by Jami Alden
She knew what would happen to her if Jerry didn’t deliver.
God, none of this was supposed to happen. It had all seemed like such a great idea when Connors—at least that’s what he called himself; Jerry didn’t believe for a second it was his real name—had contacted Jerry.
Jerry had seen it as a way to stick it to the fucking board of GeneCor, who thought they could push Jerry aside, after he’d spent six fucking years of his blood, his sweat, his goddamned money, turning his innovative idea for biological chips into a real product, a real company.
But then the company had gone public, and the investors decided that Jerry was too brash, too volatile, too lacking in focus and discipline to run the company. So they’d hired that fucking automaton and shoved Jerry into the proverbial basement to tinker with his toys. Oh, sure, to the outside world, Executive Vice President of Technology Innovation sounded prestigious.
But everyone in the company, every board member, all of the men and women Jerry had made rich with his ideas and his products, knew it was all a load of shit. At first he’d tried to take it seriously. For a whole fucking year, he had actually spent time and energy developing new product prototypes based on the existing platform.
They’d given him the equivalent of a pat on the head and told him to keep up the good work. When Jerry had complained to the chairman of the board, a man he’d always considered a good friend and trusted adviser, he’d been told that if he wasn’t happy, maybe it was time for him to move on. GeneCor had netted Jerry hundreds of millions of dollars, making him financially free to do anything he chose, including starting a new company on his own, where he could develop whatever new products he wished.
Provided he paid GeneCor appropriate licensing fees.
A carefully worded, oh-so-professional way of telling Jerry not to let the door hit him in the ass on the way out. Several days later Connors had contacted Jerry. He had well-placed sources everywhere, and somehow he’d gotten wind of what Jerry was working on. At the time, it had seemed like destiny. Divine justice for those who had tried to screw him over.
Connors’s voice ripped him back to the present. There was no time to wallow in regret. What was done was done, and now it was up to Jerry to get himself out of the shithole he’d dug for himself.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve procured girls for this group. And nowadays the Internet makes them so easy to find. Girls just like Kara, proselytizing the merits of saving themselves,” Connors said, as though Jerry hadn’t spoken. “Did I mention that they videotape the girl’s first time? They’ve sent me some of the footage for my own enjoyment—I’ve built up quite a collection. There’s nothing that compares with the expression on the girl’s face the first time she feels a cock shoving inside her untried hole.”
Jerry scrambled off the couch, barely making it to the garbage can before the scotch came boiling back up.
“I could send you copies, if you like.”
Jerry slumped back on the couch, sick and scared. His little girl. And Jerry had delivered her into the hands of a monster. “I’ll be ready. Just tell me where and when.”
“I’ll let you know the details of the exchange as the time gets closer. In the meantime, you will continue to keep the police uninvolved?”
“Yes. I’ve already posted to Kara’s Web site.”
“Good. And this investigator you were stupid enough to hire?”
“I’ve got him under control. The woman, too. Right now they’re off looking for Kara in Vegas.”
“As soon as they get back, you need to fire them. The more they dig around, the more the potential complications. I don’t want to clean up any more messes than necessary.”
“How can I justify firing Taggart if Kara’s still gone?” He was already walking a tightrope with Taggart and the police, encouraging them to look under every rock while he planted clues that implied Kara was just another kid who’d gotten pissed at her parents and was blowing off steam at a friend’s house for a few days. If he suddenly backed off now, Taggart would smell it a mile away.
And if he didn’t, the Crawford woman definitely would. Jerry was already afraid she suspected something, with her too-knowing stare burning from behind the lenses of her glasses.
“Leave it to me. You concentrate on getting the prototype and appropriate literature ready for delivery.”
The connection broke before Jerry could ask what that meant. Cryptic bastard.
He poured himself another scotch, enough to dull the rough edges but not enough to impair his ability to drive. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he drove to GeneCor headquarters. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, not with the images of what waited for Kara careening off his skull. But he would put the long, dark hours to good use.
