Rachel willed her heart to ease up on its vicious pounding, but she wasn’t any more successful now than she had been when Carson’s goons first shoved a sack over her head. It swirled as if stuck in a typhoon, unable to concentrate on the murmured voices surrounding her.
“Move, bitch.” Something sharp poked her back. Her leg buckled, sending her crashing knees-first onto a hard floor. On her left a hand gripped the top of the hood—and her hair—and hauled her back to her feet.
Rachel swallowed a cry.
“Don’t like it rough, hon?” Stella’s smoke-addled voice taunted near her ear. “Maybe you shouldn’t have stuck your nose where it didn’t belong.”
“Said like a woman who doesn’t have any friends…which is so surprising considering you have such a sparkling personality,” Rachel fired back.
Someone ripped away the hood, and with it a clump of Rachel’s hair. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, refusing to make a sound as Stella pushed her face within an inch of hers. “And what did that friendship cost you, sweetheart? You were so busy worrying about that bitch friend of yours and now you’re both in for a world of hurt.”
Stella shoved Rachel into an open elevator. At this point her lungs usually seized, but now, without a hood over her eyes, she soaked in her surroundings and tried figuring out their location.
Oversize and cold, the elevator’s wide walls and sparse interior identified its commercial use. Stumbling onto well-meaning tourists wouldn’t be likely.
Rachel wiggled her hands, wincing as plastic ties bit into her wrists. She’d survived Honduras. She’d beaten the hell out of Fuentes and his drugs. She was well on her way to conquering the world of love and romance.
She could sure as hell beat this too—with or without being saved by Logan Callahan.
Stella’s sharp nails dug into her arm as she yanked her from the elevator and into another corridor. “Let’s go, princess.”
Above their heads, pipes of different colors ran north and south, and the tiled floor gave way to cement. Eerie music spilled into the hall, slowing Rachel’s steps until she received another rough shove.
“Don’t look so worried. You’re about to get what you’ve been asking for.” Grinning, Stella swiped a badge in front of an electronic pad and pushed open an unmarked door.
A startling burst of colored strobe lights had Rachel blinking her eyes into focus. Bodies occupied the room, all in varying stages of dress—and undress—as they moved in some semblance of a dance. No one glanced their way as they entered, too busy partaking in the elaborate buffet of drugs laid out on a massive, bar-size cherry countertop.
White powder. Injectables. Pills.
Rachel’s stomach twisted into a knot, but not from a desire to get her hands on any of it.
That amount of drugs could ruin a lot of people’s lives.
Rachel immediately recognized Dean Carson. Sitting regally in a plush, high-backed chair, the dark-haired businessman looked like a king on his throne. An unconscious woman lay at his feet, her head of dark hair draped over his lap in a tangled mess.
“Am I supposed to believe that this little scrap of a thing is the one who’s been making a nuisance of herself around my town?” Carson’s cold black eyes tracked Rachel as Stella shoved her closer.
“One and the same.” Stella sneered.
“For a former schoolteacher, you’ve proven to be very evasive, Miss Kline.”
Rachel failed to mask her surprise.
“Did you think I didn’t know all about you?” Carson asked, smugly. “I’ve heard every fantastical detail about your time with Carly in Honduras, about how you saved her, how you believed in her when she didn’t believe in herself. But she never told me how crafty you were. You eluded my men for hours, literally dodged a bullet fired by one of the best assassins in the business. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were less a guardian angel and more like a cat with nine lives.”
“Maybe your men aren’t as skilled as you think they are,” Rachel quipped dryly, summoning Logan’s nerve-induced wit.
A smile slithered onto Carson’s face, turning Rachel’s stomach. “I employ nothing but the best. I demand respect, loyalty, and obedience—all of which your friend lacked.”
“There doesn’t get anyone more loyal than Carlotta.”
“I think you really believe that, because I’m not being overdramatic when I say that most people wouldn’t risk their lives poking their noses into my business, no matter what—or who—was on the line.”
“I’m not most people.” Rachel glared, refusing to back down. “And I’m not leaving without her.”
Carson’s smile widened. “You may think differently when you realize the great disservice Carly did you by getting you involved. You see, she took something that didn’t belong to her, and then she did a foolish thing by hiding it.”
“Seems to me that if you want it that bad, it was smart of her to hide it from you.”
“I can see why you and Carly befriended one another—both beautiful, both stubborn. But I haven’t gotten to where I am today because I’m stupid. I know she told you where the flash drive is, and if you really are here to save your friend, you’ll tell me where it is.”
The woman propped against his leg groaned. Her hair obscured the majority of her face, all except one black-and-blue cheek and swollen-shut eye. Rachel didn’t need to see the rest to recognize Carly.
“You bastard!” Rachel lurched forward and received a sharp yank on her hair, pulling her back straight into a severe stomach punch courtesy of one of Carson’s goons. “What did you do to her?”
