Blind Vigilance Read online

  "I don't do well with threats." I keep my eyes closed.

  "Ironic coming from a man who leads an organization that is all about the threats."

  "We offer immunity in exchange for..." Shit. Did I say that out loud? I open my eyes, and she is standing at the foot of the bed, hands braced on the rail. There is victory blazing in her eyes. I just admitted something.

  "You offer immunity?" she asks quietly, not wanting to scare me off. Not realizing I've already done it to myself.

  "Lawyer," I say again, "or morphine." Give me counsel or give me pain killers.

  "I can send you to a place where you will feel much more pain than this."

  "You can threaten me all day, but that won't make me want to work with you." I stare at her, and she doesn't look away. But I can see in her eyes—saw it when she first witnessed my wounds—Sanchez is not a torturer. "You don't go in for torture," I say. "You're too smart for that. You must be desperate to be trying it now. Or your bosses don't like this plan and have not given you the support that you need."

  Something flashes in her eyes, but she doesn’t look away. I've hit the nail on the head though. A pang of sympathy gongs in my chest. She is out on a limb here. If I balk, she's screwed. They will lock me up, but Joyful Justice has contingencies for that. We have contingencies for almost anything.

  Not for having the hots for your captor though… or thinking her idea has merit.

  "Let's say for a second I am the international hacker you believe me to be."

  She crosses her arms and levels me with a look. "Okay."

  "How could you expect this genius, this absolute font of knowledge and expertise to admit to anything without any protections against prosecution?"

  "Because the alternative is, like I said, a black ops prison in a miserable desert where humiliation and pain await with open arms."

  "Scary."

  Her eyes narrow. "You should be scared."

  "And you should be worried. Because you may have caught me—with what I'm going to say is one of the most underhanded, fucked-up tricks a person has ever pulled." Her face remains impassive. Really not ashamed of arranging my mother’s false cancer diagnosis, complete with a dose of chemo. This woman is a fucking warrior. "But the fact is that you can't make me do anything. You can threaten me, harm me"—I gesture to my face—"or should I say harm me more, but I am not the guy you're looking for. I'm just not. I run a start-up in Bangkok. So I'm not worried about getting put away in a black ops prison. Because I'm not your guy."

  A slow smile spreads across her face, as if she's got another trick up her satin sleeve. "You're my guy, Dan Burke. You are most certainly my guy."

  Those words stir all the wrong parts of me for all the wrong reasons. She licks her lips.

  "Stop it," I say before I can shut myself up. "Dammit." I close my eyes again. "I'm in too much pain right now." I hit the call button for Richard Fern the Nern, hoping he will pump me full of morphine so I can forget about this siren of a woman and get back to floating on a placid sea of amusing wordplay.

  "This isn't over," Sanchez says.

  "Get me a lawyer, and we can talk."

  Chapter Eleven

  Lenox

  Location D is a warehouse building near the Bosporus. A wet wind whips down the empty street, carrying the salty scent of the sea with it. Petra's heels click on the cobblestone as we approach the entrance. The door opens when we reach it—the darkness inside even more complete than the night. The moon can't reach in there.

  Sophia's pale face appears, and she ushers us in the side door, closing it behind us. Petra's fingers squeeze my arm. I'm like a hanged man, the rope cutting off my oxygen as my feet grapple for a purchase that will never come.

  Lights flare on, flooding the storage space. Shelves stretch toward the towering height of the ceiling. Stacked with pallets of goods, the shelving creates narrow aisles. Sophia leads us down the first, her boots soft against the cement as Petra’s continue to clack.

  The aisle opens to a central space where our two captives are tied to chairs. The lights are high above us, casting a diffused light over the scene.

  A forklift sits in the middle of the space—bright yellow with fat tires. Hans leans against it, a cigarette drooping from his lip, the smoke twirling into nothingness above his head, scenting the air with its familiar scent. Ramona, a small Uzi hanging from her shoulder, leans against one of the large shelves behind the prisoners. "Thank you," Petra says to both of them. "You saved my life."

