Chapter Thirty-Four

She hadn’t noticed the bag Joachim dropped when she’d surprised him by crushing his arm in the door. Not that she could’ve hurt him. His arms were thick, just like his head and his neck. But Joachim had brought ‘presents’ for his Angelique—Dev’s new name. Which was why she now sat in the tub up to her neck in fragrant bubbles that stunk like roses. She didn’t want to wear the trashy get-up he’d told her to put on after her bath.

“And be sure you scrub your lady bits until you glow, or I will,” he’d told her before he’d closed the scummy bathroom door behind her, his brows waggling as if he thought flirting would make her like him.

Not. Happening.

There were no windows in this rundown bathroom, only peeling plaster over the tub and mildew in the corners. Bowing her head, Dev faced her toes. “You have no choice,” she told herself, “so buck up and get it over with. It’s just sex, that’s all. Think of it as a bodily function, like throwing up and peeing. Other women do it, and some of them make damned good money doing it.”

‘But I don’t want to do it,’ her heart cried. ‘Rape is not sex. It’s ugly, violent assault.’

“But you will do it. You’ll grit your teeth, and you’ll endure it to the end, and because of you doing it, Scottie gets to live, so shut the fuck up and get on with it.” Tears stung her eyes. “Man, Dev, you’ve been through lots of crap before. You can do this. Get through this one bad night and try to escape again tomorrow. He’s got to go to sleep sometime.”

If only her tough act convinced her poor aching heart. But all Dev thought about was the bright blue eyes of the little man she loved whenever she’d come home after a long, hard day. Scottie had never failed to light up her world. He was always so happy to see her, and man that little guy could talk a mile a minute when he wanted to. Not that Dev would ever tell him to hush, or that she was too tired to listen like her mother used to do with her. Or that her feet hurt, and she needed peace and quiet, blah, blah, blah. There was no day on God’s green Earth that Dev had ever been too tired for Scottie.

And Seth. What would he say once he found out that she’d willingly, more or less, whored herself out, even though she’d done it to save Scottie’s life? If she ever saw him again, would Seth still get that dreamy look in his brown eyes when he saw her? Would he gather her up in his arms and run away from this place with her? Would he ever kiss her again? Would he want to?

“No,” she murmured as her throat tightened with panic. Her first date—her john—was due any moment. Joachim wanted her fresh from the tub when, whoever that slimy rat bastard was, showed. Her stomach churned at the prospect of any man climbing over her, breathing on her, touching her, doing—that.

Joachim’s sharp rap at the door startled her out of her well-deserved pity party. “It is time, Angelique. Your gentleman caller is here, and everything is ready. Prepare yourself and come out.” He made it sound like he was announcing the next contestant in a beauty contest.

‘I don’t want to,’ her heart reminded her even as she lifted out of the grimy bathtub and dried herself. Then—eww—she slid into the mesh bra, as in metal wire mesh, that Joachim had bought for her, and snapped the front clasp, also metal, also extra creepy.

Whoever this john was, he had to be the biggest perv to want the woman he hired for the night decked out in metal. Even though it was finely knitted, thin gauge wire, the silvery color made Dev look like Milla Jovovich out of Bruce Willis’s “Fifth Element.” Panties made of the same mesh came next. Where had Joachim come up with a costume like this?

He knocked harder. “Angelique! Come out of that tub before I drag you out!”

So much for gentlemanly pretense or showmanship. Or her make-up. Apparently, good looks weren’t required for this—whatever happened next.

Trembling, she turned the doorknob and stepped into the bedroom. Oh, hell no! Dev spun on her heel, NOT going willingly into the night. Not ever!

That was why the wire mesh get-up. This night had nothing to do with sex. It was him. Prince Bagani. A car battery now sat on the nightstand under the lamp like it belonged there. He meant to torture her! And he was grinning!

“If he doesn’t show in ten more minutes, I’m going in,” Seth told Cord as he scrubbed one hand over the back of his neck, sure he was being watched. Just like at the Presidio Modelo, when he felt like all those blank empty windows in those deserted cellblock towers were staring down at him, he knew damned well someone else was out there. Watching his every move.

“Agreed,” Cord bit out, his left boot tapping nervously away like no black ops guy ever did. They’d planned to observe Sly’s place for thirty minutes before breaching both front and back doors at the same time, but the longer they’d waited, the more convinced Seth became that Devereaux didn’t have that kind of time.

