Chapter Thirty-Three

Seth made good time, but the only store open this late was a joint called Figarino’s. He’d Google mapped it on his way, secretly thrilled when he discovered it was only a couple blocks past Starfish Drive where Devereaux lived and Molly’s dock. Fate was definitely smiling at him tonight.

After cruising the shelves at Figarino’s, Seth had enough breakfast food and snacks in his arms to last Devereaux and Scottie the rest of the week. He’d also selected a bag of healthy vegetables for Gru. That bad little guy wouldn’t have anything to eat either, and by hell, a man takes care of his whole family, even the four-legged kids. And didn’t that word—family—feel good just to think it? To say it? Damned straight.

Invigorated by the upcoming surprise Devereaux had in store for her, Seth grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack at the counter at the last moment, a Moscato from a local winery called, of all things, Virgin Beaches. Sex certainly sold everything in this crazy mixed-up land that he loved.

Methodically, and oh, so slowly, the clerk rang him up, chatting as many graveyard shift employees were prone to do. Seth kept his comments brief, needing to be gone and back in Devereaux’s arms.

In the morning, he’d reconnect with Eric, hopefully Cassidy, too. He’d check in with Alex again, maybe ask for another week off. Hell, he’d contact Corporal Ritter as well, just to stay in touch with news about Husam and his men. They might be considered men in their country, but they were just teenagers to Seth. They needed someone to care what happened to them. If he had time, he might even find a home for those boxes of shoes he’d brought with him. Yeah. It was definitely good to be alive.

Out the door he went with his groceries, whistling. It sounded good in the fresh night air. It sounded positive. Like Devereaux. He could already picture the surprise in her sleepy blue eyes when she opened her door after unlocking all those silly, ineffectual locks that he was going to replace—tomorrow—right after breakfast. Maybe she’d be in her pajamas. Maybe she would’ve been sleeping on the couch waiting for him to return. She’d smile and give him that ‘are you crazy?’ look that he was starting to love. Because, yeah, he was crazy. For her. Crazy in love.

Offloading the groceries onto the passenger side seat, Seth rounded the truck to make his getaway. The headlights of a speeding car blinded him at the same time something in the gutter across the street caught his eye. Seth dodged in front of the car, needing to get to the burlap bag that moved like something was trapped in it. He dropped to one knee at the curb, loosened the knotted string at the lip of the bag, just enough to know for sure…

No. It couldn’t be.

But it was. What was Devereaux’s iguana doing out here without her? His head snapped up as the speeding vehicle screeched to a stop alongside his truck.

“Hey, Soldier Boy. You seen my sister?” Cord bellowed from the open driver’s window.

“No, but she’s in trouble,” Seth growled, on his feet now and the bag with Gru cradled in his arms. “I just found her iguana in the gutter.”

“Damn it! I finally get home and all hell’s breaking loose. Get in, dumbass. We need to find her!”

“What do you mean, all hell?”

Cord’s lip curled as if he didn’t like to explain himself. “I left the princess with Trish and Scottie. Figured they’d be fine there until I got back.”

“You left two women and a little boy alone? Where’s your guys?” Seth couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you telling me Scottie’s gone? Lianna and Trish are missing, too?”

Cord glared. “I’m telling you I don’t know where they are. Trish isn’t home, and someone tore her place apart. Dev’s too. My guys are still in Cuba. Now get your ass moving, McCray!”

“I’m right behind you,” Seth shouted over his shoulder as he headed for his rental. “Where are we going?”

“Beers-n-Babes,” Cord called out as he punched it and smoked the tires on what Seth had just noticed was a damned straight 1970 Chevy Chevelle. Blue metal-flake paint job. Rear chrome pipes and its meaty tires smoking rubber. Holy shit. Cord drove a restored vehicle like that? Then why the hell was Devereaux living hand to mouth and working overtime?

Quickly, Seth climbed into his truck and followed, headed for Key West while his brain pinged over what he thought he knew. Everything led back to the human trafficking that Cord and Devereaux were involved in. That was all that made sense. Somehow Sly Valentine was involved in Montego’s illicit business, though Seth hadn’t any evidence to prove that. Just his gut, and his gut was eating him alive.

Before long, Cord slammed to a stop outside a dingy beer joint with neon flashing beer mugs taking up the entire two front windows. Parked cars crammed the dirt lot to the south of the bar, while more lined the street. Two longhaired young women in too much make-up, tiny mini-skirts that barely covered their asses, halter-tops, and stiletto sandals, laughed as they crossed the street from the parking lot and ducked inside.

