by Low, Gennita
“Hopefully, he won’t find out. Besides, we only took the radios,” Nacho said. “Swede has the main firepower in the van.”
Fish shook his head. “Where’d he get all that stuff?”
“It’s a hobby of mine,” Swede said into their headsets. “You guys collect guns. I collect computers and surveillance systems.”
“And we’re damned glad you do.” Remy grinned. SEALs lived their work.
“Kinda creepy, if you ask me,” Irish said.
Remy pressed the fake mustache he’d applied to his upper lip, hoping the semi-permanent glue held throughout the night. He didn’t want to get into it with Mutt and Jeff, the bouncer thugs from the night before. “Here’s to Operation Stripper.” He pushed open the vehicle door and climbed out, straightening the sweat jacket he had on over his black long-sleeved T-shirt. At the door to the club, the bouncer frisked him beneath his arms and down his back, searching for weapons or drugs.
Thankful he’d opted for a small handgun strapped to the inside of his calf, he stood still, waiting from the bouncer to get personal and move down his legs. If he did, he’d knee the bastard in the face, drag his ass behind the dumpster and go inside without being felt up by the man again.
The bouncer stopped at his back pockets, nodded and jerked his head. “You can go in.”
Remy waited just inside the door for his teammates. Once they’d all cleared the entrance, they worked their way through the tables to the front by the catwalk upon which the dancers strutted their stuff.
“How soon until Mitch goes on?” Tuck asked.
“I don’t know.” Remy’s gaze scanned the room for Mitchell.
A woman with bright red hair, wearing a police costume that would make her mother cringe, strutted out on the catwalk, turned and bent, showing the crowd her pale, white ass, separated by what appeared to be dental floss of a G-string.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Nacho pushed forward. “I always wanted me a redhead.”
“You’ll have to look for it somewhere else,” Tuck said. “That woman most likely is a brunette.”
“Hey, it’s my fantasy. Don’t poke holes in it.” Nacho removed several bills from his pocket and hurried toward the stage, waving them at the woman.
She slowed, turned to face him and dropped to her haunches, spreading her knees wide, exposing her satin-covered crotch. Leaning forward, she presented her barely covered breasts, crammed into a sequined bra that pushed them up and together.
“Yeah, baby.” Nacho tucked a bill into her bra. “What’s your name, senorita?”
“Candi.” She blew him a kiss, pivoted on her heels and straightened her legs, hiking her ass in the air while balancing her hands on her knees.
Nacho hooted and tucked a bill into the strap of her G-string at the top of her butt crack.
Remy muttered, “Focus on the mission, Sanchez.”
“We have to blend into the crowd, amigo,” Nacho responded with a wide grin.
Irish clapped a hand to Remy’s back. “The man has a point. Gator, lighten up, we’re supposed to be having fun.”
They were right. Remy rolled his shoulders and forced a smile to his face.
“Now you’re scaring me.” Irish laughed out loud. “You might want to lose the crazy grin.”
After they claimed a table, Remy glanced around the club, counting the number of men who appeared to be bouncers. One for each corner of the bar, two more, one at either side of the stage where the women performed. A man sat at a table in an area of the club with raised seating. He was surrounded by scantily dressed women and he had an unlit cigar in his hand.
Had to be Rocco Hatch.
The man’s dark hair was slicked back from a low forehead and he stared across the room at the dancer on the stage, ignoring the women around him. The two men flanking his table were the guys who’d followed Remy after Mitchell had dropped him off the night before.
Remy returned his attention to the stage. “Rocco Hatch at four o-clock on the raised seating area with his harem and goons.”
A waitress stopped at their table.
The men ordered a couple pitchers of beer. When the waitress left, Dustman’s gaze followed her. “I can’t swear by it, but isn’t that woman with the long curly blond hair wearing the dominatrix, biker chick costume our Mitchell?” He turned back to the woman on stage.
Remy let his drink napkin drop to the floor and bent to retrieve it, glancing behind him as he did. His heart skipped several beats and then raced on.