  Collin, the larger of the two goons, huffs a laugh. "Traitorous bitch," he mumbles under his breath.

  "Why is it," Petra asks, taking a step toward him, "that when a woman uses deceit to protect herself, she is a traitorous bitch, but when a man does it, he is considered clever?"

  Collin shakes his head, as if the question is beneath him. Petra closes the distance between them, and he looks up at her. "You'd rather be here than dead, yes?" He still doesn't answer. "But are you a traitor?"

  "You can't betray a dead man," Collin answers.

  Hans, Sophia, and Ramona watch the show with the bored air of professional mercenaries. But they are freedom fighters, not paid killers. I'm not even sure where the line is anymore, let alone which side I’m standing on.

  "You were friends with the McCain boys for years," Petra goes on, "and you gave yourself up so easily, didn't want to fight your way out."

  Collin's eyes flick past her to me for a moment. There is something in his gaze I don't have time to read before he drops his eyes to the ground.

  "You won't answer?" she asks.

  Liam sits next to his friend, also in silence, eyes trained on his feet.

  "You thought I'd let you live?" I say.

  Collin's eyes dart back to me again.

  He probably isn’t sure if that truth makes me strong or weak. If it makes me strong, then his entire view of how the world works may be wrong. It’s possible he’d rather I kill him so that he doesn’t have to change his thinking.

  Hans drops his cigarette and crunches it under his boot before crossing to me. His walk is brassy, bold—a man who kills and climbs mountains with similar levels of ease. The silver in his hair glints even in the diffused light. "What do you want to do?" he asks me.

  "I'm not going to kill unarmed prisoners," I say.

  He nods his agreement. "Could be dangerous to let them go, though. We assume they have no loyalty but to themselves, but it is impossible to tell."

  Everyone wants to be a part of something larger than themselves—if it can't be a loving family, it can be a violent gang. "Do you want to work for us?" I ask Collin and Liam.

  They both look at me as if I've sprouted a second head. Petra glances over her shoulder at me, blinking her surprise. "We need bodyguards, Petra."

  "They can hardly be trusted." She smiles. "They think I'm a traitorous bitch, remember? We killed their friends."

  "We killed their employers."

  "I can't trust them," she declares.

  "You won’t have to."

  Petra bows her head, letting me win the argument. Trusting me with her safety.

  Which one of us is the bigger fool?

  I cross to stand in front of Liam. He looks up at me, and our gazes lock. His eyes are a muddy brown—there is a feral intelligence in them. He is a survivor, not an alpha. My gaze moves over to Collin; he blinks rapidly.

  Watching them with Ian, I saw their loyalty—blind, dumb, unquestioning. These are the type of men running the sex trade. Really running it. Doing the actual labor of moving women, subjugating them, following orders.

  We can cut off the heads. Or we can take over the limbs…

  "What is your mother's name?" I ask Liam.

  He shakes his head. "No way."

  "You love her."

  "’Course I do," he practically spits at me.

  "If I killed her, would you die avenging her?"

  His cheeks flush. "’Course I would."

  "Yet you follow
a man who treats women like objects to be bought, sold, and abused."

  He shakes his head, the cognitive dissonance too much for him. This is normal. A man who respects his mother like a goddess but treats other females not related to him as products.

  I look past him to where Ramona still leans casually against the shelves, her attention focused on the drama unfolding. She meets my gaze and gives a small shrug. She's not surprised.

  "What about you, Collin? Would you have given up if it was your mother who lost her brains in the kitchen?"

  He growls, that feral intelligence rumbling. Pure animal.

  How do you train an animal? Reward the behaviors you want and ignore the ones you want to curb.

  "I will let you live, as you guessed. In fact, I will have you work for me."

  Collin's eyes narrow. He doesn't trust it. But he also banked on it. "Let them go," I say, turning my back on them. "We need to head out. I want to rest. It's late."

  Petra follows me, pulling me down an aisle. "How can we trust them?" she asks.