Still, they’d had no sign if Sly was home or not, nor what waited inside once they breached the doors. The dogs hadn’t barked, not that that meant anything. Well-trained guard dogs didn’t always bark before they attacked. No lights were on inside the two-level split, and every door and window was locked up tight as a drum. Seth had already run a perimeter check, studied all ways in and out, and come up with nothing. Getting over the security fence and into the gated community had been easy. Waiting was not.

“Aw, hell,” Seth bit out. “Take the rear entrance and be quick about it. Let’s do this.”

For once, Cord did what he was told. Crouched over as he ran, Seth closed the distance on the front way in, sidling up to the door in case Sly waited to ambush them. Filled to the hilt with angst now, Seth crashed his right shoulder into the door. The pain from the bullet hole in the same shoulder he could handle, but he couldn’t handle one more second of not knowing where Devereaux was.

As quickly as the door swung wide, Seth rolled to his knees, both arms raised, and his weapon aimed. Other than a clock ticking somewhere nearby, there was no sound in the place until Cord barged in through the back way and bellowed, “Clear!”

“Clear,” Seth echoed. “No dogs either.” That alone didn’t set well with him. If Sly had guard dogs, who were they guarding and where?

The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. That feeling of being watched persisted. Yet he’d encountered no sign of Sly or his men anywhere since he’d left the bar. Seth brushed it off as a leftover symptom from his severe bout of PTSD. Civilians thought it went away after a guy or gal came home, or when they left the military, but Seth knew different. Hypervigilance. Flashbacks. Insomnia. Suicidal thoughts. All the things that had made his life hell after he’d lost Katelynn. Interesting, though. He hadn’t thought of her since he’d made love with Devereaux. He might just be getting better.

Seth brushed that thought away, too.

Working quickly now, he advanced through each darkened room, until he met up with Cord in the hallway between the kitchen and the front room. With each step, his eyes had grown accustomed to working in the dim light.

“There’s no one here,” Cord bit out, his tone full of accusation.

“Then sue me,” Seth snarled, sick to death of Cord’s whining. “There are no dogs here, either. So where are they? Stop griping and let’s rip this place apart until we find something that will lead us to Devereaux.”

“That’s your plan?” Cord hissed. “Start looking? For something? In case you haven’t noticed, this is a son-of-a-bitchin’ big place and—”

“And I don’t have time for this!” Seth snapped. “Maybe coming here wasn’t the smartest idea, but what other options were there? If you’ve got a better idea, stop bitching and tell me!”

Not waiting for an answer, Seth turned his back on Cord and marched to the credenza at the side of the entryway. He didn’t have the time or patience to argue, so he rifled through the drawers, then scanned the entertainment center and the end tables before he headed into the kitchen. Sly hadn’t struck him as being a meticulous kind of guy. He had to have left something behind. A clue. Just one. Anything that would give Sly’s and Devereaux’s whereabouts away.

“Does he have a boat? A plane?” That’d be good to know.

“Just the cars I told you about,” Cord answered. He’d finally stopped complaining and followed Seth’s lead, rummaging through a hall closet, pulling things out and leaving a trail.

“The cars, yes. Good thinking.” Seth turned for the kitchen door to Sly’s adjoining garage. Didn’t it figure? He’d no more than twisted the knob than a ferocious growl emanated from the other side. “Found the dogs.”

“I heard,” Cord said at Seth’s elbow. “Here. Let me.”

Gladly. Seth stepped aside as Cord opened the door and called out, “Bacon!”

Great. Now both Rottweilers were waiting for fresh meat. “Brilliant! That’s your plan? Incite them to come running? Ring their dinner bell?”

“Just wanted to make sure I had their attention.” Easing the door open, Cord peered through the crack. “I don’t know if this will work, but here goes.” He started to open the door wider.

Oh, hell no. Seth slammed it shut with his palm before Cord could stick that big square head into those Rottie’s mouths. “I have a better idea.” Man, how he wanted to add ‘dumbass’ to that statement. But he didn’t. Instead, he depressed the garage door opener on the switch beside the doorframe.

“Good thinking!” Cord hissed as the dogs took off while Seth closed the doors.

There was so much more that Seth wanted to say, but he just nodded, and while Sly’s dogs pitched a nasty barking fit outside of the now secured garage, Seth and Cord went on inside. Apparently Sly treasured his cars enough to guard them when he was gone. That said a lot about the guy. Since he wasn’t home, it also said he’d left with someone else.

