Silent Deceit (2 page)

  D
euce Kingman crawled out from under the
steel desk in his office, glad
to be alive. Shoving the leather chair aside, he hauled himself to his feet. He
was covered in plaster, choking and hacking like an asthmatic without an
inhaler. He coughed into the crook of an arm, tripped
over the wide screen hidden in the debris at his feet, and face planted on the
floor again. Lying there, he waited for the dust to settle. His gaze landed on
the crater-sized hole in an outer wall that suddenly appeared
through the haze. Holy shit!

  His next thoughts were “
Who wants me
dead?”
and
“Was it a bomb blast or some other type of IED?”
  He
needed answers. Now.

  Deuce scrambled over a mountain of junk
to reach the gun rack at the far end of the room. He grabbed an assault rifle
and checked the load, pocketing extra rounds of ammo. Then he headed in the
opposite direction for freaking ground zero—namely the desecrated wall.

A mammoth
tree blocked his view to the outside. He squeezed between its boughs,
shouldered his weapon, and peered through the scope. Nothing moved below him in
the parking lot except for sleet, blowing snow, and branches from the tree that
had rammed the side of the building. The only sound was the moan of gale-force
winds.

  Goddamn. Looks like Mother
Nature pitched a hissy fit and blew my place to shit all by herself.

  “Deuce? You okay?” He reeled back inside
as the office door flew from its hinges with one kick of a steel-toed boot. His
scar-faced bodyguard burst through the opening and ran toward him. Rivets
groaned and timbers sagged with each of his heavy strides. One more step and
they could both fall through the floor to their deaths below.

  “Get out of here, Moshpit!
I’ll come to you.” Deuce began a hasty crab walk to the door. He sucked in his
belly and hugged the wall, avoiding the damaged joists until he gained the
doorway. “Where are our guests?”

  “Snorting lines, drinking shots, and getting
stroked by the entertainment in the party room.” Moshpit smirked as he shoved
his H & K into the front of his waistband. “I doubt they even noticed the
lights go out or heard the commotion.”

  “Get’em dressed and downstairs. It’s not
safe up here. We’ll move everyone to the far end of the building.”

  “Boss, we could be stranded here from the storm.” Moshpit turned the
handle on the door across the hall, preparing to enter. “Why don’t we take them
underground?”

  “Why don’t you grow a brain and make a call
to the fire department? They’ll have everyone out of here as soon as they can
get a bus up this mountain.” Deuce eyed his bodyguard, his blood pressure spiking.
He couldn’t afford screw-ups. Not now. And the last damn thing he needed was strangers nosing around in his business. “Anyone goes down in the tunnel,
they don’t come out. That’s an order.”

  “W
hat do you think you’re doing?” Natasha
laid on her back under the bar overhang feeling the rasp of Skip’s fingers
along her thigh, the stroke igniting flames in places it shouldn’t. “Take your
hands off me.”

  “Relax, bluebird,” he whispered, his
breath fanning her cheek. “I’m covering your weapon with that postage stamp you
call a skirt.”

  She glanced down at the Colt .380 as it
vanished beneath her micro-mini. He patted her knee, a smile twitching the
corners of his mouth as he rolled off her and sprang to his feet, pulling her
with him. “Rena? You okay?”

  “I’m fine, but Mitch isn’t.” Rena crawled
out after them to huddle over one of Deuce’s bouncers sprawled in a river of
alcohol, tree boughs, and smashed bottles.

  The guy was out cold, a trickle of blood
at his hairline. Natasha noticed a ring of keys attached to his belt loop. She
unclipped it and slipped it into her pocket when Skip leaned over him, helping
himself to the Sig from Mitch’s shoulder holster before checking for a pulse in
his neck. He tucked the gun at his waist beneath his shirt, hefted Mitch over a
shoulder and moved him out of the broken glass before setting him down again.
He nodded to Rena. “Take care of him. Tas, you’re with me.”