  "I don't, Petra." She glances back to where Sophia is cutting them loose. "I don't trust anyone."

  Her mouth opens a little but then closes. She nods slowly. "I see."

  "Come," I say. "We need to call Yusuf."

  "We do?"

  "Yes, we need to arrange a time to meet."

  "Why?"

  I give her a slow smile and lean close, brushing her ear with my lips. "Trust me," I suggest.

  She shivers and nods her agreement.

  Which one of us is the bigger fool?

  "Yusuf," Petra purrs into the phone.

  "Petra, you have my money."

  "Yes, let's meet."

  "You can drop it at the hotel front desk. We do not need to see each other again."

  "Please, I want to speak with you."

  "There is nothing more to discuss." He hangs up. Petra returns the phone to its cradle before lying back onto the hotel room bed and biting into her lip. "We have to kill him."

  I lean against the wall, looking at her small form on the large bed. "It will solve nothing."

  She shrugs. "It will solve immediate problems for us." Her eyes narrow. "You started this fight, Lenox." She lifts her chin. "Won't you finish it?" She sits forward, her right knee bent close to her, left leg hanging off the bed. "You wish there was another way, something gentler." She shakes her head. "This will be bloody, Lenox. You know that."

  I take in a short breath and expel it, turning away. "I know."

  "We will have to go after anyone who stands in our way and then take over their territory. You must recognize that now that you've taken on Collin and Liam."

  Though I put them in a different hotel.

  I turn back to her. "Adding his territory will do nothing for us."

  She frowns. "What more do you want, Lenox? Our profit margin is already so low. The amount we spend on rehabilitation"—her eyes go round—"we are practically a charity. A nonprofit running brothels." She laughs, throaty and sexy. "The things I do for love."

  A deep, dark anger ignites in me. It's lurked there most my life, but I could always shove it down where it could fuel me but not burn out of control. Now it rages, refusing to be contained, refusing to be useful. Instead, it scorches my insides. “Do not say you love me." The words are tight, my voice deep.

  Petra's lips lift into a half smile. She likes this rage. I clench my fists. "You don't want me to love you?”

  I don't answer. What can I say? I don't want anyone to love me. And I don't want to love anyone. All that lies on that path is pain. "Keep those words away from me. I will not stand for them."

  Her smile hitches higher, and one brow joins its ascent. "I've saved your life. You must have known then, when I could have let you die and taken all this for myself. Why else would I keep you alive?” When we killed the McCain brothers, I was shot with a powerful tranquilizer. It would have been simple for Petra to end me. But she chose to care for me instead.

  "There are many reasons to keep men alive. You can use my connection to Joyful Justice to destroy it."

  "Can I?" She stands slowly. "Is that what I'm doing?"

  My breath is coming too fast. My head is getting light. "I’m going for a walk." I turn to leave, but she leaps to grab my arm. I look down at her, my body aimed for the door. I need to escape. "Let go of me."

  "Only if you promise to come back."

  "I will make you no promises, Petra. I never have, and I never will."

  "Liar." The word comes out like a slap. "You promised we would do this together. You knew what it would take."

  I shake my head and try to pull away, but she grips me harder. "I need space," I tell the wall.

  "You need to recognize that you are hiding!" Her voice rises to a yell. Her heightened emotion calms me. I turn cold eyes on her.

  "I owe you nothing."

  Her eyes widen, and I shake her free. She stands in the middle of the room, her hands still out but holding nothing now.

  She can't hold me. No one can. I won't be tethered by love. My loyalty to any person or cause is not tied to emotion. It can't be.

  I open the door, walk into the hall, stride to the elevator, and wait patiently for it to arrive. The doors open. A woman in a short dress stands in the corner, her eyes red-rimmed, the sequined purse in her hand glinting in the light.

  Her eyes meet mine and fear blooms there. "I'll catch the next one," I tell her.

  She doesn't understand.

  I step back, holding up my hands, offering space.

  She drops the purse and raises her arm. A gun barrel sucks my attention. Her hand shakes. She is not a professional.

