Chapter Four
Nickie had lost her ever-loving mind. She never dated strangers. Ever. She’d learned too much about the world to trust anyone she hadn’t known most of her life.
She scened with people in reputable BDSM establishments, and she trusted her close circle of friends and family.
She tried to point light into the shadows to stop the worst of what humans do to each other, and she’d put her own life in danger time and again to do it.
However, risking your life to stop a human trafficker was completely different than risking your life to have sex with a hot guy you just met.
She was too old for a trafficker to want to abduct her and sell her, but she’d made lots of enemies over the years and this guy obviously had secrets.
She should be safe enough with Bud if they stayed in the resort, though.
She had her pepper spray and knife, but it was too bad she couldn’t bring her gun into Mexico on the plane.
The resort’s security was paid to keep a closer watch over her, so he shouldn’t be able to drug her and stuff her in a suitcase as long as she didn’t go to his room. Or let him in hers.
Bud had made reservations at the fanciest restaurant in the resort, so she donned a cocktail dress and heels and went all out with her hair and makeup. The polish had chipped off one nail, so she painted it black. The other nails were copper and her dress was black. It worked.
A quick Google search of Bud Jones in Atlanta didn’t turn anything up, but she hadn’t expected it to.
She had other resources, but she’d be late if she started searching through them now, and she wasn’t going to have sex with him tonight anyway.
Maybe she’d get a real first name at dinner so the search would be easier tomorrow.
On second thought, it couldn’t hurt to alert one of her people in the States and get the ball rolling, just to be safe.
She’d secretly taken a few pictures of Bud from across the boat, and she sent them to one of the private investigators she frequently used.
He was a lot faster than the investigator at her security firm, and he had no qualms about hacking to get information when he couldn’t find what he wanted through legal means.
She started to send a quick email to Tyler, just to keep him in the loop, but decided to wait to see what the PI turned up.
Tyler went with her when she travelled as an investigative journalist. He was her security guy, but he managed to do his job without holding her back, most of the time.
She trusted him with her life, but she wasn’t sure he needed to be brought in.
She turned her phone’s ringer and vibrator off, and tucked it into her bra so it was practically under her left arm.
Her knife was already in the holster hooked to her bra under her left arm — easily accessible with her right hand.
Her lipstick went into her bra under her right boob, and her pepper spray went into her left bra cup, aimed so she could reach into her cleavage and quickly pull it out.
A hasty glance in the mirror showed her the image she worked so hard to project — rich, sheltered female with no clue about the real world.
No one would guess she could defend herself against most scum of the earth, but she’d fought off bad guys both on her own and alongside hired muscle more times than she wanted to remember.
This was society’s idea of beauty and it opened doors for her, so she went with it.
She closed her eyes against the memory of the room full of ten to fourteen year old girls who’d been taken from the suburbs of America and were due to be sold on the auction block to the highest bidder.
She’d saved forty-eight girls who were returned to their families, but the human traffickers had walked out of prison within six hours of their arrest, never to be seen again.
She’d lost their trail and that was it. Her assistant had told her she’d go crazy if she couldn’t put it behind her, and she’d retorted she just might go crazy if she dropped it and stopped trying.
Those men had a network that sold hundreds of girls every month.
She hadn’t shut them down at all, and if she could just watch the same channels long enough, she’d find them again.
She shook her head at her own image. The FBI had all her notes. If anyone could find them, they would. She’d done her part, written her story, and it was time to move on.
Tonight, she intended to let her muse turn the delectable Bud into the perfect book-boyfriend. Perhaps it was time to add another novel to her werewolf series.
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