Colby Core. Debra Webb

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СКАЧАТЬ to fit in with the not-so-low-key crowd partying the night away in this rebuilt warehouse-turned-bar on the fringes of downtown New Orleans. But he couldn’t risk dulling his awareness in any capacity, so he sipped the drink slowly and tipped the waitress whenever she stopped to ensure he stayed on her good side.

      Riley had made the call less than twenty-four hours ago. This place—the Rusty Hinge, a sleazy bar way, way off Bourbon Street—had been named as the rendezvous point by the contact. Buzz Smith had sworn that he’d given up all the information provided to him in the way of a briefing when hired, basically just enough to get Riley in the door.

      It would have to be enough.

      With only a scumbag’s word, Riley had arrived at the rendezvous location an hour early for the meeting with the network’s contact. Riley had taken a position with his back to the wall at a table for two as far from the entrance of the Rusty Hinge as could be gotten.

      The weapon hidden in his waistband at the small of his back would be worthless if he wasn’t prepared and on his toes. He set the nearly empty tumbler on the table and surveyed the crowd of after-Christmas revelers.

      Any one of them could be watching him, waiting for an opportunity to take him out. Determination tightened his jaw. Considering the importance of his part in this operation, he wasn’t afraid of dying, only of failure. This case was far too important to be put off for any reason. Every squandered minute could mean the loss of another child or teen. Riley couldn’t waste a single moment, not even the time wasted in dying.

      Two men swaggered through the front doors, the only entrance or exit for the establishment Riley had noticed in the public area. There would be one in the back somewhere. The fire code would never permit only one access route. He assumed the door marked Employees Only led to a stock area where another entrance must exist. So he’d been keeping an eye on the bar as well.

      The newcomers inventoried the crowd, their gazes eventually settling on Riley’s table. When they moved in his direction tension rippled through his muscles. This was it. One man was a head taller than the other. The shorter guy sported a shiny, bald head. Both wore heavy coats, likely concealing weapons.

      Riley adjusted the ball cap he wore to ensure the two—if they were his contacts—understood he was the man they sought. The cap was red and sported a popular Alabama college football logo. Buzz Smith hailed from Alabama and wanted the world to know it.

      Levi Stark, a colleague from the Colby Agency, and Special Agent Lee Ross from the local New Orleans Bureau office were in the vicinity for backup. But the success of this operation depended upon the two staying in the background. To that end, Riley was unaware of their exact locations except that they were nearby. Communication devices had been left out of the scenario due to the increased risk. They could take no unnecessary chances.

      Tracking devices had been installed in Riley’s boot heels. That was the extent of the precautions he could afford to take for the moment. But he wasn’t worried. Backup was close. He fully trusted both men to do their jobs. One of the two was likely stationed outside in preparation for efficient relocation if necessary. The other, the Bureau agent, was likely amid the crowd. Riley hadn’t spotted him but if the agent was good at his job that was to be expected.

      And Riley was highly trained to deal with the unexpected. His former career as a Navy SEAL ensured he was fully prepared to evade, outstrategize and outmaneuver the enemy as well as to operate in the midst of that same enemy.

      A sense of mind-clearing calm settled over Riley as the two new arrivals stopped at his table; one eyed him with blatant suspicion, then with a quick look around, asked, “Smith?”

      “You the man in charge?” Riley demanded with an arrogant thrust of his chin and without bothering to confirm his identity. “I don’t want to talk to some peon.” He leaned across the table showing no fear. “Somebody set us up. Now everyone else is dead. Whoever did this knew exactly what our movements would be. Knew everything.” He shook his head. “I’m not trusting just anybody. I want to talk to the man in charge.”

      The two men exchanged a look.

      Three, four beats passed.

      “Seems like you got yourself an attitude, Mr. Smith. What makes you think,” the shorter guy with the shiny head and a hawklike nose asked, “we care who you trust or what you think?”

      “Or—” the first man who’d spoken leaned down and braced his palms on the tabletop to look Riley more closely in the eyes “—if you live or die?”

      “Maybe—” Riley downed the last of his whiskey “—because you’re here. And because you and your boss might want to consider that whoever set us up is damned smart. If he did it once, chances are he’ll do it again. And until you know who he is, then you can’t protect yourself. Or your operation.”

      “We don’t need you to figure that out,” the taller guy said with a smirk. “Chances are,” he mocked, indifference in his tone and in his eyes, “you won’t be around long enough for it to matter to you one way or another.” He straightened and hitched his head toward the door. “Let’s go,” he said to his buddy. “We’re done here.”

      “Folks get nervous,” Riley said, causing both to hesitate, “if they think there’s a loose end hanging around.” His gaze zeroed in on the one who appeared to be in charge, the taller one. “Makes ‘em desperate. Desperation fuels panic. Next thing you know they make a mistake and give themselves away before they have a chance to get in the way—if you know what I mean, again. But then, maybe you’ve got the situation under control and aren’t worried about anyone on the inside setting you up a second time.”

      The indifference in the man’s narrow gaze shifted to uncertainty. “Outside. Now.” He turned his back and cut through the crowd, his buddy following.

      Riley had pushed all the right buttons. He scooted back his chair and stood. At least he had their attention. Taking his time, he pulled on his coat, then made a path through the crowd of bodies. The waitress smiled at him as he passed a table she was serving.

      The instant the entry doors cracked open the sharp sting of cold air greeted Riley. Damned cold. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Just his luck, he reflected for about the tenth time today.

      Nature’s white blanket still cloaked the landscape, drawing the light from the full moon. Even the bare limbs of the trees served as shelves for winter’s unexpected gift, adding an eerie glow to the landscape.

      Riley had taken a mere three steps away from the door when a muzzle nudged firmly into his back. “Keep walking,” the owner of the weapon instructed. “All the way to the gray SUV on your left.”

      Hawk-nose. Riley didn’t have to glance back, he recognized the gruff voice. The taller one was likely close by or in the SUV already. Riley followed the instructions, crossing the parking lot to the specified vehicle.

      “Now what?” Riley asked, not about to make any aspect of this easy.

      Hawk-nose patted him down, discovered the weapon and claimed it. “Get in.”

      Riley reached for the front passenger door.

      “The back.”

      “Where we going?” Riley asked. “To the boss?”

      “Just get in.”

      The СКАЧАТЬ