“I did what needed to be done when someone threatens me, and then thinks they can just up and leave.” Carson entwined his hand in Carly’s hair and stretched her neck to a harsh angle. Carly, barely conscious, whimpered. “She needed a little reminder that her life is mine. Now I know she won’t forget it.”
“Her life is hers,” Rachel spit.
Chuckling, Carson stood. Carly spilled onto the ground. “You really shouldn’t fill her head with silly notions that aren’t true. Look at her. Does she look like a woman who’s capable of standing on her own two feet?”
Held by two goons, Rachel stood helpless as Carson stalked toward her. Stopping a few inches away, he trailed a finger down her cheek, the sensation coating her throat with bile. “It’s sad—one drug whore trying to give another false hope. You can change. You control your life. Bullshit. You know what controls your life?” Carson jerked her chin toward the table of drugs. “That. You may not be putting it into your body, but it still controls some part of you. And if I control the drugs, I control you.”
Rachel couldn’t deny it. Drugs didn’t call to her anymore, but Honduras had changed her in a fundamental way, and for a damn long time. Dressing rooms made her break into a cold sweat, and bedroom windows remained open at all times, a chilly scenario during a Pennsylvania winter. And as Logan had pointed out earlier, fake smiles had become her talent.
Every single one of those quirks belonged to a past Rachel.
Riding a rush of determination, Rachel ripped her chin from Carson’s hold, spitting in his face. “No. I control me. As a matter of fact, you couldn’t be any less in control. You’re right. I did have the flash drive, but I don’t anymore. It’s only a matter of time before hell rains down on you in the form of the entire Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department—and that’s the best-case scenario for you. Because God help you if my friends get to you first.”
Pain exploded behind Rachel’s eyes as his fist slammed into her jaw. A kaleidoscope of colors swept across her vision, but shadows crept close behind. Starting in the periphery, they slowly overtook everything until her world plummeted into darkness.
* * *
Logan, Knox, and Cade reached the Mil-Tech hotel in record time, and once they got to the venue, the two friends slipped away to their room to prep and grab a few toys.
At nearly five in the morning and packed up for the day, the convention center stood eerily empty. Logan followed Charlie’s texted instructions and hightailed it to the central elevators to find room 1202. Once there, he rapped on the door, and after five seconds, he did it again.
“I didn’t order room service,” came a scratchy, nervous voice.
“Not room service.” Logan leaned toward the small peephole, knowing someone watched him from the other side. “I’m looking for Cache. I’m a friend of Charlie.”
“Charlie?”
“British pixie with a mostly-bad attitude and fondness for making grown men cry?”
The door opened as wide as the privacy lock allowed. A blue eye covered by thick-framed black glasses peered through the slit. “You forgot to mention ill-tempered.”
“Figured that was lumped in with the bad attitude.” Logan chuckled. He didn’t want to scare the shit out of the kid, but this whole damn process needed to move ten times faster. “She sent me here to grab a Hide-and-Seek…said you were the person to hook me up.”
The kid muttered something under his breath before slamming the door closed. A second later, it opened again, and a pale, spindly arm ushered Logan inside.
Cache—which Logan doubted was his real name—paced the room. “You’re sure she said Hide-and-Seek? It’s not exactly used for commercial purposes.”
“I guess it’s what she needs for this purpose. She said you owed her.”
Cache sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I knew that favor was going to come back and bite me on the ass. Hold on.”
He rummaged through a black duffel before producing a quarter-sized metallic disk. He handed it to Logan, looking as if he wanted to change his mind and take it back.
“This is it?” Logan asked, unsure.
Cache nodded. “All you need to do is find a breaker box and attach this to both the black and red cables.”
Logan waited for a more in-depth explanation. “Just pull and attach?”
“Unless you wanted to get electrocuted, first you’d shut down the box.” Cache snorted, taking the Hide-and-Seek back and showing him the small hub on each side. “Once the power’s off, you detach the red wire from its post, remove some of the protective sheath, and then wind it one full rotation around the HAS hub. Then you do the same with the black wire and attach it to the other side. Once everything’s wound tight, you flick the power back on, and voila. Whoever has access to the HAS has access—and control—of all digital signatures that are linked—like alarms, electronic door locks. It’s like a digital skeleton key.”
“Huh. Isn’t this a neat little toy.” Logan stuffed the Hidey thing in his pocket. The move made Cache wince. “Any breaker box?”
“Any one.”
“Thanks, man. I mean it.” Logan turned to leave.
“Do I w-want to know what you’re going to d-do with it?” Cache stuttered.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If you want plausible deniability.”
“Oh, hell.” Cache waved him off, suddenly looking eager to be rid of him. “Go. And tell Charlotte that we’re finally even.”
Logan nodded and made his way back to the lobby, where he met Knox and Cade, each with an oversize duffel slung over his shoulder. “We set?”
Steele patted his bag as if it were a newborn. “We have what we need and then some to make sure we get your girl back where she belongs.”
“Good. Because I’m not accepting any other outcome.”