Chapter Twenty-Three

Thursday, seven thirty p.m.

  

Redman sat in the passenger seat of a Chevy Tahoe, the air blowing cold against the heat of the day, and watched the dark-skinned PI he thought might be Latino talking with Lacy. He turned to his driver, an African-American soldier named Trent. Trent was six-two, two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle, and very skilled in hand-to-hand combat and torture, whatever the job required. After the debacle with the rednecks shooting up the old truck and still missing the target, he wanted professionals. He also wanted to be directly involved in case he had to eliminate any links.

With more than a hint of satisfaction, Redman said, “Lacy really knows what she’s doing.”

Trent said, “I told you. She scammed me the first time I met her.”

“Is everything set up inside?”

“Yes. We’re ready.”

  

Blu pulled his Glock, held it low in his right hand and used the key Kara had given him to open the door to room 216. The layout was typical: closet on the left, bathroom on the right, and the sleeping area beyond the immediate hall. A light was on in the main part of the room.

“Hello?” he said, training the gun forward. “Jeremy?”

A female voice responded. “Come on in, honey.”

With more than a slight hesitation, Blu made his way into the light and found two young women sprawled across the bed naked as the day they were born, which looked to Blu like it hadn’t been more than eighteen years prior.

The closest, a leggy brunette, reached up and put a hand on his chest. “You sure are gorgeous, aren’t you?”

Blu stumbled backward a step, almost forgetting his drawn weapon.

The women giggled.

“You look surprised, honey,” said the other woman, a redhead.

“Uh…”

They slid off the bed and approached him.

A Bible verse he’d heard a long time ago when his mother had taken him to church jarred him back to reality—“Flee from sin.” Well, that and the thought of Billie.

He dropped the key from his hand, pushed away from the young sirens, and exited the room. His senses didn’t return until he was down the stairs and outside walking toward his SUV in the parking lot. He fumbled for the key fob in his pocket when he got to the driver’s side door.

A voice behind him said, “You should have stayed with the girls.”

Blu turned, and a large black man hit him with a hard gut punch, dropping him to his knees. He slipped the Glock out, raised it, and before his attacker could take another swing, shot the man at point blank range.

The man spun around.

Blu stood uneasily, one hand on his injured ribs, and kept the pistol aimed.