by R. T. Wolfe
Savage Alliance
The Nickie Savage Series
Book Five
by
R.T. Wolfe
Bestselling Author
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ISBN: 978-1-61417-891-0
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Table of Contents
Cover
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Meet the Author
Chapter 1
Dozens of patrons crowded the corridors. The museum accommodated the number with ease, but that did little to placate Duncan Reed. While greeting his admirers, he scanned faces and evaluated tuxedo jackets for possible hidden weapons.
His landscapes and still lifes replaced the customary artwork and would be on display beyond tonight's event and throughout the following week. However, since the event doubled as a fundraiser, Duncan reminded himself to be cordial.
He and one of the attendees locked eyes. The mayor of Las Vegas. Duncan nodded toward him as he stepped around one of his smaller portraits. It sat on an easel next to one of the massive marble beams that broke up the area. The mayor was safe. The subject of the portrait was not.
Oscar award-winning actress Coral Francesca didn't pose the kind of threat Duncan feared that evening. Nonetheless, a threat she was, and since she slithered her way toward him at that moment, he stopped and raised his guard.
He had been on her arm the evening she won Best Supporting Actress. It was one of many events that netted him the label Taste of L.A. Crooking her wrist, she closed the space between them and placed her forefinger on his shoulder. After a telling pause, she slid it down the arm of his jacket. "I'm terribly sorry to hear about the fire, dear." She shook her head and tsk'd. "Such a shame. I hope you didn't lose everything."
His everything appeared around a corner. He lifted the side of his mouth. The difference between the two women caused him to accept a more sensible view of the results of the fire. He may be temporarily living in a hotel, but his wife and family were unharmed. The crime ring responsible was depleted and on the run.
Coral glanced over her shoulder at the subject of his attention. His Nickie glided across the floor in an ivory sequined, tea-length gown. He'd purchased it for her during an undercover operation. The back was high enough to cover her lines of scars and old cigarette burns. In contrast, Coral's dress was fire engine red, a halter gown that exposed her smooth back from the clasp at her neck to just above her buttocks.
Nickie smiled and greeted each patron with a raised ivory-gloved hand. The gliding and the gloved hand—they were necessary. He understood this. However, he preferred her as the unrefined Detective Nickie Savage, the brassy, complicated and selfless woman who wore black boots, tight pants and often spoke like a sailor. Although he appreciated each hat she wore, tonight's hat was the most disconcerting.
"Hello, Coral," Nickie said as she approached. "Thank you for coming to the fundraiser this evening. I do hope you're hungry."
"Oh, goodie," Coral said and checked her manicure. "Small town food."
Nickie dropped her chin and nodded. "If you're worried about the menu, no need. I believe the chef has prepared braised duck in a red wine sauce with capers and lemon." She smiled and tilted her head. "On the other hand, if you're just being a bitch, don't eat."
Coral rolled her eyes. "I see Johnny and Bebe Lyons. I think I'll make my way to more suitable conversation." She rotated on the balls of her five-inch heeled, ice pick sandals and slithered away as slowly as she'd approached.
"There you are," he said and lifted a corner of his mouth.
Nickie's smile faded. "I shouldn't have done that."
"It was the highlight of my evening," he said and brought her gloved fingers to his lips.
She lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back. "Tonight is important. The ticket price has a friggin' comma in it. I can't believe how many people showed up."
Her poised posture may have been unnerving, but at least she spoke like his Nickie.
"Child Rescue needs this money." She placed her hand over his heart. "Thank you. This will fund their next rescue jump to Central America. It could help save dozens of children."
"You're welcome."
"Jess called."
"Ah. Jess Larsen, co-founder of said nonprofit working to protect, rescue and rehabilitate victims of human trafficking."
"He's on his way to a trafficking rehab hub and won't make it tonight."
Duncan knew this. "Completely understandable." Nickie knew he knew this, but he understood her need to say so regardless. He leaned in and placed his lips to her ear. "Let us get through the evening. We leave first thing in the morning to start our search for Fu Haizi. You are right to continue your pursuit of the organization in its weakened state."
"Or I just thought it was a good time to go since we're homeless and all."
He noted a group that gathered around a portrait of the target of Coral's conversation. A-list power couple Johnny and Bebe Lyons had requisitioned Duncan to create a portrait of them in celebration of their tenth wedding anniversary, a milestone to be doubly celebrated for those working in their toxic profession. If Coral was aware that he and the Lyonses were the closest of friends, she might not have been quite as anxious to refer to them as more suitable conversation.