“Stay here,” Seth told Gru as he patted the poor lizard through the burlap. He hadn’t yet had time to inspect Gru for injuries. First things first.

Cord was already inside Beers-n-Babes by the time Seth entered, but unlike Cord, who’d probably been inside the place before, Seth took time to size up the establishment. Everyone in it was rocking to the talented band in the far-left corner, but there was a definite grunge vibe to the place. Maybe because of the bright, flashing purple neon GIRLS NIGHT ~ FREE BEER! over the massive black bar on the far side of the dancers. Could be due to the bare-breasted pole-dancers spotlighted in black metal cages at the ends of the bar. Or the barmaids, all strutting their stuff in tiny black satin shorts, skimpy black camisoles, and six-inch heels.

So, this is where Sly wanted Devereaux to work. Doing what? Lap dancing? Oh, hell no.

Peanut shells littered the hardwood floor, and the aromatic scent of beer, hard liquor, and pot suffused the night air. Seth’s nostrils flared at that other scent on the draft—the sweet cloying stink of chloroform. He’d expected the rancid stench of vomit in a place this dark, not the number one choice in anesthetics for kidnappers the world over.

Dressed in jeans, a black shirt, and a leather bomber jacket, Cord cut an arrogant swath through the crowded dance floor, while heavy rock music thumped a monstrous bass and overhead strobe lights flashed from all corners of the ceiling. Young girls filled most of the floor, some of them dancing with other girls, their arms up and their tummies exposed as they moved sensually to the throbbing beat. Some mixed it up with other couples. But as far as Seth was concerned, all these girls were too damned young to be shaking their fannies at a beer joint this time of night.

Still playing catch up to Cord’s Mr. Macho, Seth’s sharp eyes quartered the room, taking in the dozen or so men lurking in the shadows and behind the bar, all of them in black suits and wearing dark glasses, like they’d just stepped out of a bad remake of The Godfather. That was the first clue something wasn’t right with Beers-n-Babes.

The second clue? The wires connecting their earpieces to whatever radios were tucked inside their black button-up shirts. They weren’t black operators, though, not these guys. But they were communicating with each other. Signaling each other.

It’s called a lack of situational awareness when an angry guy strutted into a lion’s den like he owned the place, the way Cord had just done. Man, he was an arrogant mother. Despite the gun on his hip, Cord had better watch his step.

Seth palmed his pistol, nose to the floor. Things were about to go bad, and Cord needed a retreat if that cocky swagger of his meant what Seth suspected it did. Trouble.

Up six feet ahead of him, Cord stopped when a slender man dressed in a black suit confronted him. Pleated trousers. Black dress shirt. Black tie. Shiny, black dress shoes. The works. The man’s palms came up. His head cocked as if he hadn’t heard Cord right.

Cord rolled one shoulder, his elbow cocked, his fists clenched, and… sure enough. Two thugs from the shadows headed in Cord’s direction. Another stepped out from behind the bar. They had to have seen his weapon, but if any of these tough guys thought they had any chance of intercepting Cord before Seth got to him, they were dead-assed wrong.

He quickened his pace, his six senses expanding with every step forward, filtering through the noise and the laser light show to understand what was really going on here. On his right, one buff, black shadow cradled a limp woman who looked more like a teenage girl in his arms. She might’ve had too much to drink. She might’ve just passed out, but Seth’s hackles lifted when the guy caught him watching. His chin came up, and he turned his back on the dance floor, blocking Seth’s view as another guy closed in tight behind him.

Just then Cord’s voice lifted above the din. “Now! I want Sly’s ass on the floor, right damned now!”

Seth was forced to turn away from what sure as hell felt and looked like a kidnapping in progress to defend Devereaux’s brother. Seth had closed in on Cord mere seconds before the shadows tracking Cord did. Instinctively, he clutched Cord’s wide shoulder to let him know he had his six, and that something was dead damned wrong. Outmanned and most likely outgunned, they needed to leave. Now.

The man in the suit’s upper lip lifted into a snarl as he said, “I’m very sorry, but Mr. Valentine isn’t here, Mr. Shepherd. He’s taken the night off like I told you. Family business, I believe he said when he called.”

A muscular blonde woman with a very masculine buzzcut came up behind the guy in the suit. The angle of her jaw and the cold in her black eyes made the guy look like the Welcome Wagon in comparison. “What seems to be the trouble, Jenkins?” she clipped.

