Cavanaugh Undercover Read online

  “I don’t think I know many women—or many men for that matter—who could remain so calm around a recently murdered victim.” He was studying her. “But you act as if this is an everyday occurrence in your world.”

  Tiana supposed that she did come off somewhat insensitive—not that she cared what this man ultimately thought of her unless it helped her find Janie—but she was far more concerned about the living. About her sister and other girls who undoubtedly had been stolen from their homes, from their parents who had to be as worried sick about them as she was about Janie.

  As for her disregard of the lifeless body on the bed, well, to her way of thinking, Wayne had just gotten what he had coming to him. He’d stolen her sister, quite possibly stolen Janie’s innocence, as well, and maybe even more than that. She had absolutely no tears to shed for the likes of someone like Wayne.

  “I’m not interested in the dead,” she told the tall stranger with the intense eyes. “My only interest is in the living. Now, can you help me or at least give me the name of someone who can? Because if you can’t, then get the hell out of my way.”

  “All business, huh?”

  She had the feeling he was baiting her, seeing how she reacted in a given situation. Why, she didn’t know. Maybe it was some sort of a test. All she knew was that she wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. Badly.

  “I left my warm, fuzzy center in my other outfit,” she told him coldly.

  “The one with the whip?” he asked with a straight face. Only his eyes showed any trace of humor.

  “You’ve seen it,” she deadpanned.

  “Only in my dreams—” He hesitated for a moment. “So, what do I call you, anyway?”

  If he was asking that, then maybe she’d passed whatever stupid test he was giving her. She never hesitated. “Aphrodite.”

  “The goddess of love,” he acknowledged.

  “You know your Greek mythology.” She hadn’t expected any of the people on the lower rungs of this organization to be educated. Maybe this man wasn’t low man on the totem pole. Maybe he went up higher than that.

  “I know a lot of things,” he replied.

  “Such as where the merchandise is being kept?” she asked, trying to sound vaguely bored as well as impatient. She fervently hoped her pounding heart wasn’t going to give her away.

  “Such as that, yes,” Brennan said. Truth be told, he had just managed to breach the outer ring of the organization in this past week. He’d come to the traffickers, thanks to an informant who had since disappeared, only a few days ago, posing as a wealthy representative of a club that catered to depraved men who craved being serviced by females who were definitely below the legal voting age.

  Because nothing was accepted at face value, his background—the background that had been created for him by Brenda Cavanaugh, the chief of Ds’ daughter-in-law who ran the tech support division—was being checked out by unknown people even as he stood here, talking to this madam-in-search-of-an-extended-stable. He only hoped that Brenda was as good as everyone said she was. His life could very well depend on it.

  “Then take me there,” she challenged, moving in close to him.

  “Whoa, hold your horses, honey,” he warned. “Nobody sets foot in ‘the candy store’ without being checked out first.”

  “Like him?” she asked contemptuously, nodding her head at the dead college senior on the bed.

  “I think it’s pretty clear that he didn’t make the grade,” Brennan told her matter-of-factly.

  “Was that why he was eliminated?” she asked, wondering why Wayne had been killed now rather than later. Knowing might help her find Janie. Every piece of information might very well be crucial—or not. It was like trying to navigate a moving van in a dense fog. She had no idea if she was going in the right direction, or completely off the road. She couldn’t remember a time when she had been more frustrated.

  “Part of the reason,” Brennan allowed vaguely.

  “Hold it,” Tiana ordered as something dawned on her.

  “If you knew he was already dead, why did you accuse me of killing him?” she demanded.

  For a second he seemed flustered before quickly gaining his composure. “Simple,” he said after a beat. “I wanted to see how fast you thought on your feet.”

  Incensed, because for a moment he’d had her thinking she was going to have to kill him in order to survive, Tiana gave in to her temper. She swung and made contact with his cheek—hard. The target of her wrath rubbed his cheek but refrained from saying anything or retaliating.

  However, when the so-called madam began to swing again, he caught her wrist and held on to it just tightly enough to get his point across.

  “The first one’s free, on the house, so to speak,” he told her. There was the hint of a smile on his lips, but his eyes were deadly serious. “Anything after that has consequences,” he warned. His eyes narrowed as he looked into hers. “Understood?”

  “Understood,” she ground out grudgingly between clenched teeth. Okay, she thought. Now I know how far I can push you.

  She dropped her hand to her side when he released it.

  Chapter 3

  It did surprise Tiana that the good-looking stranger was making no effort to leave the room. Most people wouldn’t have wanted to share space with a corpse, yet he didn’t look the least flustered. Since he appeared to be her only possible link to Janie, she couldn’t leave until he did. She needed to have him take her to whoever he was associated with—and hope that whoever that was had a link to her sister.

  “So now what happens?” she asked him.

  “That all depends,” he answered. He was still trying to figure her out. He’d already decided that the woman was a spitfire, but what else was she? Was she telling the truth about why she’d come to see the dead man, or was there something else going on? And just how was that going to affect the ultimate outcome of his assignment?

  Like everything else he’d dealt with in the secret lives he’d had to undertake, Brennan decided to play it by ear.

  “On what?” she asked.

  “On who you’re asking about. If you’re referring to our friend here—” he nodded toward the dead man “—he stays right where he is. The motel maid will undoubtedly find him sooner or later and then he becomes the motel manager’s problem.”

  “You’re leaving him here?”

  “Why not? He can’t be traced back to anyone of consequence and since he can’t hold up his end of the conversation, I don’t see any point in taking him with me. Dead bodies are really a pain to get rid of,” he told her.

