The idea of an Anderson man ever paying for sex was ludicrous but hopefully Travis wouldn’t have too many lovely ladies hanging on his arm this evening. West’s brother had no problem finding plenty of willing women wherever he went.
“What would your current girlfriend say about that?” West teased. “I’d hate for this little mission to endanger any relationship you might have going.”
Sitting on the bed, Travis strapped a gun around his ankle before pulling on his boot. “Adele and I parted ways a few weeks ago.”
Adele had been an icy Nordic blonde that stood six feet tall in her stocking feet. Beautiful but aloof, she’d made a poor impression on West when they’d been introduced. Clearly she didn’t like sharing Travis either with friends or family and hadn’t bothered to hide that little factoid. In other words, she’d been a bitch the entire evening.
“What did you do this time?”
Travis grimaced and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “She didn’t like all the hours that I spend at work. Between my regular work schedule and the mayoral race I apparently took advantage of her good nature. She called me a selfish rat bastard when she walked out.”
“How’s that broken heart?”
“I may never recover.” Travis smirked and then stood, straightening his tie. “I wish her well but she’s definitely not someone I could take home to Mom and Dad.”
“Was that the plan? Are you looking to settle down, big brother? You are on the wrong side of forty.”
Despite being the oldest, Travis was the most adamant about avoiding commitment at all costs. The people of Tremont called West a womanizer but that was only because they didn’t have any idea what Travis was up to when he was jetting around the world. He was ass deep in swooning females.
“Not in the foreseeable future. Maybe someday. Honestly, there are simply too many beautiful women in this world to pick just one. I’m happy for you and Jason though.”
Typical Travis.
“Maybe you need to change up the type of women you date.”
Another smirk. “Why in the hell would I do that?”
“Anyone can see that you are a deeply unhappy man.” West couldn’t even say the words with a straight face, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Morose. Depressed, even.”
“I’ll try to put on a happy face for the evening ahead. Are we ready?”
West nodded, slipping his jacket over his shoulder holster. Zach would stay here with Gigi while West accompanied Travis to Morton’s club. He’d stay in the car listening to the recording and monitoring for trouble.
“Let me say goodbye to Gigi and we’ll get out of here.”
That all too familiar rush of adrenaline was coursing through West’s veins. It felt good to have a plan of action. Hell, it felt good to be doing something instead of being in wait mode. He was damn tired of reacting to whatever Morton threw at them. It was time to put that bastard on the defensive.
* * *
“I’ve called three times today. I don’t like having to chase you down, Morton.”
Alan held the phone away from his ear, not because his boss Caleb Deardon was speaking too loudly but because the tone was soft and dangerous. Deardon had shown himself to be someone to be reckoned with when he was pissed off. Several people had simply disappeared never to be heard from again when they crossed the man who had clawed his way up through the organization in record time. Alan didn’t want to join the ranks of the missing but there were things that needed his attention today.
Georgette and her phalanx of devoted bodyguards was at the top of that list. It hadn’t taken him long to realize they’d fooled his men in Vegas and flown to Chicago. It had taken even less time to find her hotel despite her companion paying with cash. A few calls to the cab companies plus a bribe or two and he’d found out all he needed to know. She was now in Chicago and he was getting impatient. Dammit, he’d waited two years for this.
Alan pressed the speaker button on the phone and set it down on the dark oak desk that was the centerpiece of his home office. Decorated in subdued earth tones by Georgette before she left, it was his favorite room in the house.
“I didn’t get the messages until a few minutes ago, Caleb. I’ve been taking care of a few things today.”
Alan kept his voice even, not letting his nerves get the best of him when speaking to Deardon even as a trickle of sweat ran down his temple. Caleb Deardon was one cold son of a bitch who would have sold his mother into prostitution if it made him a buck.
“And by things do you mean that woman?”
Stiffening in his chair, Alan didn’t answer right away. Deardon had been in the organization when Georgette was in Chicago before but he hadn’t then been in charge. The fact that he knew about Alan’s personal life illustrated the reach and power he had.
Alan didn’t like it at all.
If he knew about Georgette what else did he know? And who in Alan’s organization was talking?
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Maybe Deardon was just fishing for information.
“I’m talking about Georgette Sidney. Is this going to be a problem, Morton? We don’t need you doing anything that gets the attention of the police. Do you understand?”
Deardon knew her name. Not good.
“Of course, Caleb. I’d never do anything to jeopardize what we have going on. Georgette is back in Chicago and I’m sure I’ll be seeing her soon, that’s all.”
“Willingly or unwillingly? I mean it. Don’t do something stupid over a female. Jesus, they’re a dime a dozen, Morton. If you want a woman I’ll send one over. Name the height, weight, and hair color. She’ll give you a night you’ll never forget. But leave the ones that don’t want you alone. It isn’t worth the trouble.”
There was no one like Georgette. That’s why Alan had to have her back. No one else would do.
He wasn’t going to fucking explain himself to Deardon. This could all be handled quietly with a minimum of fuss. She would come to Alan of her own free will. He’d made sure of that.
“You’re worried over nothing. It’s all going to be fine. I promise.”
