Hot Target

by April Hunt

  The kid muttered something under his breath before slamming the door closed. A second later, it opened again, and a pale, spindly arm ushered Logan inside.

  Cache—which Logan doubted was his real name—paced the room. “You’re sure she said Hide-and-Seek? It’s not exactly used for commercial purposes.”

  “I guess it’s what she needs for this purpose. She said you owed her.”

  Cache sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I knew that favor was going to come back and bite me on the ass. Hold on.”

  He rummaged through a black duffel before producing a quarter-sized metallic disk. He handed it to Logan, looking as if he wanted to change his mind and take it back.

  “This is it?” Logan asked, unsure.

  Cache nodded. “All you need to do is find a breaker box and attach this to both the black and red cables.”

  Logan waited for a more in-depth explanation. “Just pull and attach?”

  “Unless you wanted to get electrocuted, first you’d shut down the box.” Cache snorted, taking the Hide-and-Seek back and showing him the small hub on each side. “Once the power’s off, you detach the red wire from its post, remove some of the protective sheath, and then wind it one full rotation around the HAS hub. Then you do the same with the black wire and attach it to the other side. Once everything’s wound tight, you flick the power back on, and voila. Whoever has access to the HAS has access—and control—of all digital signatures that are linked—like alarms, electronic door locks. It’s like a digital skeleton key.”

  “Huh. Isn’t this a neat little toy.” Logan stuffed the Hidey thing in his pocket. The move made Cache wince. “Any breaker box?”

  “Any one.”

  “Thanks, man. I mean it.” Logan turned to leave.

  “Do I w-want to know what you’re going to d-do with it?” Cache stuttered.

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “If you want plausible deniability.”

  “Oh, hell.” Cache waved him off, suddenly looking eager to be rid of him. “Go. And tell Charlotte that we’re finally even.”

  Logan nodded and made his way back to the lobby, where he met Knox and Cade, each with an oversize duffel slung over his shoulder. “We set?”

  Steele patted his bag as if it were a newborn. “We have what we need and then some to make sure we get your girl back where she belongs.”

  “Good. Because I’m not accepting any other outcome.”

  Chapter Nine

  Logan stood in the alley behind the casino, grinding his molars tighter with each passing second. Sending the D.C. cop to put the Hide-and-Seek in place played with his control issues, but getting spotted before they located Rachel wasn’t a scenario that he could allow to happen.

  No damn cowboy antics tonight, not with her life on the line.

  “Everything’s in place. We’re ready to start seeking,” Cade announced into Logan’s ear via the comm-piece.

  Logan waited by the exit door, one hand on the handle, ready to move the second he got the all clear. “Tell me you got a lock on it, Charlie.”

  “Give me ten seconds to make a feed loop and reroute it back through the casino’s signal. That way, you’ll be ghosts walking. They won’t see you coming until they stumble on you face-to-face.” Charlie’s smooth, British determination calmed Logan the tiniest bit.

  A grin lifted Knox Steele’s mouth. “Giving them a fake video feed and a false sense of security. Impressive as hell, sweetheart.”

  “You’re handsome and smart, so I’ll forgive you for calling me sweetheart. How are you not already wearing a ball and chain, Steele?”

  Knox chuckled. “How do you know I’m handsome—or not involved with someone?”

  “Because Stone’s incapable of having ugly friends, and the latter was a good hunch. Warning, though, even the hardest of asses eventually fall.” A few seconds later, Charlie gave them the all clear. “You guys are good to go. I’ll navigate you around the goon squad as best as I can, but you still have to keep alert for any surprises.”

  “I don’t care if I have to decommission an entire army of Carson’s men. I’m getting Rachel—and Carly—the hell out of here.” Logan rushed through the back door with Knox on his heels. Cade met them at the first corridor. “Be our eyes, Char? Where to?”

  “She’s still not on camera,” Charlie informed him, “but we didn’t expect them to have visual proof that they’re kidnapping innocent women. My best hunch is that they’re going to be keeping her far away from the business as they can physically get.”

