not the right time, man.”
“When the hell are you going to realize that she’s not a little girl anymore?” Something unspoken shifted between the two friends.
“When I’m dead.”
Logan interrupted the little spat. “Not that I don’t appreciate you guys being here, but I need to get to my lady before that fuckwad Carson puts his grimy hands on her.”
“Sorry.” Steele sent his buddy one final glare before turning back to Logan. “He’s a stubborn jackass, has been since we were kids. We’re here to help however we can. How do you want to go about this?”
Logan’s cell rang from inside the first goon’s pocket.
“They get there?” Charlie asked the second he pulled it free and answered.
“Cavalry’s here. We’re about to go inside and get Rachel.”
“Do not make a move right now,” Charlie warned.
Logan’s hand froze on the exit door. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I cracked through the surveillance cameras located around the casino and Rachel was escorted off the main floor by a small entourage.”
“So where is she now?”
“I don’t bloody know because the only feeds I’ve been able to find are those from the public areas of the hotel and casino. But I can tell you that she hasn’t left the building. The only car traffic that’s happened in the last half hour has been flowing into the lower-level parking garage.”
“So if she’s still inside, why am I not going back in there to get her?”
Charlie muttered a slew of British curses before speaking to him as though he were a toddler. “Because, Logan, they know what your ugly mug looks like. The second you step through those doors, they’ll be on you before you can do a complete two-step.”
“So what would you have us do, Charlie? I’m not
leaving her in there to fend for herself.” Logan’s frustration was escalating by the second.
“I’m about to tell you, Callahan, so stifle it and listen before I put my boot through this phone and kick your bloody arse,” Charlie threatened. “For a corrupt bastard, Carson has a pretty sophisticated security setup. It’s practically impossible to dig my way through, but if I had a Hide-and-Seek it would be a different story.”
“What the fuck’s a Hide-and-Seek?”
“Our golden all-access ticket to everything Sinful Players, but you need to go see a friend of mine over at the convention hall. I’ll text you his room number. You find Cache, tell him what you need and that it’s for me, and he’ll hook you up.”
“And it’ll help us find Rachel.”
“As easy as a bloody Marauder’s Map.”
“Send me the info. I’m bringing Rachel home where she belongs.”
“To Pennsylvania?”
“To me.”
Chapter Eight
Rachel willed her heart to ease up on its vicious pounding, but she wasn’t any more successful now than she had been when Carson’s goons first shoved a sack over her head. It swirled as if stuck in a typhoon, unable to concentrate on the murmured voices surrounding her.
“Move, bitch.” Something sharp poked her back. Her leg buckled, sending her crashing knees-first onto a hard floor. On her left a hand gripped the top of the hood—and her hair—and hauled her back to her feet.
Rachel swallowed a cry.
“Don’t like it rough, hon?” Stella’s smoke-addled voice taunted near her ear. “Maybe you shouldn’t have stuck your nose where it didn’t belong.”
“Said like a woman who doesn’t have any friends…which is so surprising considering you have such a sparkling personality,” Rachel fired back.
Someone ripped away the hood, and with it a clump of Rachel’s hair. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, refusing to make a sound as Stella pushed her face within an inch of hers. “And what did that friendship cost you, sweetheart? You were so busy worrying about that bitch friend of yours and now you’re both in for a world of hurt.”
Stella shoved Rachel into an open elevator. At this point her lungs usually seized, but now, without a hood over her eyes, she soaked in her surroundings and tried figuring out their location.
Oversize and cold, the elevator’s wide walls and sparse interior identified its commercial use. Stumbling onto well-meaning tourists wouldn’t be likely.
Rachel wiggled her hands, wincing as plastic ties bit into her wrists. She’d survived Honduras. She’d beaten the hell out of Fuentes and his drugs. She was well on her way to conquering the world of love and romance.
She could sure as hell beat this too—with or without being saved by Logan Callahan.
Stella’s sharp nails dug into her arm as she yanked her from the elevator and into another corridor. “Let’s go, princess.”
Above their heads, pipes of different colors ran north and south, and the tiled floor gave way to cement. Eerie music spilled into the hall, slowing Rachel’s steps until she received another rough shove.
“Don’t look so worried. You’re about to get what you’ve been asking for.” Grinning, Stella swiped a badge in front of an electronic pad and pushed open an unmarked door.
A startling burst of colored strobe lights had Rachel blinking her eyes into focus. Bodies occupied the room, all in varying stages of dress—and undress—as they moved in some semblance of a dance. No one glanced their way as they entered, too busy partaking in the elaborate buffet of drugs laid out on a massive, bar-size cherry countertop.
White powder. Injectables. Pills.
Rachel’s stomach twisted into a knot, but not from a desire to get her hands on any of it.
That amount of drugs could ruin a lot of people’s lives.
Rachel immediately recognized Dean Carson. Sitting regally in a plush, high-backed chair, the dark-haired businessman looked like a king on his throne. An unconscious woman lay at his feet, her head of dark hair draped over his lap in a tangled mess.