Mitchell wore thigh-high shiny black boots, a black leather mini jacket and a corset pushing her breasts up so high they looked like they might pop out of the contraption at any moment…Yowza, she was hot! And she was headed for Hatch.
Irish let out a low wolf whistle. “No wonder I didn’t recognize her last night. Holy shit. She’s so damned hot, I got an instant hard-on.”
His jaw tightening, Remy reminded the team, “She’s undercover. Have some respect.”
“I got a shitload of respect for her. Eight inches of respect.” Irish grinned.
Big Bird backhanded Irish hard to the gut. “In your dreams. In case you’ve forgotten, she’s Brewsky’s ex, God rest his soul.”
The team paused in remembrance of their fallen comrade.
A familiar twinge of guilt shadowed Remy’s conscience. He pushed it aside and concentrated on the operation.
“Who knew,” Irish muttered, his gaze focused on the stage. “Just saying. I would give my left nut for a girlfriend who looked like that.”
Nacho fidgeted, having given all his dollar bills away to Candi, he lifted his mug of beer and sipped. “Any idea when the action will start?”
Dustman glanced behind them and jerked his chin. “I’d say it’s starting.”
Remy stared across the table at Nacho, while following Mitchell’s every move in his peripheral vision.
She wrapped her arms around Rocco’s neck from behind and bent to nibble on his ear. Her actions appeared as if she was pushing for favor with the man.
He lifted his hand and cupped her face, turning to kiss her.
“Fucking bitch,” the female voice sounded from the stage in front of them.
Remy turned toward the stripper who’d been introduced as Candi.
She stopped dancing, her gaze locked on Rocco and Mitchell, her brown eyes narrowed into slits, her fists clenched at her sides. Before the song ended, she spun and marched off the stage. A moment later she appeared on the barroom floor, striding toward the raised seating area.
The woman could be trouble. Remy angled his chair toward the action.
Irish clapped his hands together, a grin spreading across his face. “I believe we’re about to witness a cat fight, if that chick has anything to say about it.”
Big Bird nodded. “My money’s on Mitchell. I saw her take Brewsky down one night when they were wrestling.”
“Yeah, she’s tough, but Candi looks like she can hold her own,” Nacho said.
Before Candi reached the group of people in the raised seating area, Rocco stood, glanced at his goons and jerked his head toward the advancing woman.
The two bouncers stepped between her and Rocco.
She said something, but the music was loud enough to drown her words.
Rocco ignored her, held out his arm for Mitchell and led her toward a door near the side of the stage.
Don’t leave. Muscles tense, Remy started to rise.
Irish stuck out his arm, pushing him back into his seat. “You gotta let her work this operation from her angle. For all you know, she’s just getting ready for her turn on stage.”
“What if he tries something?” Remy asked, his muscles tensing.
Irish patted his shoulder. “I’ll go stand close to the door and listen for trouble.”
“Why not me?” Remy tried again to push to his feet.
Irish clapped a hand to Remy’s back and grinned like he was telling a pretty funny joke while he spoke through t
ightly stretched lips. “If you get too close to his bodyguards, they might recognize you.”
Remy shoved aside Irish’s hands. “I don’t care.”
“Mitchell will care if you blow her operation. Her friend Kelli’s life is at stake here,” Big Bird, always the logical one, reminded him.
Remy spoke softly. “Swede, you getting any of this?”
“The music is loud, but I’m getting most of it. I gather Mitchell is baiting the trap.”
With herself.
Remy closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to the heavens. Derek, if you’re up there, keep an eye on Mitchell. When he opened his eyes, he let go of the breath he’d been holding. “Okay. I’ll wait.”
A woman stepped out on stage and announced, “Please give Dixie Lee and CC Hart a hand as they entertain you to the tune of Hold It Against Me by Britney Spears.”
Only one stripper pranced out on the stage, her bleached platinum blond hair bouncing around her shoulders. Strobe lights kicked in, as the stripper gyrated to the music her movements erotic, sensuous and disjointed as the stage blinked dark then light. She clung to the dance pole, sliding up and down. And she wasn’t Mitchell.
