Tweezers, he bit out.
Medicine cabinet.
He turned and strode swiftly into the bathroom. Oh, God. A half dozen skimpy thongs and lacy bras were draped over the shower rod, drying. Too late to stop him.
Sure enough, he was smirking a little as he emerged from her postage-stamp-sized bathroom. But then he picked up her hand and started digging around.
Youch! She tried to yank her hand away but might as well have had it lodged in a block of concrete for all it moved.
Splinters, he muttered. Stay still.
Obediently she stopped squirming and leaned closer to watch as he deftly extracted several splinters from her hand. He was actually really good at it. His fingers were steady and swift. Exquisitely gentle. Then suddenly, he glanced up at her and asked, You holding up okay?
Uh-huh.
One more to go. Youre being very brave.
This from a man whod cracked heads twice in the same evening without breaking a sweat. The last splinter surrendered to him, and he rubbed the pad of his thumb across her palm, soothing it tenderly.
I think the patient is going to live, he murmured.
Thank you. For everything.
He looked up from her hand, and their gazes metor rather, tangled together in a sexually charged dance of intense awareness of one another. Of hot, undeniable attraction, of hunger and need...
Yowza. The man sure knew how to, well, look at a woman.
Some sort of bright light flashed outside her window. That would be Bastien, Ashe said. Hes shining his spotlight down the alley.
Wow. That was fast.
Were good friends. Used to work together. He knows I wouldnt bother him unless it was important.
He took a careful step back from her and glided over beside the window like James Bond, peering furtively past the blinds at an oblique angle that spoke of cloaks and daggers. What was up with that? Her other window onto the street got the same treatment.
A text came in on his phone, and as soon as he read it, the tense set of his shoulders relaxed. Bastien says the alleys clear. He drove around the block a couple times, too. Your attacker has left the area.
She was more relieved than she liked to admit. Thank God Ashe had been there to save her. And that he knew a cop who would come scope out the area so quickly and thoroughly.
Ashe moved away from the windows and settled on the lurid red velveteen sofa, part of the furnishings that came with the dive.
She had never thought of her apartment as particularly small, but he filled the space with his large frame and even larger presence. His silver-blue gaze honed in on her again, but this time it was filled with questions. Speculation. Determination to find answers. And more of that disconcerting heat.
Whats a nice girl like you doing in a nasty joint like that?
How did he manage to fill such a straightforward question with so much loaded innuendo? Her heart flutteredactually flutteredin response. Belatedly she mumbled, You mean the bar?
A frown pleated his dark brow. You and I both know the Who Do Voodoo is a lot more than a bar.
Caution stilled her entire being. She knew it because shed been working there for months. But how did he know after only a few hours spent sipping booze in the corner? Who was this guy? Surely he didnt work for Vitalys bosses. Are you a cop? she blurted.
No. His answer was prompt and without hesitation.
FBI or something?
Nope.
Why do you care if I work at the Voodoo, then? she asked. Its a steady paycheck.
Its not worth the money. That place is trouble.
Ill work where I want, she snapped. Its my life.
He leaned back, stretching an arm along the back of her sofa. Deeply tanned, it was wreathed from wrist to shoulder in corded muscle and bulging veins that spoke of ridiculous strength. And she was alone in her isolated apartment with this total stranger who could overpower her without even exerting himself. She really ought to be scared silly of him. But she couldnt work up anything but a sense of complete trust in this man. Clearly, shed lost her mind.
So whats the deal with the club? he asked.
What do you mean?
Id bet my next paycheck theres a whorehouse upstairs. Given how young the dancers looked, Im guessing its a sex trafficking outfit. You may be too scared to call the FBI, but Im not. He tilted up on one hip to fish his cell phone out of a back pocket of his jeans.
You cant call them! she exclaimed.
He froze. Eased back down to the sofa slowly, phone still in pocket. Why not? Something dark and dangerous vibrated in his voice. It wasnt menace exactly, but it was a reminder to tread lightly around this man.
Youll ruin everything!
Im afraid youre going to have to be more specific than that. What everything do you mean, exactly?
