Donovan did as instructed. Montero pulled down her visor for the mirror and applied one last round of lipstick before she nodded that she was ready. As they walked together toward the entrance, Montero moved closer. She slipped her arm inside Donovan’s and pressed herself into him.
“Just remember what I told you. I’ll talk. You try and look menacing.” Montero squeezed him affectionately, as if completely enraptured by her escort.
Donovan held his fake smile as a tank of a man dressed in a tuxedo and sporting a stub of a ponytail welcomed them to the club. Donovan threw a hundred dollar bill at the girl collecting cover charges and didn’t wait for his change. They were handed off to another muscled guy dressed just as stylishly as the first.
“VIP section,” Donovan said, and peeled another hundred dollar bill from his roll, pressing it into the guy’s hand.
With Montero close, they followed their host into the main room. As they walked together down the narrow carpeted hallway, the music grew louder. Donovan was surprised, the interior was far larger than he’d expected and the décor decidedly upscale. The main room was two stories high with clusters of spotlights aimed at the main stage. Mirrors adorned most of the walls and music poured from dozens of speakers. Above them, a railing stretched around three sides of the room, suggesting a separate, more private area above the noise of the main floor.
They snaked their way through the tables and overstuffed chairs. A dancer, bathed in alternating red-and-white light, performed on the main stage, but Donovan was far more interested in the patrons than the entertainment. The row of seats immediately around the stage seemed to be filled with mostly young men. One group in particular stood out from the rest. Animated gestures and immature catcalls suggested college boys, or perhaps a bachelor party well underway. Other groups of two to four men sat at tables away from the stage. Donovan guessed they were businessmen, still dressed in suits and talking amongst themselves, mostly ignoring the stage. A small bar across the room was crowded with dancers. They, too, were watching the crowd. It struck Donovan as to how a pride of lions might eye a herd of grazing gazelles.
They climbed the stairs and entered the VIP section. Montero selected a table next to the railing for its view of the floor below. The host signaled a waitress who hurried to meet them at their table.
“This’ll be fine,” Donovan said as the man pulled out a chair for Montero.
“Very well, sir. This is Lindsay, she’ll be your server this evening, please let her know if there is anything we can do for you.”
Donovan nodded as the man politely backed away, and then he turned his attention to Lindsay. She was young, cute, and radiated cleavage and legs. “Bring us champagne. The best you have.”
As Lindsay hurried off, Donovan turned toward Montero. “Do you have any idea what this girl looks like?”
“If she’s here, Lindsay will go get her for us.” Montero leaned in close. “You do know how to play the rich guy. But then, I guess you already knew that.”
Donovan checked out the room. Besides the two of them, there was a female bartender chatting with a white-haired man whose back was turned to him. In a corner booth were two more men with at least three girls curled up close while another danced on the small VIP stage. Donovan watched long enough to verify that all eyes were on the girl. Then he shifted his attention to the scene below. The song ended and the girl who’d been on the main stage was collecting her cash and clothes.
Lindsay arrived with a bottle of Cristal, two glasses, and a bucket of ice. She expertly opened the bottle, carefully poured two glasses, and then twisted the bottle deep into the waiting ice.
“Would you like to start a tab?”
Donovan knew that would require a credit card. Instead, he pulled his roll from his pocket and peeled off several bills and handed them to Lindsay. “Keep the change.”
“Can I bring you anything else?”
“There’s a girl I’d like to meet. Her name is—” Donovan glanced over at Montero as if he couldn’t remember. “Sasha! Yes, Sasha should join us.”
“I’m not sure she’s here yet. I’ll go find out,” Lindsay said, and hurried off.
Montero picked up both glasses of champagne and handed one to Donovan. She leaned over and gently tipped her glass to his. “To justice.”
“Said the vigilante.” Donovan replied. He took a small sip of his champagne and set the glass on the table.
In the crowd below, Donovan spotted Lindsay. She was leading a slender, dark-haired dancer up the stairs. “We might be in business.”