He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, but he couldn’t deliver the prototype without making the necessary changes. Jerry knew he’d doomed himself to hell for many reasons, but he still had a chance to make sure that handing over the foundation for the world’s most terrifying biological weapons program wasn’t one of them.
CHAPTER 8
H ALF AN HOUR after they landed, Toni followed Ethan through the front doors of the Wynn Las Vegas Hotel and Casino. Toni took her backpack and and ducked into the lobby bathroom to exchange her jeans and T-shirt for a dress and heels. She did a quick application of black eyeliner, a double coat of mascara, and a slick of slut-red lipstick across her mouth, careful not to look at her reflection below her neck.
She knew if she did, she’d chicken out.
She exited the bathroom and quickly found Ethan. He’d also changed his clothes, from cargo pants and the form-fitting black T-shirt to black pants and a striped button-front shirt that was fitted enough to show the contours of his broad chest and trim waist. He scanned the crowd, looking for her, and she took a few seconds to take him in while before he noticed her. He fit in perfectly, with his understated but expensive clothes, perfectly tailored to fit his big, muscular body, his strong, sculpted features that attracted the attention of every female who walked by.
One of the beautiful people, perfectly suited for this glamorous setting. But If you looked closely you could tell he wasn’t in Vegas to party. He had an aura of alertness, an icy intensity in his blue gaze as he scanned the crowd, tension in his body as if he were ready to pounce.
Suddenly that icy gaze slid past her, caught, slid back again.
The look in his eyes went from icy to hot enough to melt her flimsy silver dress to her skin.
She met his gaze dead-on, cocked her hip with a bravado she didn’t feel. She’d pulled the dress from the back of her closet on impulse. A tiny confection of silver satin and chain link, she’d bought it on a whim after her friend Megan told her it made her look like a Bond Girl from the Sean Connery days.
She’d never had the nerve to wear it out of the house.
But when Ethan had given her outfit a scathing once-over and recommended that she find something to wear, his look saying he expected her to pull out a sack and some combat boots, she couldn’t resist.
Now his eyes ran all the way from the manicured tips of her toes peeking out of silver peep-toe platforms, up her bare legs to her hooker-red mouth, all the way back down, and all the way back up again. He looked as if someone had punched him in the face.
He walked over to her, his stride purposeful and intent. The dazed look was gone, replaced with one that said he was thinking of tugging the flimsy straps off her shoulders and picking up where he’d left off back at her apartment.
He stopped just short of her, close enough for her to feel the heat of him through their clothes, close enough that she could feel his slightly accelerated breath stir her hair.
Her lips slid into an involuntary smirk. It wasn’t often she got to knock a guy as hot as Ethan on his ass.
She tipped her chin up. In her heels, she was almost as tall as he was and could look him straight in the eye. His were heavy-lidded, molten-hot blue flame, promising
things she’d never even thought of.
His hand slid around her bare forearm, the heat from his palm licking up her skin and making her nipples tighten in hard points against the insubstantial satin of her dress. He leaned in, and for a minute she thought he was going to kiss her.
“Nice dress,” he said, his breath hot against her cheek. She could hear the underlying amusement and frustration in his voice. “Now let’s go find Kara.”
Just like that, the moment was gone, and Toni was snapped back to reality. She was no hot girl in Vegas to party with her hot guy. She had a job to do, a friend to find, and she needed to keep that in mind and not get distracted by a sexy ex–navy pilot who looked at her like he wanted to dip her in cream and lick her all over.
But she couldn’t stop herself from ogling his firm, tight ass as he walked a few feet in front of her across the casino floor. Her fingers tingled at the remembered feel of it, so hard and resilient as she’d gripped it. The way the muscles bunched and flexed as he ground against her.
“Here’s the place,” Ethan said, stopping in front of the club where Toni had tracked Toby’s most recent credit card transaction. “Now we just have to find him.”
