Savage Deception

by R. T. Wolfe

  Savage Deception

  The Nickie Savage Series

  Book One

  by

  R.T. Wolfe

  Bestselling Author

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-512-4

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Copyright © 2013 by Tanya Renee Wolfe. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Photography by SL Jones Photography

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Meet the Author

  Prologue

  Duncan's paintbrush took on a mind of its own. The lines of his Nickie's face, the curves of her body. Painting her became a drug. She'd fallen asleep; her cautious eyes closed. Her chin resting on her shoulder. With his pre-dawn flight, it was too late to hope sleep might find him.

  Time was slipping. A few touch ups were all he needed, but that would have to wait until after some drying time.

  So, he washed his brushes, set them to dry and changed into his flying clothes. It was nearing 4 a.m. He debated carrying her to the bed. They'd come so far. She slept in his arms on occasion and hadn't woken with fists swinging in weeks. But he couldn't let her wake on his settee, either.

  "Nickie," he whispered.

  Groggy, she slithered her arms around his neck.

  Cautiously, he lifted. She turned her head into his shoulder, and he swore she inhaled his scent as a small smile lifted the corners of her lips. As he laid her on the bed, her eyes opened.

  "There you are." He smiled.

  "What time is it?" she asked as she tucked the pillow under her neck.

  "Just past four. Get some rest." He kissed her forehead before turning off the light.

  It wasn't just the painting, Duncan thought, as he drove toward the airport. There was more pulling him back to his house. More that was incomplete.

  His cell rang. It made him smile until he checked the caller ID and saw it wasn't Nickie. It's for the best, he decided. She needed rest.

  But why was his brother calling at 4:30 a.m.?

  "Andy, who died?" Duncan asked sarcastically.

  "That's not funny. What the fuck is going on?"

  Duncan pulled his car to the shoulder to talk. "Whoa, little brother. What makes you call at this hour?"

  "Where are you, man?" Andy yelled into the phone.

  "On my way to the airport. What is it? Is it Mom?"

  "No, turn around! I called 9-1-1. It's your house. Rose and I, we heard an explosion. Duncan, we felt an explosion."

  No. He dropped his phone.

  Fear gripped his hands and glued them to the steering wheel. He slammed the car back into gear and spun his tires into a U turn. Nickie. No. No. No. He fumbled with his cell and dialed her number. The ringing was like a gong inches from his ears. He yelled, "No!" as she didn't answer he pounded the steering wheel.

  At the sound of gravel, Duncan opened his eyes. He was headed for a guardrail. He swerved, skidded the back end of his car along the metal, then hit the gas again.

  Smoke billowed from the trees. It shone in the moonlight long before he reached his long asphalt drive. Nickie. The familiar circling lights from fire engines beat him there. He left a line of rubber from his tires behind him. The flames. Nickie. There were too many flames. They poured out of each window as the firefighters used axes on his doors and roof.

  He knew. Somewhere inside he knew it was too late, but the thought was more than he could bear.

  He opened the door before he skidded to a complete stop next to Nickie's car. His head was nearing combustion as he ran for his front door.

  "Whoa," one of the firemen grabbed Duncan's arm.

  Duncan turned, ready for a fight. He used his momentum to land a solid hook to the side of the man's head. He saw it was the chief just as he made contact and could have cared fucking less.

  He barely made two more strides before another came at him from the side. This one swung first. A high block sent the dude's arm upward and gave Duncan the in to land three quick jabs with his right followed by a punch so hard that it started from Duncan's hip, went through his shoulder and through his knuckles.

  But then more arms were around him. He twisted, head butted and kicked. "There's someone in there! You don't understand!" He sensed people were talking to him, but everything was gray. His only focus was escape and the front door that was now a large, angry hole of flames.

  Then, all he saw was pavement. He recognized the voice of the man on his back. Andy. His arms wrenched behind him and the legs that circled his own were a contrast to the pleading voice.

  "Duncan, please. It's me, brother. Let them do their job."

  Somewhere Duncan knew it was a dream, a memory; yet he couldn't escape the desperate need to save her.

  He focused on making the muscles in his slumbering body relax. Andy didn't loosen his grip. The pain from the twist in his arm, the feel of pavement shoved in his face... it was welcomed. "Do something, Andy. They won't let me in. I failed again."

  "It's your turn, Duncan." Nickie's alto voice whispered from somewhere around him.

  He jerked his head toward the sound of her voice. There. The man. The police captain stood with the fire chief mocking Duncan. They pointed and elbowed each other it the ribs like old friends at Happy Hour.