The group created a horseshoe around the painting of the couple Duncan affectionately called Colliding Stars. At four by eight, the portrait didn't fit on an easel and filled one of the largest wainscoted framed areas on the white painted walls of the museum. Some of the men gestured to it as they spoke.
"Shall we?" Duncan asked and offered his arm.
"The details are like a photograph," said the new assistant to the governor of New York.
Duncan didn't recognize the man who responded. He also didn't notice any telltale bulges under any jackets that may have suggested weapons. "The sharp lines and true colors aid to the picture-like resemblance of the Lyonses, yes."
Deciding the group was harmless, he steered his wife from them into the next area. The art show had inadvertently saved almost all of his artwork from the fire that took their home.
Nickie nodded and thanked donors for coming as they strolled past a life-size painting of her in the same dress that hung from her shoulders. He preferred the painting he had created of her minus clothing. He laced her gloved fingers in his as they mingled. She'd posed for the nude on the settee in their master bedroom. The painting was now ashes, as was the settee, the master bedroom and the rest of their home.
"Duncan," she said as they strolled.
Burned at the hands of the same man responsible for the scars beneath the dress she wore. The backs of his eyelids stung. His lungs expanded and released.
"Duncan," she said louder. "Um, ouch."
He moved his gaze from scanning the patrons for signs of Jun Zheng's men to Nickie.
"You're squeezing my fingers," she said.
He let go and pulled away. "I am sorry."
"I know," she said. "Let's find out what they're talking about." She pointed toward a different cluster of visitors. Their closest friends and family stood in a circle that could be mistaken for a football huddle.
Brie and Nathan Reed, the aunt and uncle who raised Duncan and his brother as their own, anchored the group. Duncan's brother, Andy, and his wife, Rose, stood near her stepfather, who in a small town such as Northridge, New York, served also as the captain of the NPD. Nickie's childhood foster mother and brother, Gloria and Gil, completed the circle and dominated the conversation with emotionally driven volume.
Duncan's aunt interrupted Gloria and said in the warm yet firm voice only a schoolteacher could carry, "I raised Duncan from the time he was a child. We still have his room ready for him."
He knew for a fact this wasn't true as it was filled with his aunt's first grade teaching materials. He appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.
"I am the one who took care of Nickie during the hardest years of her recovery." Her former foster mother, Gloria, was referring to the years after Nickie's captivity in Fu Haizi's trafficking. Nickie balked at the way she responded so freely, with little to no warmth, about her highly personal past. "They will live with me." Splotches of red flushed through Gloria's caramel skin.
Glancing at Nickie, Duncan analyzed her reaction. She released his arm and set one hand on Brie's shoulder, the other on Gloria's. Separating the two, she stepped into the circle. "Although we appreciate the offers, they're too dangerous. Our home was not the target. We were."
"Which is why you stay with Rose and me at the ranch," Duncan's brother added. "It's away from town. There's room for surveillance. Nothin's getting by me and Rose."
"That would be less than ideal," Duncan said and joined the circle as well. "You have a child." He ground his teeth together before continuing. "Jun Zheng may currently be in custody, but an inside operation set him free once before. It could happen again."
"May I share our plan?" All heads turned to the voice behind them. Johnny and Bebe Lyons rarely carried themselves as the superstars they were. "Duncan and Nickie will be staying at one of our vacation homes."
Duncan wasn't sure if the group was stunned silent by the address from the power couple or the suggestion Johnny made.
"Bebe and I have films in production. We won't even know which home they choose. They'll be safe to do their police work and will be able to supervise their—"
"Rottweiler," Duncan interrupted before Johnny said too much. Positively no one could know that former Officer Dale Parker would stay with them under witness protection until the trial against Jun Zheng. "We appreciate each of you and your thoughtful offers nonetheless."
A cell phone rang.
"Nickie, my daughter," Gloria said, pointing at Nickie's cleavage. "Your dress. It rings."
Nickie blushed as she reached between her breasts and retrieved her cell. "Savage," she said into it as she turned away. "How many children? The Belmont Stakes? That's tomorrow."
Duncan looked around. Dozens of people were here to view his work and donate to Child Rescue. He was the host of honor.