“We’re going to have to play this kind of fast and loose.” Montero grinned. “Let’s be nice and see if we can get her to talk.”
“If she won’t?”
“Then we won’t be nearly as nice.”
As the two approached, Donovan rolled his chair sideways, away from Montero’s. The dancer took her cue. She spun a chair from an adjoining table and pushed it in between Donovan and Montero and sat down. She was wearing a tiny black dress that did very little to cover her body. She crossed her legs, tugged at her hem smartly, and then smiled as she leaned in toward Donovan.
“I’m Sasha.” She held out a slender hand. “Your name is?”
Donovan hadn’t expected her to be quite so young—or attractive. He caught her Eastern European accent. Her oval face framed large brown eyes that seemed to radiate both innocence and sexuality. She smiled, a knowing expression glimmered on her face, as if she knew her power and wasn’t afraid to use it. Donovan caught a sprinkling of glitter on her razor-sharp cheekbones and her suggestive smile accentuated perfect red lips and white teeth. A widow’s peak jutted up and split her thick black hair that cascaded down to her shoulders and spilled out onto her flawless white skin.
“I’m Roberto. This is my friend Veronica.” Donovan more than enjoyed the angry expression that flashed across Montero’s face.
“Hello, Roberto.” Sasha smiled, and then turned and greeted Montero. “Nice to meet you.”
Donovan flipped several hundred dollar bills onto the table, just out of Sasha’s reach, a little incentive for her to stick around.
“Do you come in here often?” Sasha asked as she eyed the money.
“No. This is our first time. Where are you from? I can’t quite place the accent. The Ukraine?”
“Very good. Most Americans are very bad with accents. I’m from Kiev. Are you familiar with my country?”
“Yes.” Donovan smiled. “I’ve spent time in Kiev as well as Odessa. I like the Ukraine.”
“We’re a very friendly people,” Sasha purred. “Would you like me to dance for you?”
“Maybe a little later.” Donovan stretched out and plucked one of the bills from the table and placed it gently in Sasha’s palm. “But, please stay. Would you like something to drink?”
“Champagne is nice.”
Donovan caught Lindsay’s eye, pointed to his glass, then to Sasha. She nodded and moments later came to the table with another flute and poured champagne for Sasha. Over Lindsay’s shoulder, Donovan noticed that a tuxedoed hulk of a man near the end of the bar was looking in their direction and he wore an ear-piece, evidence that the club’s security staff was wired and communicating. Donovan knew he hadn’t been there earlier. Had someone grown suspicious, or was this guy simply making the rounds?
“Where are you from?” Sasha asked.
“Venezuela. I’m here on business.”
“How do you know to ask for me?” Sasha held the champagne flute near her lips and leaned over, inviting Donovan to admire her cleavage.
“It seems we have mutual friends.” Donovan nodded at Montero. “Veronica can tell you all about it.”
“Ramone and Diego Vazquez are both good friends of mine,” Montero said, as if they were close. “Ramone told us about you. I thought they might be here tonight.”
Donovan studied Sasha’s face for any sign that she knew Diego was dead. Sasha immediately removed her hand from Donovan’s thig
h and cocked her head slightly, as if she were trying to place the name.
“Ramone kept talking about you, told us to be sure and ask for you,” Montero said.
“I know Ramone, but I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
Donovan watched as Sasha’s posture shifted subtly, she drew her arms in slightly and tilted her head to allow some of her hair to tumble forward, obscuring her eyes. A sure sign she was either lying—or scared.
“Really?” Montero replied, as if to give the girl time to reconsider.
Sasha shrunk away from Montero, a stricken look flashing across her face. The sultry demeanor vanished, replaced by a frightened young woman. Donovan turned, not at all certain that Montero was the one who had scared Sasha. The only thing that was different was that the white-haired man at the bar had turned sideways. He was well dressed, younger than Donovan had initially thought; his short, silver-white hair and beard were deceptive. Nothing about his demeanor seemed alarming or particularly threatening.
“When was the last time you spoke to Ramone?” Montero pressed. “Or Diego, for that matter?”