“Didn’t the woman announce that CC Hart would be dancing this set?” Remy asked, leaning forward.
“Yeah. She did.” Fish pointed to the woman who’d announced the act. She’d turned around and was talking to someone near the curtain.
“Gator, looks like you won’t have to wait long,” Swede said. “Mitch’s location just moved out into the alley behind the club.”
Remy shot to his feet along with the rest of the team, gesturing as he moved. “Fish, Nacho take the front. Circle around the side in case they come around that way. Big Bird and Tuck take the side exit and swing around to the back. Dustman, Irish, you’re with me.” He leaped up on the stage and charged toward the back.
The two bouncers flanking the stage jumped up, grabbed Remy’s arms and tried to haul him off. One of them landed a punch to his belly.
Pain was numbed by his determination to get to the back door before Hatch left with Mitchell. He ducked and twisted out of one man’s grip, plowed his shoulder into his gut, lifted him off the ground and dropped him on his ass.
The downed man scrambled to his feet and charged toward Remy.
Still caught in the other man’s grip, Remy braced himself for impact.
A pretty, high-heeled foot shot out, tripping the attacker and he fell flat on his face.
“I always wanted to do that.” The dancer, Dixie Lee, smiled and danced off.
Dustman jerked the other thug away from Remy and slammed his fist into the guy’s face. The man toppled like a tree.
A woman behind the stage screamed and ran.
Remy raced into the dressing room back stage.
A brunette dressed as a French maid stepped in front of him. “Looking for me?” Her eyelids sank low over her eyes.
“Nope.” Grabbing her arms, he set her to the side.
The woman pouted. “Yeah, baby, I like my men rough.”
Remy ignored her and pushed on.
The other ladies, in various states of nudity, didn’t even pretend to cover themselves, flashing their breasts in his face and calling out as he and his teammates raced for the back exit.
“Call me, sweet cheeks.”
“I could ride a stud like you.”
Irish groaned and muttered, “Eyes front, eyes front.” Despite all the temptation, he kept pace behind Remy with Dustman bringing up the rear.
“They’re on the move!” Swede called into Remy’s headset.
Remy burst through the backdoor. Taillights flashed at the end of the alley as a limousine turned onto the street and drove off.
“They’re headed south on Market Street. Mount up!”
Gut clenched into a tight wad, Remy ran for the front of the Naughty Ladies Lounge.
Tuck was already in his SUV pulling forward. “Get in!” he shouted.
Remy grabbed the door handle before the vehicle came to a full halt and dove into the front passenger seat. Big Bird scrambled behind the wheel of the van in which Swede had set up shop.
Irish ran for his vehicle, calling out. “Don’t wait on us, we’ll catch up.” Dustman and Fish clambered into his vehicle.
Tuck gunned the accelerator, spitting up gravel as he turned in the direction Swede indicated.
“Where are they now?” Remy demanded, praying the van could keep pace with them or they’d get out of range of their radios really quickly.
“Still headed south. No, wait. In about a quarter of mile, turn left at a major intersection.”
“Don’t lose them,” Remy said, fighting to keep his voice calm.
“I’m not as afraid of losing them as losing you guys,” Swede responded. “The tracking device she has implanted is strong and steady. You might have to slow down for us. This van doesn’t manage the curves as well as your vehicles.”
Remy’s fingers curled around the armrest, his fingers digging into the upholstery. He leaned forward, straining to catch a glimpse of the speeding vehicle putting distance between him and Mitchell. God, he prayed they wouldn’t harm her.
He wished he knew what Rocco was up to. The man could be taking her out to dinner or he could be setting her up as a sex slave. Until they caught up with Mitchell, they wouldn’t know.
Second-guessing his decision to go along with this operation, he wondered if he should have blown her cover and kept her from falling into Rocco’s hands.
Chapter Seven
‡
As soon as she stepped into the limousine, Mitchell almost regretted her move. If she could have thought of any other way of finding Kelli, she wouldn’t have set herself up as bait. Now that she was committed, all she could do was play it out and hope she lived to find Kelli.
