Chapter 5 #2
An unwelcome pang caught Gaby under the ribs. That polite smile he’d given the woman was more than she’d gotten in weeks.
“Does that happen often?” she asked before she could stop herself.
He looked over. “Does what happen often?”
There was no guile, just curiosity. He hadn’t even noticed Liana-Lowcut, which eased the sting of being ignored.
“I... uh... nothing,” she muttered, forcing herself to focus on Viktor again.
The pianist moved into the haunting second movement. Their target inhaled, fingers tapping against the stem of his martini glass, thoroughly immersed in the music.
Then the elevator behind him chimed. His eyes snapped open, his entire demeanor changing as a man stepped out.
He was older, wearing a bolo tie, massive belt buckle, belly straining the buttons of his Western shirt, Stetson pulled low. In his hand, he carried a large silver case.
Gaby went cold. Her throat closed around a whisper. “Oh my God. We were right.”
Rhys’s hand closed over hers, firm and anchoring. “Breathe,” he said, eyes forward. “What do you see?”
“Big Tex, one of Enzo’s VIP buyers.” Her voice barely made it out. “He’s heading straight for Viktor.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“One hundred percent. He’s a caricature of a billionaire Texas oil man, and impossible to forget.”
“Perfect,” Rhys said, shifting closer. His arm slid around her waist, an intimate gesture to onlookers, but also a tactical shield that created a pocket of privacy.
The two men greeted each other—no handshake, their words too low to hear. As if suddenly in a hurry, Viktor gestured toward a hallway off the back of the lobby.
Trapped in the booth by Rhys’s body, as they moved away, urgency spiked through her. “Aren’t we following them?”
“Damn right we are.” He waited until the men were nearly out of sight then rose smoothly.
He took her hand, pulling her to her feet. Together, they moved, quick enough to track, slow enough not to draw notice.
Guests flowed around them as the pianist played on, unaware of the darkness nearby. They reached the hall just as Viktor waved Tex through a door midway down the corridor.
“Callan,” Rhys murmured. “South hall. Sixth door on the left. What’s inside?”
Through her earpiece, Gaby heard the response. “A private dining room. Connecting suites on either side. Service exit in the back.”
“Dev?”
“We’re in position,” he confirmed. “Feds too. Standing by.”
Gaby and Rhys reached the door. One panel hadn’t latched. Through the narrow gap came Viktor’s voice, smooth and vile.
“When payment clears, she’s yours.”
They both stiffened at the sound of a broken sob.
Gaby angled to see. A girl stood near the wall, wide-eyed and shaking. She looked barely out of high school, if that. Before she realized it, her hand was on the door handle.
Rhys caught it and pressed her back against the wall, body caging hers, his mouth near her ear as if murmuring an intimate secret instead of op details.
“Not yet,” he murmured.
“I brought the cash.” He was out of sight, but from the drawl, it had to be Tex.
A higher voice, smooth, cultured, and all the more chilling for it, said in response, “Two-fifty, as agreed?”
She heard a metallic click, money rustling, and another sob rent the air.
“Take her. I can’t stand the constant sniveling,” Viktor ordered, his tone dripping with cruelty. “The little bitch should be grateful she’s going home to Texas.”
That was it. The illicit offer, money changing hands, coercion evident by the girl’s visible fear and obvious lack of consent, and the transfer of custody. There was also an additional felony: intent to transport across state lines. Every element of a trafficking charge had been met.
Rhys’s voice cut like a blade. “We have confirmation. Move in. Now.”
The corridor erupted. FBI task force agents and Devlin’s contracted operatives surged forward like a tide. Gaby drew her weapon from its thigh holster, braced on the other side of the door, and nodded at Rhys.
With a bang, he exploded through the doorway ahead of her.
Agents flooded in behind them in a coordinated wave. “Federal task force! Hands where we can see them!” one barked.
Tex raised his hands, blubbering already. Viktor and his guards did not. Three men in black reached for weapons. Gunfire cracked, splintering wood and shattering glass.
Gaby sprinted low and fast toward the girl. Protecting her was all she could think of.
One of Viktor’s thugs moved on the same trajectory, closing fast. She had the shot, but the girl was too close.
So she improvised, veering into his path.
While he was still registering her movement, she clasped her hands and drove them upward beneath his extended arm, knocking his aim skyward.
As his balance faltered, she followed hard with a fist to the throat.