  “Wait a minute.” Natasha dug flashlights from
a drawer and handed one to Skip. “Give me the gun.”

  “Not a chance in hell.” His expression
grim, he swept his gaze over what was left of
Trailblazer's
. She did the
same, shivering in an icy blast of wind. Sleet blew through the bar like
confetti at a tickertape parade. Skip ignored it, focusing on a dark corner by
the pool tables; although how he could see back there, she wasn’t sure. He must
have eaten a lot of carrots as a kid, either that or his eyesight was trained—like maybe in the military? Before she could process that unlikely
thought, he was on the move again, tugging her along with him. “Over there.
Watch your step.”

  Men slowly got to their feet, some of
them staggering from shock, minor injuries, or maybe too much alcohol. A couple
of them hooked arms under their buddies’ armpits and pulled them free of
debris. One of the motorcycles suspended from the ceiling had crashed to the
floor. A body lay beneath it. Skip knelt beside the man, searching for signs of
life. Nothing. He covered him with a jacket lying in the twisted metal.

  Natasha stiffened her spine, refusing to
feel anything for the dead biker. She’d known the scumbag by reputation. He’d
beaten one of the girls senseless in a room upstairs. And Deuce hadn’t done
anything to stop him. The world was better off without him. And Deuce. She
wouldn’t allow herself to be swayed from her mission. By the time she was
finished, Deuce would either be dead or spending the rest of his life in prison,
doing lap dances of his own.

  Cripes, she should be the one in charge
here, not taking orders from Skip. This was her best chance to search for Zach
without drawing attention to herself. But, as if reading her mind, Skip wrapped
his fingers around her wrist.

“Stay
close.” Midnight blue eyes challenged her. She was about to move off when his hold
tightened. “The ceiling’s sagging. We need to get everyone out of here before
it collapses.”

  “We can do this quicker if we split up,”
She shook loose from his grip. “I’ll see if the dining room’s safe while you
help herd everybody in that direction.”

  Not waiting for an answer, Natasha made a
beeline for the hallway at the other end of the bar. Slipping Mitch’s keys from
her pocket, she flicked on her flashlight and moved downstairs to the wine
cellar. She fumbled with the door lock until she found the right key. Turning
the cold steel handle in her palm, she slipped inside. Track lights shone down
on dusty bottles. How could that be when the power was out? Did Deuce have a
generator or a solar-powered system she wasn’t aware of?

  She shut the door behind her, moving
farther inside. It didn’t make sense; why would there be emergency lights down
here and not in the bar and dining room? Her gaze travelled the length of the
room along the clay tiled floor. Scuff marks leading past shelves of wine and
liquor ended at a far wall. She followed the trail and pressed an ear against the paneling. Was Zach down here? Was there a
hidden room?

  Plastered
against the wall, Natasha ran her hands along the smooth edges, searching for a
catch or hidden door release. Footprints didn’t end at a wall for no reason;
something was back there. Popping up on her toes, she didn’t hear the man behind her until it was too late. He flattened her against
the paneling, his hands gripping her hips, a leg
shoved between hers and his weight full against her. She twisted, tried to
break his hold, a useless move. Panic clawed at her throat. Would he rape her,
or worse? She threw her head back, hoping to smash his face. Grunting, he
absorbed the blow with a shoulder; too tall for her to inflict any serious
damage.

  “Behave yourself and follow my lead,” he
whispered.

 
Skip? 
“You son of a—!”

  Blazing heat pumped her bloodstream with
the first nip of his teeth on her shoulder. He rocked her against him, the
press of his hands guiding her hips.
What the hell does he think he’s doing?

“Get off
me. Now!”

  One minute Skip was there, the next he
was gone. Natasha sagged against the wall; collecting herself enough to risk
facing—Deuce, who had somehow entered the room
unnoticed. He studied her long and hard, as if trying to decide what he should
do with her. His bodyguard, Moshpit, had a gun trained on Skip, who lay
sprawled at their feet.