Four vehicles occupied the four bays: a brand new silver Corvette, a yellow Ford Mustang from the ‘60s, a current model black limousine, which was a damned interesting vehicle for a guy like Sly to own, and lastly, a shiny black, brand new Hummer H2 on steroids, with plenty of chrome piping to almost—almost—make it look like an authentic military vehicle. Not.

“Where’s Sly tonight if all his wheels are here? Who’s he run with? He got a driver?”

“He’s probably on foot. Key West isn’t that large.”

“Yeah, but…” Seth knew the geography of this particular island. Area: five-and-a-quarter square miles. Length from east to west: four miles. Width: a mile. Elevation: a whopping eighteen feet above sea level. “I can’t see Sly hoofing it to work and back, not with his ego.”

Still… All vehicles were shiny except the limo. He went to that automobile and jerked the driver’s side door open. Sand on the floor mat. Soda can in the drink holder. Seth climbed inside, searching for something more. He found nothing but a crushed candy wrapper on the front passenger seat. Okay, so whoever’d driven the limo last was a slob.

Popping the button to trigger the trunk lid, Seth scrambled to his feet. Devereaux had to have been in this car. He couldn’t explain it, he just knew it. Sly’d threatened her plenty in the past, and the guy was a Class-A jerk. He’s said he wanted her to work for him or else. What if that ‘or else’ had to do with the kidnapping Seth was certain he’d witnessed at the bar.

Thank God, Cord had climbed into the rear passenger area, doing something constructive for a change. The moment Seth lifted the trunk lid, his heart jerked. There lay a leather jacket, Sly’s by the size of it, shoved way back inside the trunk. Not folded carefully where a decent man might leave it, but crunched into a wad in the farthest corner. Certain he’d found the clue he’d needed, Seth leaned in for a better look. The carpet had been torn away from the spare tire compartment, and holy hell, one of the taillight housings was loose.

“Cord! She was here. Look at this.”

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Cord hissed while Seth all but climbed into the trunk, his fingers splayed over the carpet. Something had to be here. The tiniest bit of evidence could point to Devereaux. God, please. Just—something.

He came up with nothing but a bump on his head when he climbed out.

“What now?” Cord bit out. “We’ve already committed a B&E. Might as well go all the way.”

Damn. Seth had been so sure they’d find something to help locate Devereaux. Bowing his head to his chest, he scraped a fingernail over his brow and the long ago reminder of another hopeless situation he hadn’t thought he’d survive. But he had, thanks to Hunter Christian, another teammate.

For all Seth knew, Sly might have her out at sea on a boat by now—or worse. Did Sly even know Montego was dead? Was this part of Sly’s plan to takeover the bastard’s human trafficking business? Or, judging by what went down at the bar, was Sly already balls deep in the trade? Who exactly worked for who?

“Let’s assume Sly’s working with Montego, that he’s a supplier,” Seth said as the scar under his brow itched. “He’s certainly got the means. How would Sly get women he kidnaps into Cuba? He’d need a boat for that.”

“Or a chopper, something that could get in and out without attracting a lot of attention. Shit, McCray. How would I know?”

And they were back at square one. Seth’s heart clenched as a physical pain lanced through it at the very real possibility of what Devereaux might be going through while they farted around doing nothing at all. Anger swelled and he slammed the trunk lid out of sheer frustration. Then slammed it again when the damned thing popped back up, asking for more. The lid wouldn’t shut, so he hit it again and again, until—

A tiny slip of paper fluttered from inside the trunk, just enough of a glimmer that it registered at the corner of his eye. Slapping the trunk wide open this time, Seth ducked under the lid and latched onto the paper. “You got a flashlight on you?”

“You bet.” Cord produced a slim LED penlight out of nowhere and aimed it at the gas receipt between Seth’s fingers. Exxon in East Rockland Key. Forty dollars cash sale. Date stamped zero-dark-thirty yesterday morning.

“Where the hell’s East Rockland Key?”

“Due east of here, past Naval Air Station Key West, but I know that service station. It’s on the north side of the highway, out in the middle of nowhere.”

Seth cocked his head at Cord. “Why would Sly be there in a limo in the dead of night?”

Cord shrugged. “There’s a helluva lot of swamp and brush north of the highway. If Dev’s there, we’ll never find her.”

Seth’s eyes scrolled from the limo and back to Devereaux’s brother. “Want to bet?”