It was enough to stun a man twice her size. But she needed him down.
She pivoted and drove the pointed toe of her borrowed Manolo into his groin with vicious precision. He folded with a strangled grunt and hit the carpet face-first.
One threat neutralized, but the room was hardly contained.
Bullets and shouts rang out as Viktor’s men, now at least a half dozen, fought to secure their boss’s escape.
Gaby grabbed the terrified girl by the wrist to pull her to safety, but all the exits were blocked.
On the fly, she came up with plan B. Take cover.
She flipped a heavy dining table onto its side with a grunt, wood thundering against marble. She yanked the girl behind it, just as a wall fixture exploded and rained down on the spot where she had stood.
“Stay down,” Gaby told her, taking a knee behind the barrier, gun raised, braced and ready.
Across the room, she caught a blur of a gray suit. Rhys bobbed and weaved, trading blows with a man the size of a refrigerator.
Gaby’s heart nearly stopped when the thug swung, a brutal haymaker that would’ve taken Rhys’s head off.
But fluid and precise, with the effortless timing of a champion boxer, he ducked under the punch.
Unscathed, he rose and drove an uppercut into the thug’s jaw, hard enough she felt the impact in her teeth.
As the man reeled, Rhys used the opening and connected with a savage left hook.
It must have knocked him out because the brute fell like a tree into a table that exploded under the impact.
If they weren’t in the middle of a fight, she would’ve cheered. Rhys: one. Refrigerator: zero.
She didn’t have time to appreciate his Thunderdome fighting skills for long, though. Behind him, Viktor was sneaking toward the exit.
A shout tore from Gaby’s throat. “Rhys! Back door!”
Viktor glanced back, eyes widening—
Too late.
Rhys had closed the distance in a blink, hooked Viktor by the collar, and yanked him back so hard his feet left the ground. The smaller man shrieked when he forced him forward, face and chest pressed to the wall, one arm twisted up behind him.
“Don’t move,” Rhys said, voice cold enough to frost glass.
Viktor didn’t. He couldn’t.
He was flattened beneath two hundred and thirty pounds of trained muscle and a man who had absolutely reached the end of his patience with men who bought and sold innocent and helpless young women.
Gaby couldn’t look away because, God help her, the man was impressive.
The remaining guards were quickly subdued. She lost sight of Rhys as other agents came to his aid. Not that he needed it, except for maybe the metal cuffs one of them slapped on Viktor, none too gently.
She felt a measure of satisfaction that he was getting a small taste of what he’d done to countless women.
Gaby holstered her weapon and crouched in front of the girl, who threw herself at her and clung with surprising strength. “You’re safe now,” she assured her, throat tight. “I’ve got you.”
Despite Tex’s continued loud blubbering, she heard the girl whisper, “I can’t believe that old man was going to buy me. Who does that?”
“A man with more money than sense, and without the slightest shred of human decency,” Gaby replied. “His billions won’t serve him well in maximum security.”
“I hope he gets a huge cellmate who makes him his bitch,” she said. It wasn’t dark humor—just the truth.
Gaby leaned back and looked down at her. Tear-streaked and still scared, but she was quickly regrouping. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Lyssa Morgan.”
“Are you even eighteen?”
“Yes. I just turned last week, or maybe it was two,” she hiccupped. “It was hard to keep the days straight. They took me coming home from school. On my birthday.”
Rage coiled in Gaby’s gut. She was an innocent, little more than a child. She asked a question she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to. “Are you hurt? Did they…”
Lyssa shook her head. “No. When they found out I’ve never—” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard. “They said I’d bring a higher price if they kept me… untouched.”
Rhys appeared beside them. “Gaby. There’s a counselor outside, ready to help.”
He’d pitched his voice low and gentle. Lyssa jumped anyway, clinging to her again. She wasn’t sure if it was Rhys, the mention of a victim’s counselor, or the thought of Gaby leaving her, so she covered all the bases.
“This is Rhys. He’s with me and is one of the good guys. We’ll find the counselor, but I’m not leaving you until you’re ready. She’ll help you get in touch with your family. Is that okay?”
When she nodded, Gaby helped her to her feet and walked her out of the chaotic, smoke-filled room.
One girl saved. One miracle. Her innocence had protected her.
Almost three months had passed for her sister. The thought tore at her heart.
Lyssa’s road back would be long. Natalie’s would likely be longer. They had to find her, first.
Heaven help her—they had to.