Squelching her revulsion for the man, Mitchell draped her body over Rocco’s arm and twirled her finger around his earlobe. “Are we going to your place, honey?” She forced herself to be calm, cool and seductive, when her heart wanted to leap out of her chest.
Rocco shook his head.
“No?” She pouted, hating herself for the simpering act. “Are we going to a hotel?”
His lips twisted and his gaze turned sinister. “No.”
“Really?” Her pulse ratcheting up even more, Mitchell wanted to rip off this man’s head. Instinct was screaming to her that this was it. He was the one who’d kidnapped all those women. For them, she leaned close, her lips brushing the side of his neck. While pretending to want sex with the man, she had to force back her need to vomit. The man could be getting away with murder or worse—sexual slavery. “But I thought you liked me.”
“I like you okay. But I don’t have to.” He nodded toward the front of the limousine. The dark glass window between them and the driver slid down.
A woman with bright red hair turned in her seat and glanced at Mitchell.
“Candi?” Mitchell tipped her head. Is the stripper part of the plot?
“Surprised? My little act with the bouncers was pretty convincing, right?” The redhead sneered, her eyes narrowing into slits. “Before long, you’ll be wishing you hadn’t fucked with me.”
Rocco grabbed her arm and yanked her across his lap.
Mitchell fought the man, but she’d been taken by surprise, and he’d pinned her arms to her sides.
Kicking her feet against the door, she struggled, trying to break free.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Rocco jabbed a needle into her arm. “Candi calls the shots around here. And what Candi wants, she gets.”
“And what I want right now is your head on a platter.” The woman in the front seat laughed, her voice echoing in Mitchell’s fuzzy head.
Rocco shoved her off his lap and she hit the floor of the limousine, landing on her hands and knees.
She struggled to stay alert as whatever they’d injected into her sucked the strength from her muscles. “Where are…you…taking…me?” Her arm
s gave out and she fell over on her side, staring across the expanse of the limousine at the woman in the passenger seat.
“Where you won’t be a pain in my ass.” She nodded at Rocco. “Deal with her.” The connecting window rolled up between them.
Awake, but unable to move, Mitchell could do little to stop Rocco from binding her wrists behind her back with duct tape and slapping a strip across her mouth.
She’d wanted to find the location of the abducted women and it appeared she’d get her wish. Though she’d told Remy she could hold her own, she hadn’t counted on this—the paralysis-inducing drug Rocco had given her made that impossible. Even if she wanted to escape now, she couldn’t.
As the limousine raced through the city, she prayed Remy would notify her boss and they could mobilize the cavalry in time to save her and Kelli.
“Distance?” Remy called over the radio to Swede.
“Approximately a half of a mile.”
“That’s too much.” Remy turned to Tuck. “Can’t you go faster?”
“I could.” Tuck shot a glance at him. “But if we get too close, they might detect us.”
Remy’s hands bunched into fists. “If we lose that limo, we lose Mitchell.”
“Calm down, Gator.” Tuck frowned. “We won’t lose her as long as she has that tracker.”
“Shit!” Swede cursed into Remy’s ear.
“What?” Remy asked, his pulse pounding so hard against his eardrums he could barely hear Swede.
“I lost her.”
Remy swore and slammed his fist on the armrest. “How the hell did you lose her?”
“She just disappeared off the screen,” Swede said.
Tuck glanced across the console at Remy. “They probably took her into a solid concrete building, like a parking garage or basement.”
“I have the position of her last location before she disappeared,” Swede said.
“Get us there, ASAP.” Remy ground his teeth together, leaning forward in his seat as if that would get him to Mitchell quicker. He should never have let her go forward with this insane plan.
As they passed through the streets, the area had transitioned from residential to retail to the warehouse and staging district near the shipyards. Large buildings spanned entire blocks. Some new and clean, others dark and derelict. The deeper they drove into the streets full of warehouses, the older and more deteriorated they became.