  But behind them. Behind them, Duncan saw the man. Medium height with shiney black hair worn in spikes. The man mouthed the word, 'savage.'

  "Who are you?" Duncan yelled to him. His arms and legs were free. He bolted to a sitting position, sucking air and darting his vision around her room. Nickie was there. Here.

  "It's your turn," she said again. "You were dreaming."

  "Dreaming," he repeated. Not his signature. This time he kept his head still and looked around with
only his eyes. They were in Nickie's townhouse. In her bedroom. Her bed. His lungs burned like they'd been singed, but Duncan and Nickie were together and she was safe.

  "They can't hurt us anymore, Duncan. Captain Tanner and the fire chief are locked away nice and tight."

  It wasn't the captain or the fire chief he was worried about.

  Chapter 1

  Nickie Savage opened her eyes to two cigarette butts, a gum wrapper and a discarded map of Nevada. Cabs weren't any cleaner in Vegas than in upstate New York. With her head between her legs, she reminded herself to breathe.

  Duncan's hand rested in the middle of her back. The warmth was more than literal and was a little like walking into a heated home after a cold New York evening. She was grateful, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

  He called to the front of the cab in his almost-baritone voice. "It's not what it looks like."

  What's not what it—oh, shit. She lifted her head and met the driver's cheesy smile in the rearview mirror. Giving him the most intimidating detective's glare she could come up with, she tried to get him to look away and keep his eyes on the road.

  She wasn't petty and she wasn't shallow, but besides the driver, Duncan was the easiest target and she needed to yell at someone. Slowly lifting her head, she groaned, "Don't think I don't know why you came along. My captain may approve you as a civilian consultant, but this is federal. I won't make that kind of request to the FBI."

  He'd already talked her into flying first class. What if the guys at the station back home found out? Prissy female detective who's too good to ride coach? She'd never live it down. Duncan convinced her it was some sort of compromise to taking his private plane.

  He lifted a brow before she could grunt anything else in his direction.

  Duncan frigging Reed.

  Upstate New York called him the local boy who turned into The Taste of L.A. The nickname followed him all the way to, well, L.A. Looking at him, she had to agree. Dark hair, darker eyes, sharp features. Calling the two of them opposites would be an understatement. Yet, somehow they were a couple.

  His eyes, steady and lifeless, surveyed her. Most people thought of them as cold and removed. She knew better and didn't know what to do about that.

  She opened her mouth, closed it again and decided instead to focus on her appointment at Vegas Metro. Slinging one of her black leather boots on her knee, she dangled a wrist over her shin. She pressed her knuckles against her jaw, turned her chin until she heard a crack, then did the same to the other side.

  Her orders were clear. A home in a small town outside of Vegas had been abandoned. In the basement, squatters found two decomposed bodies along with some beds and... cages. It must be bad if squatters reported it.

  Reasonable suspicion said the scene related to a mass kidnapping and forced prostitution of girls in their early teens. Since she was the one who traced the group from New York to Nevada, she wanted to know exactly what 'reasonable suspicion' meant. The feds called her in, citing her involvement with a takedown that resulted in the rescue of some of the girls and the arrest of a handful of the johns and perps.

  There was much the feds still didn't know.

  Covering her mouth with her hand, she dropped her head back down. "I'll be all right," she mumbled from between her knees, trying not to inhale the scent of cigarettes and stale gum. "I don't know my schedule," she said to Duncan. "I might not have time for you."

  His hand returned to the center of her back. "I have work. I'm meeting with Johnny Lyons."

  She knew why he was here, and it wasn't to meet with Johnny Lyons. Johnny Lyons? Unbelievable. She was sleeping with someone who was going to meet with Emmy Award-winner Johnny Lyons.

  Meeting with Lyons may have been part of it, but it was her reaction to the call from the feds that made Duncan tag along. Her heart rate began to rise just thinking about it.

  He came to keep an eye on her. To play watchdog. And if she was fair about it, because he cared. It was damned embarrassing. She was a cop, a detective. She didn't want or need him with her on a case... especially a case overseen by the FBI.

  "Call me when you're done," he said in her ear. "I shouldn't be long at the Lyons'. I have enough projects to last a few days."

  Projects as in painting. He carried his full-sized easel around with him like others did their carry-ons. As the cab driver parked, she sat up and shook her head clear. "I don't know how long they're keeping me."

  He got out and walked around, opening her door for her before she had time to gather her briefcase.

  "In case you take too long, I sent for my plane," he said and held out a hand.