Jenkins gestured to the gyrating dancers on the floor. “Same shit, different day, Giselle. Some guy wants his Baby Doll back, but as you can see, no chick in here wants to go home with—”

Cord’s fists were instantly around Jenkins’ neck, and Jenkins was up against the bar, dislodging several of Sly’s patrons from their bar stools. Not that they seemed to care. All three quickly grabbed their drinks and relocated to somewhere else. “She’s not your Baby Doll, you maggot! She’s my sister! Dev Shepherd! Have you seen her tonight?”

Stepping forward, Seth laid a restraining hand on Cord’s forearm as he kept an eye on the security team tracking them. “They’re not going to tell you even if she was, Cord. Come on. I know where she is.”

The hulking shadows at Seth’s rear materialized into several bouncers blocking his retreat. He let them stand there. For all of thirty seconds.

Then he turned his back to Cord’s back, and Seth stared the nearest tough guy down. An African American, the man was bulked up and massive. He damned near made two of Seth. The sleeves of his dress suit stretched tight as he folded his arms and looked down his wide, flared nose at Seth.

“You’ve got two seconds to step aside,” Seth warned, his feet already spread, his stance shifted for combat.

“Or what?” The guy grunted like a grizzly bear about to eat a snack.

Without blinking, Seth’s weapon snapped up and on target. “I said back off!” he gritted out, tracking every last asshole shadow he could make out in the bar as he edged toward the exit sign.

A tiny red laser dot danced now over Stretch Armstrong’s forehead until it settled on his impressive chest where the equally impressive power of Seth’s pistol now focused. Time was officially up, and Seth could go to jail for pointing a gun at an unarmed man. But he seriously doubted that was the case here at Beers-n-Babes, and Stretch needed to understand one thing. Seth never pulled his weapon unless he meant to use it.

About time, Cord moved with him, and Seth hoped he had that pistol of his up as well. One fool against a dozen or more wolves wasn’t good odds.

“This isn’t over,” Cord bellowed over the noise.

“Shut the hell up,” Seth hissed, his eyes still wide and his nostrils flared as he ensured no firepower waited beyond the bar to smoke them once they cleared the entrance. He didn’t have time to track Jenkins’ or Giselle’s whereabouts, but if they were as smart as they thought they were, they’d stay out of this.

At last, Cord climbed into his car and slammed both fists into the plastic dash, splintering it. “Where is she? You said you know, and so help me God, you’d better!”

“I’ll tell you what I know. She’s not in there,” Seth yelled right back at him, “and those guys were going to kill you. How can you help Devereaux if you’re dead?”

“That’s all? You said you knew where she is, so where is she?” Cord jerked his door open, and just that fast, Seth kicked it shut. “Keep your ass in that car and listen. She’s not here and neither is Sly. What does that tell you?”

“That they’re lying!” Cord’s left eye twitched.

“Prove it!” Seth bellowed. “Go in there and prove it. If he’s got her, why would Sly bring her to his club? Think, Cord. This is where he baits women and traps them. Where he drugs them. If he’s got Devereaux, he’s already moved her.”

Cord’s face turned ashen, the taut cords in his neck fighting him as he tried to swallow. “He’s got her somewhere else. But wh-where?”

Unexpectedly, Seth faced a belligerent Marine who appeared to be falling apart. “That, I’m not sure. Where’s Sly live? Do you know?” Honestly, there was no way to know where Devereaux was at this point, but risking a brawl at Sly’s bar wouldn’t prove anything and it wouldn’t get her back. They had to start somewhere. Why not Sly’s?

Cord nodded, blinking and his mind going a mile a minute. “Get in.”

“No. I’ll take my ride. You lead.”

Seth barely had time to scramble back to his rented truck before Cord laid rubber, his Chevelle fishtailing like a shark out of water as it careened down the street.

“That’s right, you idiot,” Seth muttered as he revved the truck and thumb dialed Alex. “Attract a cop, go to jail, and be no damned help to Devereaux just when she needs you most.”

“Stewart.”

“Sorry, Boss, but I’ve got a problem I can’t handle at the moment. There’s a kidnapping going down at a joint called Beers-n-Babes in Key West, southwest corner of the island. Sly Valentine owns the place, but he’s got a ton of muscle working tonight, and I’m certain I saw one of his men handling an unconscious woman. She looked to be around five-five, maybe a hundred twenty pounds, long blonde hair, and, oh yeah, a tramp stamp, three blue butterflies, on the small of her back. You think maybe you could send in one of the guys or the police or… or something?” Seth cringed even as he asked yet another favor of his boss.

“Anything else?”

“Nope, that’ll do it,” Seth said as blithely as he could. Anything else and Alex would start asking questions, like ‘what’s so important that you can’t handle a simple call like this?’ “Gotta go. Bye.”