  “Sublevels.” Knox nodded. “Places as big as this have them so they don’t disturb the daily guests. Kind of like an underground little world. The question is, Which direction do we need to go?”

  Charlie let out a triumphant shout. “North.”

  Logan walked, not even questioning her judgment.

  Steele and Wright followed, and it was Wright who questioned. “Does someone want to explain to me exactly how we know to go north? I recall failing middle school geography, but I think there are three other directions.”

  Charlie’s singsong voice hinted at the smart comment about to come. “Logan, did your new friend question my judgment?”

  Logan chuckled. “He doesn’t know you like I do, darlin’. Humor him.”

  She sighed. “Fine. Take all the fun out of this. I say north, Detective Wright, because I see a few hotel guests lingering where they shouldn’t be, and them, along with a bevy of thick-necked goons escorting them, disappearing through the same lone door.”

  “And beyond the door?” Steele asked.

  “Nothing. I’m blind. So let’s use our deductive reasoning, boys. Shall we?”

  Cade snorted a laugh. “Don’t question the English lady—duly noted.”

  “That’s what I tell Navy all the time, but trying to get it through his thick, bald head is like trying to squeeze a watermelon through a cheese grater.”

  Logan smirked, thankful for a little glimmer of humor in this fucked-up situation, because the closer they got to the north end of the building, the more security there was to avoid.

  They played it carefully, Charlie instructing them as she watched the live—real—feed. Escorted by security, couples decked out in their finest evening wear disappeared behind an unmarked door. A minute or so later the guard would reemerge and leave the way he’d come, only to bring another couple.

  People went in, but not many came out.

  A muffled shriek turned Logan around to the sight of Knox Steele, one hand over the mouth of a busty bleach blonde and his other clutching a key card that looked a hell of a lot like the one the guards used to get into the mystery room.

  Knox slapped the card into Logan’s hand. “Look what I found sneaking around the corner. And she’s practically giving us a personal invitation.”

  Logan recognized her immediately. Anger toward the woman who’d played a part in separating him and Rachel burned through his veins. “Stella, right? You’ve missed your jail cell at LVMPD so much that you committed a kidnapping to get back there? Let’s get you topside and hand you over to your friends in tan. And this time, they won’t be so eager to let you out of their sight.”

  She struggled in Knox’s hold, her muffled rambling difficult to translate. Logan nodded to the security operative to carefully relinquish his hold on her mouth. “What was that?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you people?” Stella hissed. “It’s like none of you have any damn sense of self-preservation. First the brunette, now the damn redhead. You’ll never get through that door without being detected. The second you stride in without an escort, they’ll shoot you.”

  Logan stroked his chin. “Then I guess we need an escort.”

  His meaning registered and her eyes widened. “Your little girlfriend has been a thorn in my side ever since she strutted into my damn house. No way in hell am I risking my ass for hers. I’m not the self-sacrificing type.”

  “You help
us, and I’ll make sure our police friends know it. Maybe helping us shut down Carson will put you in their good graces.”

  Stella glowered, but contemplated silently before rolling her eyes. “Whatever. I’ll do it, but I hope that bitch is worth it. Because if Carson doesn’t shoot you, the hired gun he has on retainer will.”

  “That woman is worth everything.” And a hell of a lot more.

  Logan wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. For some reason Rachel had given him a chance, and he wasn’t letting it slip by without grabbing it—and her—with both hands.

  And his heart.

  All the drama and hurt in his life had been nothing compared to the idea of losing her. He wasn’t letting that happen.

  “You sure about this, man?” Wright asked, his concern evident. “You’d basically be going in there blind.”

  “As sure as I am about anything.” Logan licked his palm and slicked his hair back away from his face in his best sleazeball impression and then slid his gun into the band of his pants.

  They couldn’t storm into the room, guns blazing. They didn’t know the layout or the number of civilians present. And hell, half Carson’s goon squad could be stationed just on the other side of the door. An all-out breach wasn’t smart, so they had to opt for the complete opposite: quiet and unobtrusive.

