Midnight Alias: A Killer Instincts Novel (20 page)

Luke knew there was no point in arguing with her. Something he’d discovered tonight? Olivia Taylor was as stubborn as a damn mule.

From the rattling sounds that filled the line, he could tell that she was riffling through the contents of the desk drawer. When her hand emerged, he spotted a pencil between her fingers.

“I knew those Nancy Drew mysteries I read as a kid would come in handy,” she murmured.

Luke stifled a laugh, then followed the hurried movement of her hand as she shaded over the impression on the notepad.

“One sec . . . okay, I’ve got an address,” she hissed. “One seven eight Concord Avenue, unit thirteen. Or maybe it’s one seven five. I can’t tell if it’s a five or an eight. But the street is definitely right, and so’s the unit number.”

Luke glanced at Holden, who was already typing the address into one of the computers.

“Good job, darlin’. Now take the paper with you and get out of there.”

He heard a ripping sound and noticed Olivia tucking something into her pocket. To his overwhelming relief, she made a beeline for the door, except rather than head back to the main hall, she merely moved to the next doorway.

“Damn it, Olivia. Get out of there. The address is enough.”

“More than enough,” Holden concurred, turning away from the screen. “We’re looking at an industrial area with a shit ton of abandoned warehouses and apartment buildings on the verge of demolition. Any one of those sites would be the perfect place to stash a hostage.”

“Did you hear that?” Luke said to Olivia.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Good. Now get out.”

“All right.”

Her easy agreement brought another rush of relief, but the feeling didn’t last long. Olivia had just taken a step when Holden said, “Company.”

Luke shifted his attention to the other monitor and fought a burst of alarm. Two stocky men in black suits and with an indecent amount of gel in their hair were marching toward the metal door.

“Olivia,” he said sharply. “Hide.
Now
.”

On the screen, she seemed to freeze, and then there was a blur of movement. Her long brown hair whipped around her as she dove into the doorway she’d been lurking in front of. The picture changed quickly, revealing another dark room.

The second monitor showed the two new arrivals striding down the corridor. Heading directly for the room Olivia was in.

“Fuck,” Luke muttered. “Find somewhere to hide, damn it!”

Olivia raced toward an open door on the other side of the room. She poked her head in. “It’s some kind of storage room,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His heart lodged in his throat as he watched her dart through the narrow doorway. They had no visual on her anymore, but he heard soft rustling, a creak, and finally her voice. “Luke?”

“You hidden?” he asked roughly.

He scarcely heard her soft reply. “Yeah.”

“Don’t make a single sound, darlin’.”

The two men entered the room. One flicked on a light as the other headed toward a steel cabinet.

Frowning, Luke studied the long worktable in the middle of the room, which was covered with grinders, strainers, digital scales, some discarded baggies, and other paraphernalia he couldn’t make out. Man, the bastards had balls. They were milling the shit right out of the club, storing it, packaging it. Angelo must truly believe himself to be untouchable.

Olivia’s quiet breathing filled the line and Luke held his breath, praying that the goons wouldn’t go near that shadowy doorway. They didn’t. The taller of the two, an olive-skinned thug with a shaved head, leaned against the cabinet as his buddy unlocked it.

“Shipment’s coming in next week,” the tall one said. “Boss wants us to oversee it.”

The second goon reached into the cabinet, his voice muffled. “Tell the rest of the crew.” He straightened up with a rectangular felt pouch in his hand.

“For the girls?” Shaved Head asked, gesturing to the zippered pouch.

“Yeah. Get-together at Rodriguez’s tonight. The boss is sending a few party favors.” The guy tucked the small bag in his coat pocket. “And we’re in charge of making sure those party favors aren’t party poopers.”

“Rodriguez.” Shaved Head made an annoyed sound. “That Mexican bastard? I fucking hate catering to those spics.”

“The Mexicans are good to the organization, so we’re good to the Mexicans.” The goon pulled another pouch out of the locker and tossed it to his buddy. “The boss wants the girls relaxed. H for the junkies, E for the ones who need a little loosening up.”

The two men left the room. Luke waited until they descended the staircase to the main floor before he addressed Olivia. “They’re gone, darlin’. Now get the fuck out of there.”