She huffed. She didnt want to tell him anything, let alone involve him in her secret investigation. But if the FBI raided the bar and shut it down, her only lead to Max would be lost.
After weeks of frantic searching and the police seeming to ignore her, she couldnt take the constant panic anymore and had walked into the Voodoo bar to demand answers. It was the last place her brother had been seen going into the day he disappeared. And given that it wasnt the kind of joint he would normally have been caught dead in, logic suggested the place had something to do with his disappearance.
When shed barged into the club, Vitaly had mistaken her for someone applying for the waitress job advertised in the window. Hed offered her the position on the spot, and in a combination of instinct and impulse, shed taken it.
For the past two months, shed been watching and listening and learning. But the mob bosses who employed Vitaly were extremely cautious. They rarely showed their faces, and they never did anything to hint at illegal activitynot counting the whorehouse upstairs.
She occasionally served drinks in the back lounge where the lap dances happened, but shed never waited on the mob bosses where she could get a chance to eavesdrop on their conversation.
She had also never set foot above the ground floor of the bar and didnt intend to, either. In all honesty, she was scared to death of getting sucked into the inescapable downward spiral that was the sex trafficking industry.
You havent given me a good reason not to call the feds...yet, Ashe said, jarring her from her thoughts. And I happen to believe trafficking in underage girls is about the worst form of exploitation there is. I have zero sympathy for anyone engaged in it.
Neither do I, she muttered.
Well, then?
He hadnt moved a muscle, but a promise rolled off him to have answers out of her tonight, come hell or high water. She studied him closely. Hed shown genuine concern for her in the club and had even subjected himself to bodily harm to save her from that thug. Plus, he seemed prepared to listen to her. So heck...maybe she should take him up on his offer. Because thus far, shed had zero success on her own finding out anything about Max.
Decision made, she released a long, slow breath that made her entire being feel as if it had deflated. It seemed as if shed been holding that breath for months. Had she really been living under so much tension and stress? As good as it felt to trust him at least a little, she wasnt prepared to give up all her secrets to this man she barely knew. So she chose her words carefully. Someone I know used to hang out at the Voodoo, and then we lost touch. Im trying to figure out what happened.
Decision made, she released a long, slow breath that made her entire being feel as if it had deflated. It seemed as if shed been holding that breath for months. Had she really been living under so much tension and stress? As good as it felt to trust him at least a little, she wasnt prepared to give up all her secrets to this man she barely knew. So she chose her words carefully. Someone I know used to hang out at the Voodoo, and then we lost touch. Im trying to figure out what happened.
A girl? he asked quickly.
Oh, God. He thought she knew one of the trafficked girls from Eastern Europe who were virtual prisoners upstairs without identification documents or knowledge of the English language or American laws. Not to mention many of the girls were drug addicts who were paid for sex with heroin or crack.
No, no. Nothing like that. A guy. Im hoping Ill run across someone who knew him and may know something about why he was there and where he went.
Ahh. Ashes expression shuttered abruptly, and he leaned forward to reach for his wet shirt.
Good grief. He thought Max was her boyfriend. Cripes. He must think she was a weirdo stalker chick working at the Voodoo to chase down some poor guy whod fled from her and intentionally left no contact information.
She winced as she bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from correcting Ashes mistaken impression. It was for the best. As hot as he might be, she had no time in her life for a dalliance that might distract her from finding her big brother.
Her gut howled at her that Max was in trouble and until that internal scream was silenced, she was off the market for men.
Ashe shrugged into his damp T-shirt. How long do you need to find your...friend...before I call the feds?
I dont know. Ive been there two months and havent caught a lead yet.
And youre sure hes still alive?
Her spine stiffened in denial at the notion of Max being dead. It was what the cops thought. All this time with not a hint of him, no credit card hits, no banking transactions, no sightings...
I know hes alive, she declared.
How? Ashe asked the question evenly enough. As if he was willing to hear her reasoning.
She sighed heavily. I feel it in my gut, okay? I know that sounds lame, but I would know if he were dead. And Im telling you hes not.
He stared at her for a second and then nodded briefly. Really? He believed her? No scoffing comments about how stupid it was to rely on a gut instinct? On how the facts said she was wrong? Wow.