“It better fucking be fine because if you do anything that makes the cops start looking at us I’ll make life very difficult for you. Mark my words. I’m coming by the club tonight to talk more about this so be there. No excuses.”
Screw you, Deardon.
“I hear you and it will all be fine. You can rest assured.”
The line was dead. Deardon had hung up, a fact Alan was most grateful for. Verbal sparring with Deardon over Georgette wouldn’t end well. The man didn’t understand. No one did, really. She belonged to Alan, and in the next twenty-four hours she’d be back where she belonged.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‡
“Enjoy yourself, Mr. Armstrong. I think you’ll find we offer any sort of entertainment you might require.”
The nightclub’s manager gave a small nod and turned on his heel to stride away, leaving Travis alone just inside the entrance to the secret illegal gambling room in Morton’s nightclub. It had been almost too easy for him to gain access. At first he’d stayed in the nightclub area flashing large amounts of cash and tipping wildly. Cozying up to a cute cocktail waitress, he’d brought up the subject of gambling on the premises and she’d hooked him up with the manager. After generously oiling that palm he’d been escorted upstairs. Clearly Morton’s men were motivated by cash which was a fortunate thing.
Travis’s back and neck were still damp with sweat, his heart still beating too fast from waiting to gain access to the VIP room as it was called. If the manager guy hadn’t bought into his cover bad things could have happened. West had warned Travis about undercover cops beaten up and even shot if the suspect didn’t completely believe in the persona. It had been a relief when the sound of slot machines and roulette wheels had been heard through the closed door.
“I’m in,” he said quietly. There was no two-way commun
ication between himself and West. His brother could hear what was going on and that was it. Currently West sat in a rental car across the street listening in case there was any trouble. Travis had assured his brother that he could handle himself so intervention would be unnecessary, but West’s adage when it came to surveillance work had always been better safe than sorry.
“What can I get you, sir?”
A busty blonde waitress in a tight dress smiled invitingly at Travis.
“Jameson on the rocks.”
She leaned forward slightly, giving him a much better view of her double D’s.
“Anything else?”
Her tone was complete seduction and not a bit coy. It was all out there in the open. She was ready to play with a man who had a big…bank account.
“Just the drink, thank you.”
Normally Travis might not mind some company but this evening wasn’t about pleasure. This was work and getting Morton out of Gigi’s life. After everything that girl had been through she deserved some happiness. From the way she and West were looking at each other it appeared they’d found it together.
Travis was happy for his brother but that didn’t mean he wanted to find a woman and settle down himself. That was the problem with happy couples. They wanted everyone to be happy and to them that meant in a relationship. Travis was pretty damn estatic being single. He was never alone unless he wanted to be.
The waitress brought him the drink and he murmured his thanks while sliding a twenty into a small pocket on her dress. She gave him a dazzling smile and leaned forward, her strong perfume cloying in the enclosed space.
“Let me know if you need anything else. My name is Lisa.”
Sipping his whiskey, Travis’s gaze settled on Alan Morton standing next to the roulette wheel, a stunning brunette to his right. Dressed in a deceptively simple midnight blue cocktail dress, the woman was beautiful enough to be a model or a Hollywood actress. Average height but not skinny, the strapless satin skimmed her generous curves and pushed up a pair of obviously real breasts that begged to be worshipped. Sable colored hair with golden highlights was swept off her graceful neck and secured with a gold barrette. From this distance it didn’t appear that she was wearing a face full of makeup, her cheeks flushed and her skin glowing with life. Naturally beautiful?
He needed to see her up close and personal.
Travis took a step forward but then hesitated. In an instant he’d gone from being all business to lusting after a woman he’d seen across a crowded room. It was cliché and also stupid. He needed to keep his head in the game if he didn’t want to end up dead. Alan Morton wasn’t a man to take lightly. He was making too much of a female. In all probability she was no different than every other woman Travis had met. Lovely to look at but far too interested in his money.
Taking a deep breath, he strode up to the roulette table, keeping his shoulders relaxed but making sure his posture and bearing spoke of confidence. He’d learned that trick when attending Harvard. Travis had been the nouveau riche kid there, brought up around cows and pickup trucks. He hadn’t immediately fit in and had been fascinated by how self-assured those around him seemed. It was as if they had no doubts about, well, anything. He’d quickly learned to emulate their sanguine attitude while at the same time exuding an alpha vibe that came in quite handy during business negotiations. It had held him in good stead all these years and he called upon every little trick he knew tonight to get under Morton’s skin and get him to talk.
Stepping to the right of Morton, Travis placed a few chips on red nineteen, completely ignoring anyone around him. Rich and powerful people liked to be noticed and nothing snagged their attention faster than when they were overlooked.
The wheel spun and landed on a black twenty-eight. The dealer deftly swept the losing chips on the table away. Travis placed more chips down on red nineteen while keeping his focus on the wheel and not the man standing to his left. The wheel spun again and the numbers blurred before his eyes. If he kept silent it should prod–.
“Does the number nineteen have significance for you? If not, you should play either red or black. Your odds of winning are higher.”
Bingo.