“You swear too much” was her faint reply.

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. Which earned him a strange look from Holden. “I’ll work on my potty mouth if you work on following orders,” he promised her.

A pale-faced Olivia reappeared on the monitor. Luke could tell she was rattled. He wished he could be there with her, or at the very least outside the club, but Trevor had ordered him and Holden to handle the security issue, claiming Olivia might feel safer if Luke was the one talking her through it. He wasn’t sure it had worked, though. She didn’t look too great, her features drawn and ashen, her spine stiff as she moved through the second floor toward the stairs.

When her voice came on the line again, he expected to hear fear, panic even, but to his shock, she sounded pissed off. “Did you hear what they said?”

“We heard,” he confirmed with a sigh.

“There’s another one of those private parties tonight. The girls are going to be drugged.” She sounded horrified. “He’s getting them stoned so a bunch of perverts can screw them without any trouble.”

“I know.” His chest felt heavy.

“What are we going to do about it?”

Beside him, Holden’s eyebrows shot up. He and Luke exchanged a wary look.

“We’re not going to do anything,” Luke said carefully. “We weren’t sent in to mess with Angelo’s drug business. We’re here to find Dane. Nothing less, nothing more.”

“I see.” Her voice was tight, her disapproval evident.

The security cameras on the second floor belonged to a different feed than the ones in the actual club, so Luke couldn’t see her on the monitors anymore, which meant she’d gotten downstairs in one piece. He wished he could observe the expression on her face, but suspected he wouldn’t like it.

“I have to get ready for my shift,” she said flatly. “I assume I’m done playing Nancy Drew for the night?”

“Yeah, but—”

She hung up.

Cursing, Luke pocketed his cell phone and rose from his chair.

“She’s pissed,” Holden remarked.

“No kidding.” He slashed a hand through his hair, trying to pin down the source of his frustration.

He understood Olivia’s anger—listening to those goons talk about “loosening up” the girls had triggered a spark of fury in his own gut. But their hands were tied here. Carter Dane was their top priority. Their
only
priority.

Still . . . he really didn’t like the idea of Olivia being disappointed in him. And he got the feeling she totally was.

“I’m getting the club’s security feeds back online,” Holden said, his fingers moving over the keyboard. “I’ll start on the address after that. We’ll need to do some recon before we raid the place.”

Luke made for the door. “I’ll join up with the guys. Olivia needs to be watched twenty-four-seven. If Angelo even suspects she’s digging around in his biz . . .”

“Luke.”

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“Our job is to find that agent.”

His jaw hardened. “I know.”

Holden turned back to the monitor. “Just thought you needed the reminder.”

* * *

Isabel was in the middle of a sexy spin up on the main stage when she spotted Olivia descending the spiral staircase. Even with the spotlight doing its best to blind her, she could see the paleness of the other woman’s cheeks, contrasted with the heated look in her eyes. Huh. Olivia looked pissed off, but Isabel pushed the observation aside and focused on the task at hand. Extending her leg, she rested her heel against the metal pole then ran her fingers up her leg from ankle to thigh, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she moved her head to the music.

She wondered why Olivia was all riled up. Hopefully Trevor would update her when she checked in.

On second thought, maybe she’d just call Luke to find out. Ever since that uncomfortable conversation in the car yesterday, she’d been trying to distance herself from Trevor. Even now, the thought of him brought on some serious agitation, causing her to lose her rhythm.

For Pete’s sake, get it together
.

Stifling a sigh, she worked the stage, shimmying out of her bustier, slow, sensual, making the men beg for it. When her breasts were finally exposed, she wiggled toward the end of the stage, dancing down to her knees and leaning forward so the frat boys sitting front-and-center could shove bills underneath her lacy red garter. One-dollar bills. Cheap bastards. When she’d worked undercover at that strip club in Paris, she’d walked away with fifties and hundreds. You couldn’t knock the stripper life—if you were good, some customers were good right back.