Still cringing, Seth cut Alex off before his boss caught on. He stuffed the satphone in his pocket, then followed Cord as the guy took a sharp right and raced east for a couple blocks before he turned north in a cloud of smoky white.

Seth stuck close to Cord’s bumper, wishing he knew where Sly lived so he could head Cord off at the pass. The man was volatile, and Seth understood. He was just as upset over Devereaux’s situation, but going off half-cocked wouldn’t help her, Trish, Scottie, or Lianna. Now was the time to transform all that USMC bravado into something worthwhile instead of just one pissed-off jarhead with anger management issues.

At last, Cord dumped the clutch and the Chevelle shuddered to a stop alongside what looked like a prestigious gated-community. He’d just rounded his front bumper when Seth jumped the curb and cut him off.

“Hold up,” he called out as, once again, he stroked Gru through the burlap to quiet him before leaving him behind and locking the rental. “By now, Sly’s got to know we’re coming. Jenkins and the dominatrix back at the bar would’ve called him. We can’t just climb over the fence and barge in. If he’s got Devereaux, he’ll hurt her. If she’s not there, he’ll be laying for us. Settle down. Let’s do this once and do it right.”

Cord drew in a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Are we good?” Seth asked, purposefully restraining his sarcasm. Of course, I’m right, you moron.

“Yeah. Good. Real good,” Cord said, rubbing his hands like he was cold or something. More likely, he was just wired to the gills and needed to punch something.

Seth scanned the eight-foot-high brick wall between him and the plush townhouses inside. Elegant palms lined the opposite side of that wall, as well as halogen security lights on twenty-foot posts. “How much does this guy bring down? Do you know?”

“No, but it’s got to be a bundle. He’s always driving a new Corvette or Porsche. Last year he showed up one time with a Lamborghini, but that didn’t last. The next day, he was back with another silver Corvette. Newer model.”

“So what’s he into? Drugs? Human trafficking? Gun running?”

Cord’s head hadn’t stopped bobbing since Seth started asking. “All that and more.”

“Does he work with Montego?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Cord’s gaze shifted from one end of the wall to the other as he took a knee. Pointing to the far end, he said, “Sly lives that way, at the end of the cul-de-sac there. His home’s two levels, white brick with an open lanai on the upper level facing east, and a four-car garage. Three palm trees stand between him and the far wall, but he’s got dogs, two Rottweilers. His property’s fenced, but if they’re loose, we’re screwed.”

Seth nodded, “And?”

Cord had settled down enough to be trustworthy. “And a Cuban maid, but I doubt she’s working tonight. I say we breach the wall, case the place, then make our move once we’re sure the dogs are inside.”

Sounded good. “Then what?” Seth wanted to know the whole plan, not merely enough of it to get him and Cord killed.

“Then…” Cord sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Hell, I don’t know. We improvise. It all depends on those dogs.”

“What? Do you plan to kill the dogs once we get inside?” There had to be a better way.

Cord’s sharp eyes scrolled over Seth’s face. “If I have to. I can’t lose her, damn it. She and Scottie are all I’ve got. After our parents did what they did… God. I’ve got to get her out of there.”

Seth settled a firm hand on Cord’s shoulder. “What did your parents do?”

“They kicked her out when she got pregnant, said they never wanted to see her again.” And Cord was pissed all over again. “Dad said a lot of other mean shit to her, too. He’s the local minister, but he humiliated her. It wasn’t like she was living at home with them anyway. She had a good job and her own place, but it broke her heart the way they shunned her. Mom wouldn’t answer her calls, and damn it, with a baby coming, Dev needed someone at her side.”

He turned from Seth and stared at the wall beside him. “I couldn’t stand the thought of her living alone while she was expecting, so I brought her down here, closer to me.”

“That’s why you left the Corps, wasn’t it?” Seth asked as he kept one eye on their surroundings. “To help your sister.”

Cord’s upper lip lifted. “What else could I do? Leave her to the wolves in this world? Not likely.”

And yet, if Sly were involved in Montego’s filthy business as Seth suspected, Cord had unwittingly exposed Devereaux to the very wolves he’d meant to protect her from. “You ever think about retiring from saving the world, maybe letting someone else do it for a change?”

Cord nodded. “You have no idea. But it’s hard to turn your back on people in need, you know?”

“I do,” Seth murmured. He had that hard-wired, need to save the world, god-complex, too.

“You love her, don’t you?”

What could Seth say but, “Yes, I do.”

“Sure wish you were an accountant. She deserves better than falling for guys like me.”

Seth gave as good as he got. “You’re right, which is why she’s got me. I’m Army; you’re just a jarhead. Let’s roll.”