Travis gave Morton the barest of glances before dismissing him with a nod. “It does.”
This time red thirty came up and Travis’s chips were once again swept away. He sipped his whiskey before placing two more chips down on red nineteen. Again.
“You seem very determined with that bet. Let me introduce myself. I’m Alan Morton. I own this club.”
Travis transferred the glass of scotch to his left hand before turning toward Morton and holding out his right. A few inches shorter, Alan Morton looked to be in his late thirties although Travis sucked at guessing ages. Boyishly handsome at one time from the pictures in the file, Morton now had the beginnings of sagging jowls and neck plus a little extra around the middle. He didn’t look like a criminal mastermind but more like a used car salesman with his dark hair parted on the side.
Of course no car salesman would be able to afford that suit. It appeared to be bespoke dark navy blue. Probably Italian.
“Travis Armstrong.” He shook Morton’s hand and looked around the club appreciatively. “Nice place you got here. It’s all yours?”
“I have a partner,” Morton answered casually. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before. Who referred you?”
So that’s what this was about. Morton wanted to know how Travis had found out about the gambling room. Suspicious, wasn’t he? In his profession that was probably a wise thing.
“Sheldon. But it’s been quite awhile since I’ve seen him. I’m always traveling. Haven’t been in Chicago in several years, but then it never seems to change.”
Travis had pulled the name of the richest, most powerful man he knew in Chicago out of his ass and he hoped like hell it would work. It was his own fault he wasn’t prepared for a question he should have anticipated.
“Milo Sheldon?” Morton smiled and nodded. “He hasn’t been here for months. He’s been spending a lot of time in Palm Springs since the divorce.”
“Shame about him and Karen,” Travis said, breathing a little easier. Morton had bought the bullshit. “I thought they seemed happy.”
“Things aren’t always as they seem, Mr. Armstrong.”
No shit. Alan Morton appeared to be completely normal. Travis could see how Gigi was taken in.
“Sadly, that’s true,” Travis agreed. “Are you married?”
“Engaged. And yourself?”
Was the asshole talking about Gigi? If so, he really was batcrap crazy. And from the stiffening of Morton’s shoulders he didn’t like being asked personal questions.
Too damn bad.
Travis let his gaze wander around the room, resting on the stunning brunette he’d noticed earlier. “Too many beautiful women to limit myself.”
Morton smiled when he saw where Travis was looking. “Someday you’ll meet a woman that will change you, Mr. Armstrong. You’ll do anything, even move heaven and earth just so she’s safe and happy. Everything I do is for her.”
“Everything I do is for me. I like money. And power. But then I didn’t have any of that growing up. It means more to you if you’re not born with it.”
Morton nodded in agreement. “I find the most motivated men to be those that were not born with wealth.”
“You appear to be a self-made man,” Travis challenged. “I too admire those that can pull themselves up by their bootstraps. You have a popular nightclub in the heart of the city. But a smart man like you? I bet you’ve diversified. I’m in cattle, oil, and mining. If one is down something else is up.”
Morton’s eyes narrowed and his smile flickered. “I’ve got a few irons in the fire here and there.”
“More than a few, I’m betting.”
Morton stroked his chin, still smiling although it didn’t reach his dark, cold eyes. “I never bet, Mr. Henderson. It was good to meet you but my manager is si
gnaling me. If you need anything this evening don’t hesitate to ask. We’re here to serve.”
With that Alan Morton strode toward the entrance while Travis inwardly cursed. He hadn’t been able to get anything out of the guy who was clearly beyond paranoid. But then if the Feds were investigating Travis, he would be overly suspicious too.
Eyeing the patrons at the bar, Travis hoped at least one of them was a regular here. If Morton wouldn’t talk then perhaps someone would speak about him.
Time for Plan B.
* * *
“He’s there.” West lowered the volume on Travis’s conversation with some drunk in the nightclub so he could hear Jason’s friend Agent Faulkner more clearly on his cell. “Travis is in there right now wearing a wire. He’s hoping to get some information to help your case.”
“Shit,” Faulkner hissed. Despite the lousy connection, his expletive came through loud and clear. “Didn’t your brother Jason call you and let you know that I was planning a raid tonight? I’ve got the club surrounded by a dozen agents plus SWAT. Fuck. I don’t want your brother caught in any crossfire.”
It wasn’t like West’s detail-oriented brother not to call about something this important, but there had to be some reasonable explanation.
“When did you talk to Jason?”
A small silence. “I didn’t actually talk to him. I left a message on his phone about two hours ago when I knew the mission was for sure.”
“That explains it. Shane got out of the hospital this afternoon and they’re transporting him back to Tremont. They may be on the road where the service is spotty or even still in the air.”
Shane’s father flew a small private plane and it would make sense for him to fly Shane home instead of subjecting him to a long car ride or a commercial airline. Jason probably flew with them while Jared went back to Seattle to be with his wife and baby. West had decided he didn’t need the extra manpower in Chicago. Zach was working out well. Better than well actually. The man knew what he was doing when it came to personal security.
Hiding From Danger (Danger Incorporated Book 2) Page 15