The doorman gave them a quick once-over before nodding them inside. They scanned the bar, looking for a face that resembled the picture Toni had downloaded from Toby’s FacePlace profile, but the low light and dark furnishings made it nearly impossible to pick a face out of a crowd.
A waitress walked toward them, looking through Toni as she made a beeline for the bar. Ethan flashed the woman a smile and she halted, changed her course, and walked right over to Ethan as though pulled in by a tractor beam.
“What can I get you?” she asked, gazing up at him from under lashes that she could barely lift, with their thick coating of mascara. Her short, clingy cocktail dress showed off acres of deeply tanned skin, which contrasted nicely with her almost white-blond hair.
Hair was fake. Boobs were questionable, she thought sourly as she watched Ethan grace her with one of his slow, heart-stopping smiles and lean in a little closer.
The waitress’s smile widened, and Toni knew exactly what she was feeling. Mesmerized by the intense focus in Ethan’s teal blue eyes. A little dizzy, off center. Like she’d just been whacked upside the head.
That was a good analogy: Ethan’s charm = head injury. Best to be avoided if at all possible. And, she reminded herself, she had much more important things to worry about than who Ethan was flirting with and why.
“I’m wondering if you can help us out,” Ethan said to the waitress.
“I’ll do whatever I can,” she said.
Yeah, I just bet you will.
“We’re looking for a friend of ours,” Ethan said, holding up his BlackBerry with Toby’s picture on the screen. “Have you seen him?”
The waitress studied the screen and gave a short laugh. “Yeah. He’s up in the VIP section.” She pointed to the back of the club where a staircase snaked its way up to the second level. “Holding court.” She quirked a bleached eyebrow at Ethan. “He offered to make me a movie star, if you can believe it.”
Ethan’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Is that so?”
The woman leaned in, all but propping her enhanced cleavage on her tray and serving it up to him. “Yeah, but he told me I’d have to get naked, and I told him I only do that under the right circumstances.”
Toni rolled her eyes and elbowed Ethan in the ribs.
“Thanks. We really appreciate your help.”
The waitress placed a tanned, French-manicured hand on Ethan’s sleeve. “I’m off at three.”
Toni curled her hand around Ethan’s bicep and insinuated herself between him and the waitress. The woman looked up, startled, into Toni’s face. “He’ll be busy.”
Toni could almost hear the waitress’s sigh of longing over the pulsing beat of the music as they made their way across the club.
“Getting territorial?” Ethan asked, yelling over the din of the music and the crowd.
“Just trying to keep you on task,” she snapped before preceding him up the wide metal staircase to the VIP level.
The bouncer moved to stop them, and Toni smiled and batted her heavily lined eyes. “We’re supposed to meet a friend up here. He told us it would be okay.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“Toby Frankel. But you might also know him as T-Bone.”
The bouncer gave her an assessing look. Evidently he liked what he saw, because he unhooked the velvet rope and motioned Toni and Ethan past.
It was quieter up here, the music and noise muted, the air tinged with the scent of expensive booze and cigarette smoke. Rail-thin, expensively dressed women lounged on velvet-upholstered banquettes while beautiful men with professionally tousled hair pretended to be interested in every word that came from their heavily glossed lips.
As they moved through the crowd, Toni could feel eyes on them, assessing, wondering who they were, why they were here, were they worth knowing.
They spotted Toby, holding court on an overstuffed red velvet sofa in the back. His table was full of vodka and champagne bottles and he was surrounded by five girls in various stages of inebriation, all vying for Toby’s attention.
Her stomach sank as she saw that Kara wasn’t among them.
Toni didn’t see the appeal of his shaggy hair, youthful gawkiness, and scraggly goatee. “No accounting for taste,” she muttered. In three long strides she was at his table, leaning down to say hello.
But before she could get a word out she was grabbed from behind, pulled hard against a beefy male chest, muscle covered with a thick layer of padding. “What do you want, woman?”