He spoke gruffly. Two weeks. Ill help you look for your boyfriend during that time, but thats all you get. Itll take the law that long to gather evidence, get the warrants and set up a raid. Innocent girls are suffering every day there.
Oh, God. Shed never thought of it in those terms. In her panic to find Max, shed had the power to save those girls and hadnt. She was a horrible human being! In that context, giving her two weeks was frankly damned generous.
Dont have the cops wait on my account, she said grimly. When theyre ready, they should shut the place down. Ill tell you this, though. The Voodoo is the tip of a much bigger iceberg.
Ashe gave her a sharp look. What do you mean by that? What iceberg?
Chapter 3
He leaned forward, watching every nuance of Hanks body language intently. Now they were getting somewhere. What the hell wasnt she telling him, though? He sensed lies in her words as sure as he was sitting here.
She answered, Vitaly, the owner of the Voodoo, has bosses. Russian mob bosses. I havent seen many of them around the joint, but his place is definitely a front for them.
What kind of front?
I imagine they launder money through the place, although I havent seen Vitalys ledgers. He keeps all of those on his cell phone, and that thing never leaves his hands or his pocket. She blew out a breath. Believe me, Ive tried to get a look at it. But Ive never seen him lay his phone down once.
Anything else?
She snorted. Hes a moneymaker for his bosses. Vitaly gripes all the time about the measly cut of the Voodoos income that he gets. The rest is going up his chain of command.
Ashe frowned. The mob, be it traditional Cosa Nostra or the Russians, usually takes only a small cut of the profits as protection money.
Not at the Voodoo. Someone is taking the bulk of the income and giving Vitaly only a tiny piece of the pie to run the club.
Tell me about Vitaly.
His last name is Parenko. Hes tough. Smart. Mean. Organized. He actually runs a pretty tight ship.
Any mob ink on him? he asked.
He has a tattoo on his left arm, up high. Its a globe with four compass points coming out of it. There are two flags above the globe and a submarine across it.
Ashes jaw flexed. Are the Cyrillic letters em-cheh-peh-veh on it anywhere?
Frowning, she thought about his question. Yes. Theres a little banner under the globe with those letters on it. And some numbers.
Russian Navy symbol. And he has no other Russian mob tattoos?
Not the traditional ones that cover the whole torso. Now and then someone spills a drink on him, and Ive seen him change his shirt a couple of times. She hesitated, her brow furrowing. Hes got only one other tat. Its on his left shoulder blade and is small. Its a shield with a star over it and a sword going down through the star.
Jesus, Ashe breathed. That was the symbol for the KGB, the Soviet Unions equivalent of a combination FBI and CIA before it had been summarily disbanded in the mid-1990s and replaced with the FSB, the Federal Security Service of Russia. The abrupt disbanding of the KGB had stranded thousands of trained special operatives without jobs, incomes or pensions. Not surprisingly, many of them had turned their unusual skill sets to crime. In under a decade, the Russian mob had become one of the most feared criminal organizations on earth.
How old is Vitaly? Ashe asked.
Midforties. But hes in really good shape for his age.
The guy was old enough to have been a young KGB agent in the early 1990s. Does he ever do anything that strikes you as...paranoid?
Hank rolled her eyes. All the time. He does background checks on everyone who works there. Rumor is that he has all of his employees followed randomlyoh, God. What if that guy you jumped is working for him? Ill lose my job for sure
He cut her off quickly. The guy I took out was moving toward you aggressively. A simple tail wouldnt have shown himself or moved that forcefully toward his subject.
She nodded slowly, but doubt still clouded her gaze.
He continued his interrogation. Any other paranoid behaviors?
Well, theres the time I came into the bar in the afternoon before it was open because I forgot to pick up my paycheck the night before. Vitaly was going over the walls with some sort of electronic device. When I asked him what he was doing, he told me he was looking for bugs. But I thought he meant cockroaches.
Have you seen other men around the bar with mob ink? Russian mob tattoos were a complex art form with traditional symbologies to indicate which gang a man belonged to, his mob rank and even how many kills he had. The ink tended to cover most or all of a mans arms and torso and was hard to miss.