Chapter Twelve
As Luke approached, Meg unconsciously reached for Dirk, caught his arm, and hung on. There was something in Luke’s face, something that told her he had found Vinnie Santini. Or at least knew where to look for him.
“Let’s go,” Luke said.
Dirk scooped up his chips. “I’ll be right back.” He flashed her a look. “Stay close to Luke.” While he went to retrieve his money—she had a feeling he had lost a little on purpose—Luke urged her toward the door.
“Did you find him?” she asked. “Did you find Santini?”
“I know a place he might be in the morning. That’s more than we had before.”
“Yes . . . yes, it is.” She blinked to keep her eyes from filling. Tomorrow they would find Santini. Then they would find her little boy.
The big Asian, Fu Han, appeared, reminding her of the role she was playing. He handed Luke the knife he had taken.
“Thanks,” Luke said. “It’s one of my favorites.”
Meg shuddered to think how many knives Luke might own. He and Dirk both seemed to have plenty of weapons.
She turned to see Dirk walking toward them. She loved the way he moved, the confident energy, the way his eyes always seemed to find her, the way, once they did, she couldn’t look away.
The elevator rattled up and the door slid open. Instead of the car being empty, five men walked out. The two in front held big black pistols pointed toward Dirk and Luke. They were in their early thirties, one in skinny jeans and a slim-fitting blazer with the sleeves pushed up, with the words Lone Wolf tattooed on his forearm.
The second man wore a Henley with jeans and expensive, black-and-silver designer sneakers. They looked more like metrosexuals than hoodlums.
The other three men were younger, knit caps pulled low, T-shirts and low-riding jeans. Street punks, Dirk would call them. None were Asian.
“Get back inside,” the guy with the tattoo demanded, apparently the leader.
Luke said the f word under his breath, and Dirk eased Meg a little behind him. She started to tremble.
“We’re just leaving,” Dirk said. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“You were leaving.” The guy in the expensive sneakers waved his gun toward the casino. “Now you aren’t.”
Dirk had her easing backward toward the casino exit when Feng’s two security guards and the manager arrived, which put them in the middle of a circle of hostile men.
All of them froze. She felt Dirk’s hand ease something out of his pocket, heard the faint, muffled click of Luke’s knife sliding open and locking into place.
“Where’s Feng?” the guy with the tattoo asked. He was good-looking in a designer suit sort of way, with high cheekbones and perfectly arched dark brown eyebrows. She wondered vaguely if he paid to have them plucked.
“Mr. Feng is busy,” said Fu Han. The big Asian stood with his legs splayed, but his size wouldn’t help him against a gun. “I would advise you to leave.”
“Tell him Rick Bledsoe is here. Tell him we need to talk.”
Feng waddled up just then, his heavy body swaying from side to side as he moved. “You are disturbing my guests, Ricky. What do you want?” People were beginning to stir, heads turning their way.
“You call me Ricky again, fat man, and it won’t matter what I want. You’ll be too dead to care.”
“You’re behaving very badly—Rick. Your father will not be pleased when he hears you are poaching on his territory.”
“My father is old and worn out. I’m taking over. Now pay me what you owe and we’ll leave.” Some kind of protection money, Meg guessed.
“I do not think so,” Feng said. “I have been paying long enough. Those days are over.”
Rick turned to his sneaker-clad friend. “Tell him, Jimmy, what’s going to happen if he tries to stiff me.”
“You don’t pay,” Jimmy warned, “there won’t be a stick of furniture left in this place in one piece.”
Luke shifted beside her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. How about you, Mr. Feng?”
“Not a good idea at all,” Feng said.
Rick turned a hard look on Luke. “Who are you?”
Luke shrugged. “Just a guy who owes Mr. Feng a favor.”
Feng smiled.
“Well, I don’t care who you are.” Rick waved the barrel of the pistol. “Feng pays or the place goes down.”
Meg didn’t see Luke move, but suddenly Rick’s gun hit the ground and slid across the floor. Luke stood behind him, an arm locked around Rick’s neck, the point of his knife nudging the artery pumping wildly in Rick’s throat.
Dirk had moved, too, a long leg kicking out, hitting Jimmy’s hand and knocking his gun in the air. Dirk’s tiny revolver flashed, then the barrel dug into the flesh beneath Jimmy’s chin.
“If you two don’t want your blood running all over the floor—” Luke said.
“Or your brains splattered all over the ceiling—” Dirk added, nudging the revolver a little deeper.
“I’d suggest you call off your wannabe thugs and leave Mr. Feng alone,” Luke finished.
Rick’s fingers curled around the arm wedged beneath his chin. “Who are you kidding? You won’t hurt me. My father’s on the city council. You touch me and you’ll spend the next ten years in prison.”
Luke spun the man around so quickly it was more a blur than a movement. The knife blade was gone, the hilt in his palm. A fist drove into Rick’s stomach, doubling him over, then Luke punched him hard in the face.
Rick went sprawling. When Luke took a menacing step in the guy’s direction, Rick curled into a protective ball and started to whimper.
Beginning to panic, Jimmy whirled away from Dirk, threw a wild punch that Dirk blocked, then another he ducked. The revolver disappeared into Dirk’s pocket and his mouth curved into a hard-edged smile.
Dear God, Meg thought, he’s enjoying this! A single hard punch to Jimmy’s stomach sent him to his knees. Bending over, he began making retching noises, fought to suck in a breath of air.
The tiny revolver was back in Dirk’s hand, pointed at the three younger men, who seemed frozen in shock where they stood. They raised their arms above their heads and backed toward the elevator. “We just came along for the ride, man,” one of them said.
“Yeah, well, ride the hell out of here,” Dirk said. “Take your two loser buddies with you.”
“Show your face in here again,” Luke added as Feng’s men retrieved the discarded weapons, “and Mr. Feng calls me.” He flicked a glance at Dirk. “And him.”
Dirk’s hard smile returned. “That’s right. If you’re smart, you’ll put the word out that Quan Feng has friends who take care of him.”
All three younger men nodded. Rick and Jimmy staggered to their feet, wove their way into the elevator along with the others, and the door slid closed.
Luke pinned Feng with a look. “We good?” he asked.
Feng’s gaze slid over Meg like something slimy out of the gutter. “I would have preferred the woman, but yes, your debt is paid.”
Meg started shaking. The elevator dinged its return and they all walked inside for the ride down to the bar. Meg felt Dirk’s hand settle at her waist.
“It’s all over, honey. Everything’s okay.”
Luke shot him a look, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.
Dirk checked to be sure Rick and his gang were gone, checked again outside, then they headed for their cars.
Meg leaned back in the passenger seat of the Viper. Though the adrenaline rush was over, tremors still shook her. Every bone in her body ached from lack of sleep, but knowing tomorrow they would talk to Vinnie Santini, find out where Pam and the others were holding Charlie, a fresh shot of nerves rolled through her.
She wearily closed her eyes, but the last thing on her mind was sleep.
Dear Lord, she prayed, let Vinnie Santini know where to find my son. Please keep my little boy safe until we can bring him home.