One was a doctor. Dr. Hank Bernard. Married with three girls of his own. The problem was, he preferred little boys, the younger the better. Then there was George Durango. He owned a string of spas and retreats for celebrities. He ran in big circles. Bill Churchill was a prominent judge, one with an eye toward moving up in political circles. Paul Bitters was a very respected fire chief. He knew every policeman in his district by name. When he spoke, everyone listened to him. Russ Jarvis and Billy Kent owned a chain of grocery stores together. They’d been boyhood friends and continued to be partners. Most people thought they were a couple. It suited them to let others think that.
Code, with his mad computer skills, had stumbled across the online auction of a little six-year-old boy. It was Paul Bitters who had him up for auction. He had offered the child to what appeared to be a large ring of pedophiles. Torpedo Ink had anonymously bid on the boy, and at first it seemed as if they might get him. They would have been given an address and the exchange would have been made. Unfortunately, law enforcement had gotten wind of the auction, and Bitters had shut it down instantly.
Bitters didn’t come back online for nearly three weeks. He sent out an encrypted message: this event was by private invitation only. It was clear the man was nervous and wanted only those he knew and trusted implicitly to show up. He wanted them there in person so he could visually identify each man. Code had managed to break the encryption.
Torpedo Ink hadn’t had a lot of time to put together a rescue operation. They didn’t just want a smash and grab. They wanted more names. This was no small operation: the original auction had been open to multiple bidders over several states. They wanted to permanently shut it down.
The club and their women were in Vegas for a very good reason. Their vice president, Steele, was marrying his woman, putting a ring on her finger and making that shit real. Naturally, all members of Torpedo Ink would come to celebrate, to witness the event. No one would question their presence in Las Vegas.
Ice and Storm flowed with the little group of tourists, fitting in the way they did, so if the two men happened to glance back, which they did occasionally, they would see them as part of the group. Storm had been wearing a ball cap but when he crossed the street, he switched to a panama hat. It covered his distinctive hair. He walked with a bit of a slump to shorten his height.
Their quarry suddenly turned abruptly and walked straight back toward them. Ice kept walking straight, keeping his head down, while his brother crossed the street with the light. A motorcycle roared past, keeping up with traffic on the street. Transporter had Alena, Ice and Storm’s younger sister, on the back of his bike. Her very distinctive platinum hair was tucked up in a helmet. Neither wore their colors.
“I’ve got them,” Savage murmured softly into his radio. “Switch shirts and hats and come back around. They’ve got a tail checking to see if they have anyone on them. These fuckers are careful.”
Savage was an enforcer for the club. He was also, along with his brother, one of the scariest men Ice knew, and his club was made up of straight-up assassins. Trained from childhood, each of them knew hundreds of ways to kill. Savage was in a league of his own.
“We made them,” Alena reported.
Ice turned the corner the opposite way the two men had gone. Code had narrowed their destination down to two possible buildings on the other side of the block. The lights of the strip faded just a little bit, and a seedier clientele joined those walking along the street.
Storm continued down the street he’d chosen; it was still close to the road Code had identified as the likeliest goal. The taxi Savage had driven up in was at the curb in front of the two men, and he took his time paying the driver, asking directions as he did so. Russ Jarvis and Billy Kent went right past him without even glancing at him.
Their quarry’s backup drove past them in a Toyota pickup, giving the two men a quick sign as he did so. Right behind the brand-new Toyota was an old Ford. Mechanic drove the Ford and it was every bit as souped-up as any road rocket out there. Torpedo Ink was out in full force, each member contributing in any way they could, working like a machine together, determined to get the child away from those putting him up for auction.
“I’m on backup with Transporter and Alena,” Mechanic said into his radio. “We’ll take this driver for you, Savage, and Alena and Transporter will double back to secure the building while I secure the prisoner and wait for you.”
“Make sure you do. We need one alive,” Savage murmured. Jarvis’s nod to his backup was nearly imperceptible, but Savage caught it. The driver of the pickup believed no one was following the two men.
“They’re doubling back. Now that they think they’re clear, they’ll head to the live auction. You’re on again, Ice. Let’s take them down fast,” Savage said.
Savage turned the opposite way the two men were walking, heading for the street corner. He crossed with the light and walked purposefully down the strip. Ice turned the corner behind Jarvis and Kent. He was in a dark navy tee and a dark sports jacket, and a fedora covered his head. Storm remained on the same side of the street as Savage. Ice joined the very small crowd at the crosswalk, ignoring his quarry as they waited for the light. Storm crossed at the light.
Jarvis and Kent were the first ones to step off the curb, walking fast now, glancing at their watches and picking up the pace. Ice and Storm fell into step behind them, with only two couples between them. Savage crossed back at the next stoplight, falling into step half a block behind Ice and Storm.
“Backup is ready,” Reaper, their sergeant at arms, said.
“Van waiting for package,” Czar reported.
“Medic on standby,” Steele said.
Absinthe fell into step with Ice and Storm just as Jarvis and Kent turned into the doorway of a massage parlor. The parlor proclaimed twenty-four-hour massages on the doors and windows in gold paint. Ice, Storm and Absinthe were only a few steps behind Jarvis and Kent. Ice glanced up at the surveillance camera. It was no longer recording. Code had worked his magic, taking over the cameras in the building and shutting them down.
Savage was thirty seconds behind the other three. Jarvis and Kent didn’t check in at the desk; instead, they started right down the hall. The hostess ignored them but perked up when she saw Ice, Storm and Absinthe. They had that effect on women. Savage made her nervous as he entered, and she avoided looking too closely at him, which gave him the opportunity to keep their quarry in sight as they made their way down the hall.
Absinthe leaned toward her, putting his elbows on her desk, and smiling, looked directly into her eyes while Storm went back to the door. “Hey, beautiful. You really need to go home now. It’s late and way past your shift.” He pitched his voice low and mesmerizing. “You just want to get out now as fast as possible.”
She caught up her purse, frowned slightly and rushed out the door Storm held open for her. He locked the door but left the open sign on so that it flashed right over the words declaring they gave massages twenty-four hours a day.