“Am I supposed to believe that this little scrap of a thing is the one who’s been making a nuisance of herself around my town?” Carson’s cold black eyes tracked Rachel as Stella shoved her closer.
“One and the same.” Stella sneered.
“For a former schoolteacher, you’ve proven to be very evasive, Miss Kline.”
Rachel failed to mask her surprise.
“Did you think I didn’t know all about you?” Carson asked, smugly. “I’ve heard every fantastical detail about your time with Carly in Honduras, about how you saved her, how you believed in her when she didn’t believe in herself. But she never told me how crafty you were. You eluded my men for hours, literally dodged a bullet fired by one of the best assassins in the business. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were less a guardian angel and more like a cat with nine lives.”
“Maybe your men aren’t as skilled as you think they are,” Rachel quipped dryly, summoning Logan’s nerve-induced wit.
A smile slithered onto Carson’s face, turning Rachel’s stomach. “I employ nothing but the best. I demand respect, loyalty, and obedience—all of which your friend lacked.”
“There doesn’t get anyone more loyal than Carlotta.”
“I think you really believe that, because I’m not being overdramatic when I say that most people wouldn’t risk their lives poking their noses into my business, no matter what—or who—was on the line.”
“I’m not most people.” Rachel glared, refusing to back down. “And I’m not leaving without her.”
Carson’s smile widened. “You may think differently when you realize the great disservice Carly did you by getting you involved. You see, she took something that didn’t belong to her, and then she did a foolish thing by hiding it.”
“Seems to me that if you want it that bad, it was smart of her to hide it from you.”
“I can see why you and Carly befriended one another—both beautiful, both stubborn. But I haven’t gotten to where I am today because I’m stupid. I know she told you where the flash drive is, and if you really are here to save your friend, you’ll tell me where it is.”
The woman propped against his leg groaned. Her hair obscured the majority of her face, all except one black-and-blue cheek and swollen-shut eye. Rachel didn’t need to see the rest to recognize Carly.
“You bastard!” Rachel lurched forward and received a sharp yank on her hair, pulling her back straight into a severe stomach punch courtesy of one of Carson’s goons. “What did you do to her?”
“I did what needed to be done when someone threatens me, and then thinks they can just up and leave.” Carson entwined his hand in Carly’s hair and stretched her neck to a harsh angle. Carly, barely conscious, whimpered. “She needed a little reminder that her life is mine. Now I know she won’t forget it.”
“Her life is hers,” Rachel spit.
Chuckling, Carson stood. Carly spilled onto the ground. “You really shouldn’t fill her head with silly notions that aren’t true. Look at her. Does she look like a woman who’s capable of standing on her own two feet?”
Held by two goons, Rachel stood helpless as Carson stalked toward her. Stopping a few inches away, he trailed a finger down her cheek, the sensation coating her throat with bile. “It’s sad—one drug whore trying to give another false hope. You can change. You control your life. Bullshit. You know what controls your life?” Carson jerked her chin toward the table of drugs. “That. You may not be putting it into your body, but it still controls some part of you. And if I control the drugs, I control you.”
Rachel couldn’t deny it. Drugs didn’t call to her anymore, but Honduras had changed her in a fundamental way, and for a damn long time. Dressing rooms made her break into a cold sweat, and bedroom windows remained open at all times, a chilly scenario during a Pennsylvania winter. And as Logan had pointed out earlier, fake smiles had become her talent.
&n
bsp; Every single one of those quirks belonged to a past Rachel.
Riding a rush of determination, Rachel ripped her chin from Carson’s hold, spitting in his face. “No. I control me. As a matter of fact, you couldn’t be any less in control. You’re right. I did have the flash drive, but I don’t anymore. It’s only a matter of time before hell rains down on you in the form of the entire Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department—and that’s the best-case scenario for you. Because God help you if my friends get to you first.”
Pain exploded behind Rachel’s eyes as his fist slammed into her jaw. A kaleidoscope of colors swept across her vision, but shadows crept close behind. Starting in the periphery, they slowly overtook everything until her world plummeted into darkness.
* * *
Logan, Knox, and Cade reached the Mil-Tech hotel in record time, and once they got to the venue, the two friends slipped away to their room to prep and grab a few toys.
At nearly five in the morning and packed up for the day, the convention center stood eerily empty. Logan followed Charlie’s texted instructions and hightailed it to the central elevators to find room 1202. Once there, he rapped on the door, and after five seconds, he did it again.
“I didn’t order room service,” came a scratchy, nervous voice.
“Not room service.” Logan leaned toward the small peephole, knowing someone watched him from the other side. “I’m looking for Cache. I’m a friend of Charlie.”
“Charlie?”
“British pixie with a mostly-bad attitude and fondness for making grown men cry?”
The door opened as wide as the privacy lock allowed. A blue eye covered by thick-framed black glasses peered through the slit. “You forgot to mention ill-tempered.”
“Figured that was lumped in with the bad attitude.” Logan chuckled. He didn’t want to scare the shit out of the kid, but this whole damn process needed to move ten times faster. “She sent me here to grab a Hide-and-Seek…said you were the person to hook me up.”