   Deuce snarled. “How the hell did you get
in here?”

––––––––

   “I
get it! No
means no.” Skip hauled himself to a sitting position to hide the Sig tucked in
his belt. He held his hands in the air. “There’s no reason to get bent out of
shape and set these gorillas on me, babe.”

  “Shut up!” The squirrel he assumed was
Deuce kicked him hard in the leg.
Ouch.
Deuce turned back to Natasha, a
meaty paw squeezing her arm. “I won’t ask again. Who let you in here?”

   “I, uh, let myself in...I took these from
Mitch.” Natasha met Deuce’s gaze, holding up the ring of keys and jiggling it.
“He was knocked unconscious by the tree. All the liquor bottles were smashed,
and I needed some stock to keep your customers happy. I didn’t think it was
such a big deal.”

  Kingman watched her, snatching the keys
back with a scowl. “Don’t come down here again without one of my security guys.
Bad things can happen, like lover boy over there.”

  “I see that now.” Natasha redirected her
laser gaze to Skip.
We’re not out of the woods yet,
Tas. You’d better make it good.
“I said
I’d have dinner with you, jerk face. I
didn’t
say I wanted to bear your
children!”

  “I’m sorry, okay? I got a little ahead of myself.” Skip
hauled himself slowly to his feet, keeping a wary eye on Deuce’s muscle with
the gun. “Hell, sugar, that tree coming through the wall got my adrenaline
pumping. And when the ceiling started to sag, I figured if I’m going to die, it
might as well be with a smile on my face.”

  “You jackass! I asked you to help me carry
bottles, not try to strip me naked.”

  “Shut your traps,
both of you!” Deuce shook his head like he’d heard
enough. Still, he seemed to swallow their bullshit. He signaled scar face to stand
down. “Get back to work, Natasha, and take Don Juan with you. We’ll be out of
here as soon as the fire department arrives.”

  Skip breathed a sigh of relief. He recognized Kingman's
type; short on brains and long on power. The bastard would kill Natasha in a
heartbeat if he believed she posed a threat to him, and enjoy watching her die.

––––––––

  N
atasha stumbled off the emergency bus at
her motel, sliding across ice on wobbly spike heels.
Rena struggled to stay upright beside her while bikers skidded past them
heading for the front desk. Skip came off the bus last, hitching her and Rena
by the elbows and hustling them to her unit.

  “Get lost MacQuade. There's only one bed
in my room.”

  “Like I’d stay with you, Tas. You’re
trouble, plain and simple. I’m out of here as soon as I can rent a pickup. My
Duc’s lying in pieces back at the club. I need to load her up before someone
steals what’s left of her.”

  Uh-huh. Natasha remembered his Ducati—a
chrome and black rocket of power and hotness. She loved that bike—had actually
drooled over it when he was hauled in for questioning about a murder in Calgary
a few months ago. And sure, she’d planned to take it
off his hands once he was arrested. Figured he’d need
some quick cash to pay his lawyer and post bail. But Skip had skated on the
charge, which was plain wrong in her book. She thought he'd be prosecuted. “Use your cell phone.”

  “Can’t. It’s in the saddle bags on the
Duc.”

  “I’ll give you two minutes.” She fumbled
with the door lock, her fingers numb with cold. “Then I’m booting you out.”

  He wrapped a hand around hers and helped
work the key into the lock, pushing the door open and bundling them all inside.
“That’s all I need.”

  Natasha crossed the threshold and ground
to a halt. Her boss, Blue Falcone, stood in her living room, his muscled
arms crossed and a scowl riding his face. Panicked, she whirled and beat feet
for the door again.

  Skip blocked her path, gave her a light
shove, and sent her straight into her CO’s arms.