  But she is here to kill me.

  Yusuf, you fool.

  I dive to the side, out of her range. The gun does not track me. The elevator doors close.

  I race back to the room and use my key card to unlock the door. Petra steps out of the bathroom, a tissue pressed to her eyes. She's been crying, or wants me to think she has.

  "Yusuf knows we’re here," I say.

  Her expression shifts into that cold, calculating mask. This I can trust.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sydney

  I still fly commercial, changing my midday flight for an early evening departure.

  First class buys fewer raised brows about my giant dog. Combined with my puffy eyes, and scruffy clothing, it keeps the glares of indignation to a minimum. Clearly, I need all the emotional support I can get.

  We land in Barcelona as the rising sun hits the city's haze, turning everything in the world into a soft, coppery peach with a tint of blue at the edges. A taxi takes me to the center of the city, first racing on straight, smooth highways, then winding through Medieval streets so narrow that pedestrians have to press against buildings as we pass.

  The boutique hotel Anita recommended is tucked into a corner of a courtyard where pigeons coo and a cathedral towers. As the attendant checks me in, I get a text from Mulberry. Dan taken into custody. Lenox in trouble.

  My heart thuds as I write back. What?

  Call me.

  "Are you okay, miss?" the woman checking me in asks.

  "Yes, just tired." I force a smile onto my face. She shows me to a small room overlooking the cobblestone square. I dial Mulberry as soon as she leaves.

  "What's going on?" I ask as I rifle through my bag, looking for Blue's travel bowl.

  "Dan's Mom is sick—breast cancer stage 3."

  "Oh, that's terrible." I find one of Blue's bowls and unfold it.

  "It gets worse. He went to see her in New Jersey. I'm suspecting it was a setup because he wasn't there an hour before the cops came for him."

  I crack open one of the complementary bottles of water. "What agency has custody?" I take a sip of the water before pouring the rest into Blue's bowl and putting it on the floor for him.

  "Not sure yet. He's in the hospital, and no charges have been filed. They beat the crap out of him, Syd." Mulberry's vo
ice vibrates with anger.

  "How bad?" I ask, sitting on the bed.

  "Not sure yet. We've got our lawyers on it, but you know how these things go."

  We have to help without giving them any evidence of Dan's ties to Joyful Justice.

  "Do you think we'll need to take extreme measures?" I ask. Will we need to send in a team to get him out?

  "Not sure. Waiting to hear from the attorney. But he's safe in the hospital for now. We have surveillance, so they're not getting him out of the country without us knowing."

  "Good. What's going on with Lenox?"

  Blue comes over and rests his wet jaw on my thigh, dampening my jeans.

  Mulberry sighs before answering. "It's complicated."

  "Isn't everything?" I try a joke. It lands on its face in a big old pile of silence. "Sorry."

  "No, don't apologize. I think we all had reservations about Lenox moving into this role, especially with Petra by his side. It's not in the mission of Joyful Justice to take over illegal activity—to get into the prostitution business as a way of better protecting the women involved."

  "No, but Lenox was in it and on the council before this. Is it Ian?"

  "It was. He's dead."

  "Not a tragedy."

  "No, but he had two men with him. Lenox is keeping them."

  "Keeping them?"

  "I don't get it exactly. I have not spoken with him. But the head of the extraction team sent a report."

  "Wait." I rub at the bridge of my nose. "Extraction team?"

  "Ian took Petra hostage. Lenox went in after her."

  "Gotcha."

  "Ian was killed, and the two men he had with him gave themselves up—threw away their weapons. So Lenox couldn't kill them."

  "He chose not to."

  Silence. My cold-bloodedness landing as well as the joke. Robert would get it. The thought at once comforts and upsets me. I stand, needing to move.

  "Anita said not to tell you," Mulberry says, breaking the silence and ignoring my comment about Lenox's choices. "I figured you'd want to know. You never said you were giving up your seat on the council."

  "No, I'm not." My voice is quiet… tired.