  It went against every fiber of Logan’s being, but he needed to bring down Carson, ensure Rachel and Carly’s safety, and avoid getting his ass shot in the process. If he stormed the room like a commando, one if not more of those things would be compromised, and he wasn’t willing to risk its being Rachel’s safety.

  “Here. Put these on.” Wright tossed him a thick pair of black-framed glasses. “If they work for Clark Kent…”

  “Later, you’re going to have to explain to me why you have a pair of glasses in your pocket.” Logan chuckled and slipped on the frames before taking Stella’s arm from Steele. “You make one wrong move in there, twitch, or grimace, and I can guaran-damn-tee that God himself won’t be able to help you.”

  “This is your funeral, buddy. You better not make it mine too,” Stella grumbled, buzzing them through the door.

  The phrase “drug den” didn’t come close to describing the level of debauchery in the room. Naked bodies swayed to the pounding music. Those not dancing had taken entertaining to an entirely different level. One woman, head thrown back in pleasure, lay sprawled naked on a table as people snorted white powder off her body.

  The thought of Rachel’s being subjected to any of this shit made Logan see red.

  “Where would Rachel be?”

  “My guess would be with the boss, and if that’s the case, then she’s already fucked up.”

  “Where’s your boss?” Logan growled.

  Stella tipped her chin toward the far corner.

  Logan located Dean Carson immediately, deep in conversation with the eerily silent man from the chapel. His gaze shifted to the ratty mattress pushed against the far wall. One woman, her hands bound and chin dropped to her chest, hovered over an unconscious brunette—Rachel and Carly.

  Nausea gripped Logan’s stomach like a damn fist.

  “Charlie,” he murmured into his comm, “you need to get LVMPD here like you did me—ASAP. And make sure paramedics are joining the party.”

  Charlie sucked in a breath. “Bloody hell. Rachel or Carly?”

  “Rachel’s sitting upright for now, but from a distance Carly’s doesn’t look too good.”

  “All right. I’m on it.”

  Charlie immediately started coordinating a bigger strike than Logan could do alone or with the help of his new D.C. friends. There were too many unknown factors. Too many ways for everything to go straight to hell. And as much as he wanted Rachel safe and in his arms, he wouldn’t risk her life by going off half-cocked.

  But God help anyone who got in his way.

  * * *

  Rachel didn’t move, afraid too much jostling would worsen Carly’s injuries. Cradling her friend’s head in her lap, she counted each shallow breath and watched the time increase in between chest rise and falls.

  Carly had been through a lot. Her left cheekbone, blackened and asymmetrical, was probably broken if not shattered entirely. The eye on that same side was puffy and swollen shut. One arm, cradled against her chest, hung slightly lower than the other, and with every faint move, Carly moaned.

  Rachel pushed a strand of hair off her friend’s cheek and brushed a kiss over her cool forehead. “I’m so sorry, Carly. I’m going to get you out of here. I don’t know how, but I am. And then you’re coming back to Pennsylvania with me.”

  “Ra-Rach.” Carly groaned, sucking in a sharp breath.

  “Sh. Don’t try and talk if it hurts.” Her gaze skidded over to the drug buffet, and even though it killed her to ask, she did. “Carly, have you…Did he—”

  “No,” Carly whispered. “No drugs. Just…b-beat me to hell. Did y-you g-get it?”

  Rachel smiled wanly. “Yeah, we got it. Don’t worry. Soon he’s not going to be able to hurt you or anyone else again.”

  Carson’s familiar growl pulled Rachel’s attention across the room to where the bastard spoke in hushed tones to the two men Rachel recognized from the Elvis chapel. None of the three men looked happy, which meant things might be looking up for Rachel and Carly.

  “Darlin’,” a familiar voice drawled.

  Rachel’s head snapped to her left. Sitting in a plush chair, legs crossed and looking completely at ease, was a sexily nerdy Logan. She rubbed her eyes, thinking she’d somehow dreamed him up while still awake.

  “Are you okay?” Logan murmured, his gray eyes crashing into hers. Worry lines wrinkled his face as he looked to Carly and back up to her. “Carly?”