  “I drove all
night to beat the storm, and it's a good thing I did.” Blue grabbed her arm and planted her in
the desk chair. As close as he was, she could see the strain in his eyes and
dark circles beneath them, and had a feeling she had caused both. “What in blazes were you thinking, Nat, infiltrating
Kingman’s bar on your own?”

  He raked a hand through tangled blond
hair that hung past his shoulders. Dressed in biker garb accessorized with a
lot of piercings and tats, he looked downright scary—which
he was. He had to be. The ability to blend in with scum kept him alive. His
shitkickers, filthy denim jeans, studded leather jacket, and the arsenal he
carried concealed were all part of the job. So was the hint of marijuana smoke
clinging to his clothes. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”

  Natasha
wished she could disappear. Live to fight another day. She swallowed hard and
somehow found her voice. “I wasn’t alone. I had Rena with me. She would have
called you if I needed help.”

  “Ha!
You mean Rena O’Mally?” Blue swung around, taking in the other woman with a
smirk. “The confidential informant who sold herself on the streets to keep her
boyfriend in drug money? Boy, that’s some backup.”

  Rena
walked up to Blue and punched his shoulder. “Hey! Take a good look in the
mirror, pal, before you start judging me!”

  Natasha
gave Rena credit for taking on someone as intimidating as Falcone. Heck, even
she
knew better than to push his buttons. She would never have cut him out of the
loop if she hadn’t been so desperate to protect Zach. But, this was a side to
Rena she hadn’t expected. The woman could hold her own.

  “I
did what I did to keep on breathing. The
only
way a woman left that gang
was in a body bag, because knot heads like you controlled us.”

  “Knot
heads like me?” Blue snarled. “Sweet cheeks, the company you keep is
nothing
like me.”

  “Oh
yeah? Could have fooled me, you big bully!” Rena flounced on the couch. “And I
don’t have to take crap from the likes of you anymore. I did my time.”

  “Sure
you did.” Hands on his hips, Blue did an eye roll. “And then you went to work
for Deuce. Not what I’d call a big step up from your former profession.”

  “Well,
at least I’m not working on my back!” Rena exhaled a breath. “Besides, Deuce
offered me protection from my old life if I tended bar for him at
Trailblazer's
.”

  “And
who will protect you from
him
?” Blue scowled, leaning over Rena. “He
might pay better than the local minimart, but he’s dangerous as hell. Get out
of there while you still can.”

  “Not
until I’ve saved enough to make it on my own. I need money for my taxi license.
Then I’m buying a cab.” She spared Natasha a venomous glance. “That’s
if
your hotshot detective doesn’t get me killed first.”

  “About
that...” Falcone turned the force of his icy blue gaze on Natasha. “I got word
you’ve been pinging your brother’s cell phone. And I know Zach’s off the grid.
How long has it been since he disappeared?”

  “A
week. He called me from Deuce’s. He was scared about something he saw there.
That’s when his phone died.” Natasha tipped her chin up to stare at her boss.
“I have to find him, Blue, no matter what he did wrong. If you want me off your
team, I understand. But, please, don’t blow my cover at
Trailblazer's.
”

  Falcone
stared at her long and hard, as if trying to decide what he should do. Then his
gaze roamed the room and narrowed on Skip, who hadn’t moved from the doorway.
The stare down and barely visible nod between the men unsettled Natasha. They
hardly knew each other, except for when Skip was a person of interest in the
murder inquiry. Was Blue worried he knew too much about their plans?

  Hah,
maybe he’ll stash Skip somewhere to keep him out of my hair. Give me a chance
to find Zach.

 “You want
to find your brother? Fine, but from now on, you’ll do things by the book.”
Blue’s gaze swung back to her as Natasha inhaled a
healthy helping of relief. He wouldn’t block her investigation into
Zach's disappearance after all. “MacQuade’s
in charge, effective immediately. From here on out,
you’ll take orders from him. I forgot to tell you, Nat. Skip is an undercover cop, just like you. He
works for me out of the Edmonton office.”