"I'll be right there," she said and spun to face him, an apologetic expression written on her face.
They glanced at each other in silent conversation before he gestured toward the back door. She nodded and slid her hand in his.
Chapter 2
The damned dress was too bulky, and the sequins made it heavy. Nickie gathered the thing up so she could take the stairs two at a time. As she reached the top floor, she pushed open the door and barely made it into the commons area before the catcalls started.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. She didn't expect anything less from the guys at the Northridge Police Department. From the dudes working desk duty to the beat officers who filled out shift reports, each snorted with laughter as she stepped foot onto the Berber carpet.
Letting the dress fall, she gave a theatrical bow and said, "Thank you, thank you. I'm going to kick each of your asses as soon I'm out of this thing." Which only made the catcalls louder and more obnoxious. She was never going to live this down. Lifting her chin, she marched through the middle of the cluster of metal desks that faced each other in sets of two. Heads disappeared behind computer monitors as she passed. Damn straight.
Duncan followed. Guilt scratched the back of her consciousness. He left the art show. He left his art show. He'd joined her without a second thought. She could hear him and her captain whispering as they walked behind her in their formal dress. Why didn't they earn any catcalls? Nickie's attention and interest moved to her office in front of her. A man waited. Singular. This was both a surprising and a good thing.
FBI Special Agent Hurst. She would know the back of his head anywhere. Buzzed, curly black hair. Dark brown skin beneath the white collared shirt under his suit jacket. Even though he was a fed, he'd earned her trust. He shot his former partner dead. Since said former partner had been holding a gun to Nickie's head, it was a thing—the kind of thing that places a guy in the trust category without question. Although she trusted him, it didn't mean she had to like sharing with a fed.
Federal agents weren't the sharing type either. With her experience both inside and out of human trafficking, she earned a spot as an asset. Yet, feds were feds and Hurst was a fed. Nickie's case was in his hands, and she could only push him so far.
Pausing before she reached him, she reminded herself that he sat in her damned office. Not her captain's office. Not in an interrogation room. Not even at her desk, but in one of her two guest chairs.
As the sound of her heels neared the room, he raised his head. He didn't turn around. "You got here faster than I expected," he said as she rounded the desk and sat in her chair. Her captain took the remaining seat. Duncan closed the office door, then leaned against it and crossed his arms.
"No worries," she said. "Tell me about this tip."
"Yes." His elbows rested on the arms of the chair, and he steepled his fingertips together. "The Belmont Stakes."
Louisville, Kentucky. It was one of the locations on the map of potential Fu Haizi sites Duncan's brother had created.
Hurst said, "Your informant is there."
Her what? She could feel the heat as it lifted from her neck and covered her face.
"Says he was propositioned with child pornography and an offer to have sex with a minor after the race tomorrow night."
Slippery Jimbo. That slimeball. She stood so fast, her chair toppled over. "Slippery Jimbo Spalding told you he was my informant? Ho
w the hell did he get your phone number?" He was going to die a slow, painful death. She wanted to crawl in a hole. She'd already been sweaty from the haul up the stairs in the three-thousand-pound dress. This was not helping.
"He said you would ask me that." Was Hurst smiling? Traitor. "Said to tell you the last time you, and I quote, locked him all up in your office, he found my card on your desk."
"I'll kill him. I'll break his face, and then I'll kill him."
"He said you'd say that too." He definitely smiled now. "Well, something like that."
She'd left out Hurst's card? She doubted it. Jimbo went through her drawers, was more like it. "I'm speechless, really. I apologize that he has your—"
"Nope. And I don't have time to talk about it. James was able to discern there will be girls." He paused and took a deep breath. His black eyes stared at her with little emotion, but the muscles in his jaw gave him away. They flexed and released three times before he continued. "Children," he corrected. "Children will be brought in." He swallowed hard. "Both girls and boys. I have six teams being assembled as we speak. We leave at o four hundred. You in?"
She nodded, then considered. Hurst had saved her life. He came all the way out here to include her in a bust. Should she? She turned her eyes to her office door. Duncan nodded.
"I have the map," she admitted.
"Here?" Hurst asked and looked around like they might be watched.
Leaning to the side of her desk in the impossible dress, she slid the crime map from its place along the wall, and smoothed it flat on the splintered wood. The thing was big enough to hang off both sides. A complex maze of hundreds of lines zigzagged from corner to corner.