  “I’m fine, but Carly…” Rachel swallowed down the emotion. “I don’t know what he did to her before I got here, but she’s not in good shape. Her breathing’s getting really shallow.”

  Logan scanned their surroundings. “We’re getting some reinforcements in place, and once everything’s set to go, we’re shutting this the hell down and getting you and Carly medical attention.”

  A commotion broke out across the room. A door burst open, and smoke spilled into the room as people shouted and scrambled in all directions. Armed figures stormed inside, barking orders and fanning out.

  Cops.

  Backup.

  “Let’s go.” Fingers bit into Rachel’s shoulder, making her cry out and release her hold on Carly.

  Carson was dragging her toward a second exit when a small explosion erupted. More smoke filled the room, accompanied by a series of harsh flashes of light. Rachel coughed, unable to see Logan through the haze. Carson resumed hauling her backward. She dug her feet into the concrete, trying to slow him down as she screamed Logan’s name.

  Carson pushed a gun to her head. “Scream one more time and it’ll be the last thing you do, bitch. Now move your fucking feet.”

  Rachel hesitantly obeyed, realizing that he was leading them to another service elevator. It lurched into movement, going up and up. The doors slid open, and he dragged her onto an open rooftop.

  The sun momentarily blinded her. She blinked against the harsh rays, taken off guard by the wall of heat slamming down on them. The last time she’d been outside, it had been full dark. The city below them was uncharacteristically quiet—except for the steady roar of the black chopper hovering a few dozen feet above the rooftop.

  “Looks like our ride’s already here,” Carson gloated.

  “You’re not going to get away with this. It’s already over, Carson. The cops are on to all your sordid little backhanded deals.”

  “I don’t need to get away with it. I just need to get away. Your boyfriend’s a little preoccupied downstairs and will be until after we’re long gone. He didn’t come for you. He’s—”

  “Right the fuck here, asshole.” Logan’s voice sounded like music to Rachel’s ears.

  Carson spun them around, and there
stood Logan. Two armed men Rachel didn’t recognize flanked him—and all had guns aimed in their direction.

  “Take a step closer to the helo or clutch that gun any tighter and you’re going to get a firsthand demonstration of how not distracted I am,” Logan threatened, his voice low.

  With his eyes trained on the man holding her hostage, Rachel had never seen Logan look so deadly, as if he wanted the other man to move so he could fire off a shot.

  “Goddamn hero types.” Carson burrowed his gun deeper against Rachel’s temple. “You move, Captain America, and your girlfriend’s brains get splattered all over the damn rooftop. I don’t care who the hell you think you are, you aren’t faster than a bullet.”

  “If anyone’s brains are getting splattered, it’s yours.”

  “You think I don’t know how to use this gun?” Carson screamed. Spittle flew out in all directions. Eyes wild and frantic, the man who’d earlier tried baiting her with his eerie calm disappeared, replaced by someone a lot more unhinged.

  “No. I know that my reflexes are a hell of a lot faster than yours. Seriously, Carson, there’s no place for you to go. You think the cops flooding the place are here for a damn stroll? You’re done—along with anyone who’s ever dirtied themselves by getting into bed with you. If you don’t come along quietly, how long do you give it before one of your business associates considers you a liability? Because my guess is that it’s not going to take long.”

  Behind her, Carson’s body tensed. The gun against Rachel’s head shifted. Rachel didn’t think. Summoning the countless hours spent watching Logan and the others train, she twisted and dropped to the ground. A crisp series of pops followed, and suddenly she wasn’t alone on the ground.

  Carson dropped beside her, blood blossoming on his arm and knee.

  His gun lay only inches away, forgotten as he howled in pain. Rachel picked it up, gripping it with shaky hands as she tried lifting it toward the bastard who’d hurt her friend.

  “Darlin’.” Logan’s voice barely shimmied its way into the rush of images flashing through her head. Hands raised, he stalked toward her with determined steps. “Sweetheart, you need to give me that gun.”