She made a lot of eye contact with the boys, shooting each one a wicked smile as she worked her way back to Heaven. She and Heaven were doing a dual set tonight, which involved a lot of girl-on-girl grinding and the occasional kiss if the crowd demanded it. The other dancer was high as a kite, dark circles under her eyes covered up with makeup, but the girl was a pro. Heaven didn’t miss a beat as she hooked one leg up and around Isabel’s hip and threw her head back in mock ecstasy.

Isabel went through the motions. A headache was forming at her temples. The boys in the crowd shouted out catcalls. Someone let out a sharp whistle that made her head pound even harder.

She was beginning to work the pole again when a familiar face caught her eye.

Fuck.

Fuck
.

Marco Bianchi was weaving his way through the crowd.

Isabel immediately whirled around, raised her hands above her head, and rolled her hips, giving the crowd a nice view of her ass.

Shit. She’d glimpsed several of De Luca’s men in the club before, but never one she was well acquainted with. Marco worked as an enforcer for the big boss himself, a bodybuilder/steroid type who crammed his huge body into expensive suits and packed enough firepower to start a small war. It had been eight years since she’d last seen him, but she could pick the guy out of any lineup, and he could probably do the same to her.

Unfortunately, this latest disguise, albeit tacky and over the top, was close to her true appearance. Aside from the hair extensions she’d used to give her that ass-length tousled look, she hadn’t altered her looks to play Candy Cane. Which meant Marco simply needed to take a good hard look and he’d recognize her as Isabel Roma. Daughter of the man who’d sacrificed himself for the organization. Sister of the man whose brains De Luca had blown out.

As her pulse raced like a thoroughbred, Isabel concentrated on the performance, keeping her head turned, offering nothing but a fleeting profile to the crowd. Her peripheral vision caught Marco heading for a table to the right of the stage, where a group of Latino men were tossing back tequila shots. The enforcer bent down and the group started whispering. One of the men lifted a hand, pointing an index finger at the stage.

Isabel’s heart lurched. Holy hell, were they pointing at her?

Ignoring the panic surging through her, she risked another quick look in Marco’s direction. His Latino buddies were guffawing now. One of them pointed to the stage again, then reached down and cupped his crotch.

Her spine went rigid. Was this related to one of those private parties? Was that how it worked? De Luca’s buddies saw a pair of tits they liked, and Vince delivered those tits to a hotel room?

She said a silent prayer that the tits in question didn’t belong to her, because for Isabel, self-preservation came first no matter what. Some of the other operatives who worked for Noelle did whatever they had to for the sake of the mission, but using sex to get the job done was not part of Isabel’s professional code. She would pull out of a job before spreading her legs for a bunch of horny scumbags.

When the set finally came to an end, she swallowed a sigh of relief and sprinted off the stage. She and Heaven headed for the dressing room, neither saying a word as they walked over to their lockers. They were the only ones in the room, and when footsteps echoed from the hallway, a wave of uneasiness swelled in Isabel’s belly.

Sure enough, a big man appeared in the doorway. Not one of the bouncers, but Mikey, Vince’s number one bodyguard. Mikey was straight-up thug in his dark suit, the bulge of a weapon beneath his coat, a goatee circling his unsmiling mouth.

“The boss needs you to work a party tonight,” he announced.

She glanced at the oversize leather purse hanging off the top of the locker door, then reached for it, her teeth sinking into the insides of her cheeks. Well, looked like this job had just come to an end. She quickly assessed how long it would take to grab the Beretta from her purse. Three seconds tops. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to shoot her way out of the place, but that might be the only—

“You hear me, Heaven?” Mikey growled. “Your services are needed.”

Isabel’s hand froze. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Heaven’s already pale face go even paler, and then the other dancer turned around to nod at Mikey. “Let me just get dressed,” the girl said in a wooden tone.

“Car’s waiting out front,” the man barked before leaving the room.

Isabel drew in a breath, letting her limbs relax. Finally, she looked over at Heaven. And her breath caught again. God, the girl was just . . . not there. Heaven was one of the prettier girls at the club, tall and willowy with layered ash-blond hair and enormous blue eyes. She could have been a model, probably would’ve been crazy successful too, but the track marks on her arms said it all. The girl was too far gone, a junkie with dead eyes and hollow cheeks and no way out.