“I don’t know,” Sasha replied as she defiantly swept the hair from her eyes. “I have to go now.”
“You’re lying!” Montero snapped.
“Leave me alone!” Sasha, visibly upset, started to get to her feet.
Montero yanked Sasha back into her chair. “You know Ramone and you’re going to tell me where to find him.”
“Let me go!” Sasha cried out, as she twisted her arm, trying in vain to pull free from Montero.
Donovan glanced toward the bouncer. The guy was coming fast. Down on the main floor, he spotted another bouncer hurrying through the crowd toward the stairs. He sat back and wondered how Montero was going to play this.
“I can help you,” Montero said, trying to calm Sasha down.
The bouncer reached in and jerked Sasha away from the table. Sasha nearly fell but caught herself and then immediately twisted away and sprinted for the stairs. Donovan lost sight of her as the bouncer squared himself directly in front of him and jabbed a beefy finger into his chest.
“You’re out of here, buddy!”
The man had badly misjudged the situation. Montero was already on her feet and threw a lightning fast jab into his fleshy throat. The man grunted as his eyes bugged from their sockets. He fell to his knees, and Montero collapsed him with a knee to his solar plexus.
Donovan kept his eye on the girl. In her rush down the stairs, the panicked dancer shoved aside a customer, and once she reached the main level, she broke into a dead run.
The second bouncer topped the stairs and raced for their table. Montero planted a foot, spun, and in two decisive blows laid him out on the carpet as well.
“Where’d she go?” Montero asked, as she straightened her skirt and snatched her purse from the table.
Donovan pointed below. Sasha was already near the main stage, pushing her way through the crowd.
“I see her,” Montero shouted. “Get the car, I’m going after her. There’s an outside door on that side of the building. Meet me there.”
They hit the main floor running. The place was filling up and Donovan ducked behind a group of new arrivals as two more bouncers moved through the crowd in his direction. Donovan moved quickly and pushed through the main doors only to be met outside by the large tuxedoed man. Never breaking stride, Donovan hit him full in the chest with his shoulder and shoved him to the side. Caught off guard, the security guard toppled backward over a small fence into the dense landscaping. As Donovan ran, he dug in his pocket for the keys to Montero’s BMW.
He cranked the engine to life, threw the gearshift into first gear, and gunned the car toward the side of the building. In his mirror he saw a man in a suit burst from the front door and stop; in his hand was a pistol. Donovan spun the BMW around the corner, and was immediately forced to slam on his brakes as a silver Lexus sedan wheeled right in front of him. Farther down the lot, running toward a distant row of parked cars, was Sasha.
Montero exploded out the side door. Sasha turned, startled, and as she did, she stumbled when one of her platform shoes came off. Sasha stopped, her shoe lying on the pavement behind her. Headlights off, the Lexus never slowed and drove straight for her. Sasha was defenseless, still looking over her shoulder at Montero and so she never saw the Lexus coming. The force of the impact snapped her backward over the hood and slammed her hard into the wind-shield. She never made a sound as she bounced skyward, cartwheeling lifelessly in the air. When she hit the pavement, she rolled to a bloody stop at Montero’s feet. Donovan was horrified. He could tell from the unnatural way her torso was cocked that Sasha was dead—her spine no doubt broken on impact.
Montero sprinted toward the BMW and was about to climb in when a pair of hands grabbed her from behind. Donovan saw her elbows fly at her assailant, freeing her from his grasp. She spun and let loose a furious kick that ended solidly in the man’s groin. His determination evaporated, and in a gurgle he toppled face first to the pavement and curled up into a ball.
“Go!” Montero threw herself into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut.
Donovan jammed the gearshift into reverse and backed up. In the headlights, he could clearly see Sasha’s face. Her eyes were open, staring out at eternity.