Toni jerked against his hold, but though the guy was heavy, he was strong, his grip tight on her upper arms.
She had the impression of space moving, striped fabric, and suddenly she was free. Silence ripped through Toby’s corner of the club and Toni turned to see the guy who had grabbed her, a big white gangsta wannabe, wearing baggy jeans, a football jersey, backward cap, and chains.
Ethan had him pinned to the wall, one big hand fisted in the guy’s shirt as he held him several inches off the floor.
“You don’t touch her, ever,” Ethan said, his look and his tone promising severe injury. “Got that?”
An utterly inappropriate, purely feminine thrill pulsed through her at the sight of Ethan acting the cold, hard protector on her behalf.
Toby and his feminine entourage stared, wide-eyed. Toni looked behind her and saw the bouncer making his way over. Time to rein in her champion before they caused a scene. She slid a hand over his shoulder. “It’s okay.” Ethan gave the guy one last look of warning before releasing him.
“Shit, man, I’m just watchin’ out for my bro.”
Toni rolled her eyes and turned back to Toby, who slouched arrogantly against the sofa cushions. His lanky frame was draped in an oversize polo shirt, his left wrist adorned with a Rolex that cost twice as much as Toni’s car. Two girls snuggled up to him, one on each side. Toni had no doubt that their pictures would be front and center on T-Bone’s Treasure Chest come morning.
“Sorry about that,” Toni said, making eyes at Toby and his would-be bodyguard. “I’m a friend of a friend and wanted to come over and introduce myself.” She leaned over the table, far enough to make sure Toby got a good, thorough look down the front of her dress. “I’m Toni.”
He shot her a boozy smile. “Why don’t you lose the guy, Toni, and pull up a chair?”
She forced a smile. “Do you think we could go somewhere a little quieter?”
Toby shook his head. “Can’t leave my own party.”
Ethan came over then and leaned down to whisper something in Toby’s ear. Toby shot a wide-eyed look at his faux gangsta friend, who held up both hands as if to say, “Not me, man.”
The girls shot each other uneasy looks, and Ethan smiled. “You don’t mind if we catch up a little, do you?”
The girls waril
y shook their heads as Ethan pulled Toby to his feet. If you weren’t looking too hard, it looked like Ethan had a friendly hand on Toby’s shoulder, but from the lines etched on Toby’s face and the limpness of his right arm, Toni could tell that Ethan had him in some kind of Vulcan death grip.
Ethan steered Toby through the crowded club, across the flash and trash of the casino to the bank of elevators leading to the guest rooms.
“What floor?”
“Uh, twelfth,” he said, and swallowed hard. “What’s this all about, man? Whatever it is, I’m sure we can work it out.” He reached for his wallet but was stayed by Ethan’s hand.
“We have some things to discuss,” Ethan said. “It’s best we wait until we have some privacy.”
Toby shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slouched. He tried to look all cool and calm, but under the odor of liquor oozing from his pores, Toni could smell something else. Fear? Guilt? Christ, what if he really had hurt Kara? What if they were too late?
A bead of sweat rolled down Toby’s face, but his mouth was still set in that smug sneer. “If I owe you money, bro, I’m good for it. Or if there’s something else you need, I’m sure I can get it.”
Ethan didn’t reply, just pinned Toby with that razor-sharp stare until Toby started to squirm like a little kid about to wet his pants.
They got out on the twelfth floor and followed Toby to the end of the hall. Using his keycard, he opened the door to—hands down—the nicest hotel suite Toni had ever seen. Already trashed by Toby and his friends, of course, but still.
“Is there anyone else here?” Toni asked, praying Kara would walk out of one the suite’s bedrooms.
“No,” Toby said. “We were all down at the club.”
Toni did a quick sweep of the suite just in case. No sign of Kara, or anyone else for that matter.
Her shoulders slumped as she walked back into the sitting room. Toby was sprawled in a lounge chair where Ethan had evidently pushed him and was now looming menacingly, fists clenched.
