The woman’s voice in the navigation program guided me to an industrial part of town. It was dark here, far from the bright lights of Las Vegas Boulevard or Fremont Street. The streetlights formed little outcroppings in a vast, black sea. This part of town was only rarely frequented past dark, so the city didn’t deem it worthy of spending the extra money on illumination. I pulled to a stop across the street from the address. I left the car running but turned the lights off, scanning around to see if there was anything that warranted suspicion. All quiet.

Just as I was about to get out of my car, headlights appeared around the corner. I stayed inside, my hand involuntarily reaching for my pistol. But then a limousine emerged from behind the headlights and I felt my body relax.

I laughed at myself. I was fairly convinced there was no genuine threat to me or the money, but driving by yourself from a pitch-black desert to rows of abandoned warehouses on the wrong side of town, it can play tricks on your mind.

A man in a finely-tailored suit stepped out of the limo and walked toward the entrance. I hopped out, slung the duffel bag over my shoulder, and followed.

“You don’t look much like a guest, buddy,” one of the two stone-faced doormen said to me, stepping in front of the door to block my path.

“I’m not. Just have to drop something off to one of the guests.” I offered my most reassuring smile. I didn’t recognize these two, which meant they didn’t work for Kovalev. If this was someone else’s party, I was pretty sure Kovalev wouldn’t want me flashing his money about, not after all the trouble to keep things quiet up to this point.

“Nobody gets in who isn’t on the list,” the guard intoned. His companion stood beside him, sphinxlike, staring at me.

“I don’t need to ‘get in’. I just need to step in for a moment and deliver something. Then I will leave, I promise.”

The two statues looked at each other.

“Give me the bag. I will make sure it gets to whoever you need to give it to.”

I gave a short, derisive laugh.

“No chance. Now, look. I am going to go deliver my package, then I will leave. But I am going inside.”

The two men tensed, squaring up, and readying themselves for violence. I was hoping they wouldn’t call my bluff. I didn’t want to start a fight right outside a party while holding a bag with three-quarters of a million dollars in it. For a moment, it looked like a fight was coming whether I wanted it or not. I took a step back to settle into a better stance, but before anyone could do more than loom and posture, I heard a voice call out from beyond the open door.

“Jason? Jason Phillips?” A short, wiry man bounced out of the building and into the low light outside. I recognized him in an instant. Staff Sergeant Collins was one of the hardest men I had ever known. He was with Delta Force and we had spent some time together in various hotspots. It often happened that spec ops guys from different branches were standoffish, maintaining petty rivalries, but Collins had no patience for that bullshit. We got along instantly. We had talked regularly for a while, but after I got out, we lost touch. I was sure glad to see him now.

Even though he seemed half the size of the behemoths guarding the door, they each took a step to the side to give him space to pass. I didn’t blame them. I had seen Sergeant Collins in action.

“What the hell are you doing here, Jason?”

“I could ask you the same. When did you get out?”

“Oh, it’s been a bit.” He looked me over appraisingly. “Working private security?”

“That’s one way to put it,” I said wryly.

“Hah,” he barked a laugh. “Not a lot of regular jobs that compare, eh? Nothing that scratches that itch.” He reached up and slapped me on the shoulder. “Now step aside, you louts, Jason here is to be afforded every courtesy.” He looked back at me and nodded to the door. “Come on in.”

The two guards stepped aside. The one who had been talking shot me a dirty look, but only after he was sure that Collins was past. I smiled back at him.

Collins led me into a low-lit room just to the side of the main corridor. There was a bank of monitors showing a lavish party. Dozens of men in dark suits milled about, taking cocktails and finger foods off trays held by scantily-clad young women. Pretty tame for Vegas, really.

“So, as you have no doubt surmised, I am in charge of security for this little party. What are you doing here, Jason?” Collins had settled into a swiveling office chair and was regarding me carefully. I could tell that, despite our past friendship and the show outside the building, Collins was taking his job seriously.

“Like I told the guys out front, I’m just dropping something off.”

“What, and to whom?”

“Can’t say the what, but it is for Dimitri Kovalev.”

Collins kept his face composed, but I could read the slightest tightening around his eyes.

“That’s who you are working for?”

“For the moment.” I shrugged.

Collins let out a long sigh.

“Be careful. I hear a lot of bad stuff about that guy.”

I scoffed. “After the shit we’ve been through? You think I’m going to be intimidated by some Vegas tough guy? Look, it’s a job. I don’t love it and I don’t like him, but he pays well and I’m good at it. Look, it’s not forever. I just need to get enough money together to set myself up somewhere in the Caribbean and then I’m leaving everything behind. Besides, it’s not like you are making such an honest living.”

“Fair enough.” He chuckled. “Hey, I’m not telling you what to do, you make your own choices. I’m just saying – don’t underestimate him.”

I nodded to him, more to move the conversation along than to actually assent. I glanced over at the security monitors. The main room was covered from multiple angles in high resolution. One of the monitors showed a different room. A small room with no furnishings except the chairs lining the walls. And the girls in evening gowns sitting in them.

“What are those girls in a room all by themselves for?”

Collins gave a little groan.

“That’s what the party is about. It’s a live auction. The girls go for a few days or a week with the high bidder. The prices these guys pay are ridiculous.” He shook his head. “I don’t get it. There are plenty of escorts that will go for way less than what they spend here, and a lot of them are just as pretty. But I guess they like waving their dicks in front of each other.”

It was curious, but understandable. A lot of the guys in there were rich, powerful. They probably bought women all the time; there was no thrill or excitement in it. But in an auction, where they could compete against each other to show how rich or clever they were, it added a little something to an otherwise banal process. It didn’t make it any less disturbing. Spend enough time in the Vegas underworld and you get to see all kinds of things you wish you hadn’t, but I never got used to the way some women got treated. But what was I going to do about it?

I looked over the girls in the waiting room. It was true, they were all very attractive. At least from what I could see in a small, black and white monitor. Then I saw her.

The girl from the apartment building.

Kovalev’s girl.

What the hell was she doing here, going up on the auction block?

“Hey, you see that girl, long dark hair, sitting on the left side?”

“Yea,” Collins replied.

“Do you know who she is?”

He reached under the desk and pulled out a binder and began flipping through. It had pages and pages of headshots and biographies. He went through half before stopping.

“Ok, here we go.” He looked up at me. “We do background on all the women who come through here. The guests, too, to be honest. Don’t want any surprises, know what I mean?”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I turned my eyes back to the page he held open. He got the point.

“Let’s see. Claire Dupre. Twenty-six years old. Mother’s deceased. No siblings. Father is still around, bit of a degenerate. Went to college at UNLV. Never lived outside of Nevada.” He scanned the page again. “That’s it. All I got on her. Why, you want to make a bid?”

That’s when it hit me. I did want to bid. And I was going to win.