  They stood between two long rows of palm trees inside the four-story, horseshoe-shaped, mainly glass building that was Vegas Metro. It was easily three times the size of her station in upstate New York.

  Briefcase in hand, she balanced on her three-inch heels and turned, giving Duncan her best snarky wink as she left.

  * * *

  The Las Vegas Police Department hadn't changed. Clean, open and modernized. She checked in, took the stairs to the top floor and walked the hallway to the captain's office. Deluxe cabinetry lined the walls, and shag carpet the color of dark red wine covered the floors. She stood at the opened door and knocked.

  Two FBI agents stood to the side of his desk. The suits and ties weren't at all practical in this climate. She wasn't about to dress up for anyone and wore her usual snug slacks and boots. The blouse she chose for the day was a sky blue. On her belt hung her badge, gun, phone and cuffs.

  Considering his title, the captain was young. About her age. He was a bigger guy, healthy bigger, not heavy bigger. Black hair, black eyes. "Come in," he said to her, then turned to the agents. "This is Detective Savage." Not a return introduction or even a handshake was offered. Typical FBI. The feds liked to come in, take over and won't give anyone else the time of day.

  "Detective Savage is the one who came to me several months ago," the captain continued, "with strong circumstantial evidence pointing to a possible mass kidnapping of young teens."

  Is that what they said around here when they gave a visiting detective a measly three officers as backup for a takedown that needed at least a dozen? It made her feel somewhat better that the captain had to give up his territory to the feds again. So much was about territory in this business.

  "As you know, since this went over state lines, we called in your colleagues—" He spoke to the suits as if she wasn't there. "—as soon as circumstantial turned into sustainable." It was damned condescending. She didn't mind if she was the only one sitting and sunk into the closest guest chair. Slouching comfortably, she lifted her foot and rested her ankle on her knee. The thick heel of her boot had a clump of Vegas dirt on it.

  "Detective?" the captain turned to her.

  She moved her attention from her dirty boot to him.

  The captain must have been done with his part of the briefing. "Thank you, Detective, for coming out on such short notice. Maybe you could brief Special Agents Strong and Lewis on how you ended up here in the first place." He lowered into his high-back leather desk chair.

  Was she supposed to stand? Wasn't going to happen. They still hadn't had the decency to tell her their names.

  She contemplated which facts were pertinent and decided to share chronologically. "I was assigned to the scene of a murder in the high-rollers section of a casino in upstate New York. Facts led me to discover a child sex trafficking operation. The murdered girl was one of the children. Another of the girls escaped the chaos and was found hiding in a janitor's closet. With her help, I was able to track the rest of the group here. A larger poker tournament was scheduled soon after."

  Inadvertently, she paused. How much would they catch onto if she revealed her knowledge of trafficking? She continued but with caution. "Venues like large poker tournaments attract prostitution, so I went undercover and discovered a lead to some younger teens that were sold by the hour. A handful of Vegas officers and I
raided the location and arrested six johns, three thugs and rescued four of the girls." She swallowed hard. "Several of the perpetrators got away with the rest of the group."

  Uncomfortable silence. More uncomfortable silence.

  Finally, the taller one spoke. "Much of your investigation regarding this matter fell on hunches."

  She hated hunches. If they only knew how much she hated hunches, they wouldn't say that. Maybe they would. Hunches led to cases that were thrown out in court. Facts. She was all about the facts. But she couldn't possibly share how she obtained some of the facts regarding the missing girls, or how she tracked them across half the country. How would she explain that her boyfriend had a talent for seeing details others missed?

  He continued. "You seem to have instincts on the subject."

  Her spine tightened. It took all of her focus to keep it from straightening, as it wanted to at that moment. Letting her lids drop to half-closed, she kept eye contact. He hadn't asked a question.

  "Good work, Detective." And next came the patronizing. "I'm Special Agent Strong and this is Special Agent Lewis. As you know, an abandoned home has been discovered containing a scene in the basement we feel may be connected to the previous case you orchestrated. We apologize if we haven't been forthcoming with the latest updates regarding the outcomes of that case and appreciate the help you provided the days following the takedown."

  They'd used her, then she never heard from them again. Now, they were sorry? Only because they needed her.

  Strong must have sensed her attitude because he elaborated. "One of the johns was sentenced. Six months in county. The others were first timers. The perpetrators haven't had their day in court yet. Two of them are working with us on a deal and providing valuable information. The girls are home with their families." And then as a seemed afterthought, he added, "...Thanks to you."