When he had enough room to maneuver, Donovan threw the car into first gear and ripped around both Sasha and the man curled up on the pavement. The speedometer was winding through sixty as he roared out of the parking lot trailing smoke from the tortured tires. Donovan yanked the wheel, straightened the car, and accelerated into the night.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lauren felt like she was being crushed, she shook her head from side to side, and started to panic and flail in the darkness. As the weight on her chest lifted, her breathing came in ragged gasps. She felt a hand go behind her back and ease her up to a sitting position. She coughed and choked at the dust-filled air. A hand went beneath her knees, and she was swept up from the floor.
She managed to open her eyes despite the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her rescuer was a man she didn’t recognize, he mouthed some words she couldn’t hear, the ringing in her ears the only sound that reached her. She was whisked through what was left of the blown-out door into the decimated hallway. When Lauren blinked away the tears, she saw that the walls were streaked black, with severed wires and pipes hanging down from missing ceiling panels. Debris littered the floor, as well as blood and body parts. She pressed her face into the stranger’s shoulder until she felt herself being set down. Other hands steadied her on a gurney as they wheeled her into a brightly lit cubicle. She opened her eyes and found the faces of other people. They were working on her, but she had no ability to focus, everything seemed abstract, yet she felt immense joy at still being alive. In the disjointed kaleidoscope of activity surrounding her, Lauren became aware of the throbbing pain that raged between her temples. Gradually, sounds began to register, though at first they seemed as if they were spoken down a long tube.
A man in blue scrubs breezed into the room. “Dr. McKenna. I’m Dr. Phillips. Can you hear me? How do you feel?”
“Confused. My head hurts and my ears are ringing.”
Lauren lay quietly as the doctor glanced at the clipboard. He flipped through the pages and then he set it aside and used his stethoscope to listen to her heart.
“What time is it? How long was I out?” Lauren asked.
“Only a minute or two. You blacked out, it’s sort of nature’s way of shutting down and rebooting your nervous system.” The doctor took a small penlight out of his front pocket and clicked it on. “Keep your eyes on the light.”
Lauren did as she was instructed, then he had her move each limb and joint, running her through a full range of motion tests with only minor pain. “Can you sit up?” The doctor peered into both her ears until he seemed satisfied.
“All things considered, I think you’ll be fine. You’re lucky your friend did wh
at he did, I’m afraid he got the worst of it.”
“What friend? What happened to Michael and Susan? Please tell me what happened.”
“I understand Howard Buckley is the man who saved your life. I’ll let him give you the details. Your other friends are fine—they were nowhere near the explosion.”
Lauren felt immeasurable relief at the news, but she was even more confused. What exactly had transpired in Michael’s room?
The doctor took out his pen and jotted furiously on the chart. “I imagine you’ll be a little sore in the morning, take some Tylenol or Motrin before you go to bed tonight. The ringing in your ears should subside completely in a few days, but if it doesn’t, I’d recommend a visit to an ear, nose, and throat specialist. You seem to be in fine shape otherwise.”
“I have a young daughter at home. I need to get out of here.” Lauren swung her legs off the table and cringed a little at a pain in her lower back.
“Stay here. Someone will be in shortly. I’m releasing you medically, but I understand the FBI needs you to stay put until they can speak with you.”
As soon as he opened the curtain to leave, she saw William and another man standing just beyond. William stopped the doctor and the three men exchanged a few words. The stranger’s hair was cut so short as to be almost nonexistent, his handsome face held startling blue eyes. He seemed as if he were carved from granite. He wasn’t overbuilt, but looked solid. Underneath the easy smile and handsome face, Lauren could detect the deadly undercurrent that told her he was good at what he did. Beneath his lightweight jacket, Lauren spotted the butt of a pistol. Lauren couldn’t hear what was being said, but she could see blood on the legs of his trousers.
The two shook hands with the doctor and then moved to her side and smiled warmly.
William put a hand on her shoulder. “Lauren, this is Howard Buckley.”
“Dr. McKenna. My friends call me Buck. How are you feeling?”
“I’m alive. The doctor said I have you to thank for that,” Lauren replied. Her ears were still ringing but her hearing was improving. “What happened? Where’s Michael? That man—a bomb?”
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