  The first second when no one else was around, he intended to call in and tell the chief of Ds about this latest casualty of the sex trafficking ring they were looking to take down. From everything he’d managed to put together, the man on the bed was nothing more than a would-be gofer for the organization. Someone who’d traded on his looks to get girls to follow him into the trap that was set for them. More than likely, he’d probably gotten an inflated sense of self and had asked for a bigger share of the profits. The answer to his demands was undoubtedly why his person was now sporting a bullet hole.

  “If you’re asking about me, I go back to where I came from. As for you,” he began as he looked down at her—and then paused.

  The woman sounded a little impatient. “Yes?”

  “Are you really on the level about looking for fresh talent?” he asked. His first instinct had been to cut her loose. His second was to keep her close. Maybe he could incorporate a little soul-saving into this assignment he was on.

  She raised her chin again, appearing ready to go at it with him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He laughed shortly. “You really want me to go into that?”

  “That depends on how wild your imagination is.”

 
His eyes met hers. If she really was a madam, he wondered what she’d been like, working her way up within the ranks. He knew better than to get involved, but it cost nothing to let his imagination go for a moment or two.

  His mouth curved as his eyes swept over the length of her. “Pretty wild.”

  “Then no,” she answered almost primly. “But I am on the level,” she informed him. “Girls wear out fast in this line of work. And if they don’t, they have an unfortunate habit of outgrowing it. My clients like them young and dewy fresh. The bloom only stays so long on the rose before it fades away.”

  Brennan nodded. “Your clients are fickle,” he concluded.

  “My clients are discerning,” Tiana corrected him pointedly.

  “Potato-po-tah-to,” Brennan replied, waffling his hand in front of her as if to say that he saw right through her protest.

  He couldn’t help wondering again what someone like her was doing mixed up in something like this. She looked too clean, too refined for the kind of lowlife this sort of a trade usually attracted. They might have more money and have positions of importance in the everyday world, but her clients were still scum, just well-kept scum.

  With no effort at all he could see this woman who’d given him such a phony name being a teacher or a shop owner, not someone who dealt in the misery of young women as she peddled their flesh to the highest bidder.

  He wasn’t here to get personally involved, Brennan reminded himself. Or to save a so-called fallen woman. The only people he was supposed to be concerning himself with were the young women who had been kidnapped or pressed into this life by being lied to. He was here to save them, not to get mixed up with a woman with electric blue eyes and hair that made him think of an out-of-control forest fire.

  “I wouldn’t look down my nose at anyone if I were you,” she informed him. “It’s not exactly as if you’re without reproach here.”

  Brennan spread his hands in an exaggerated show of innocence. The smile on his face was positively wicked. “Never said I was.”

  “You haven’t really said very much of anything, have you?” she accused.

  Brennan didn’t bother denying it. “Better that way. I make it a rule never to hand over the nails to my coffin to anyone. Never know when someone could use it against me,” he told her.

  “Well, not that I don’t enjoy debating philosophy with you, mister...” She paused for a moment before asking, “What did you say your name was?”

  Boy, was he enjoying this. “I didn’t.”

  “Well, say it now,” she ordered.

  “Wayne,” he said, drawling out the surname. “Bruce Wayne.”

  He had to be kidding. “Bruce Wayne,” she repeated. “As in Batman?”

  He heard the disbelief in her voice. He’d meant it as joke, but decided to stick to the name. For one thing, it was easier to remember. “My father had a sense of humor.”

  Her eyes took measure of him, from his head right down to the tips of his shoes. Okay, let him have his little joke. Maybe if she went along with it, Tiana thought, she could get closer to him. She needed some sort of a way in, and now that Wayne was permanently out of the running, this man was going to have to be it.

  “Obviously,” she agreed.

  Not that she believed it for a minute. But it didn’t matter what his name was. He could call himself Peter Rabbit for all she cared. As long as he provided her with a way to get to her sister, she’d call him any name he wanted.

  “Not that I’m not enjoying this meaningless exchange,” she went on to say, trying to light a fire under him and finally get out of this motel room, “but I’m kind of in a hurry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  Was he putting her on some kind of notice? Or was there some other hidden meaning behind his words? She had no patience with riddles and puzzles, not when the stakes were so high.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “It means that the man you’re going to be dealing with holds people in a hurry suspect. You need to be laid-back.”

  That didn’t make any sense to her. “Why?”

  Roland, the man he’d dealt with, the one who had sent him out on what turned out to be a fool’s errand, was nothing if not paranoid. “He might just think you’re trying to set him up and are looking to put some distance between you before the trap goes off.”

  This Wayneman was getting too close to the truth. A lucky guess on his part? Or was she somehow transparent in her concern? Back in San Francisco she was a lab rat. She was damn good at her job but still a lab rat. Fieldwork wasn’t exactly her specialty. She was winging this as she went along.

  “I’m not trying to set anyone up,” Tiana protested. “I just want to see if he has the kind of girls my clients prefer.”

  He raised his shoulders in a dismissive, disinterested shrug. “Just your word against his suspicions. You’re better off acting like you have all the time in the world,” he advised. “It sets off fewer alarms that way.”

  “But I don’t have all the time in the world,” she protested, getting further into her role. If Janie was being held captive by this sex trafficking ring, then she had no idea how much time she actually had before her sister was shipped off for parts unknown. The second Janie left the area, the chances of finding her fell abysmally. “I’ve got clients who’ll take their business somewhere else if I don’t bring them the kind of selection they’re looking for.”

  “Somebody breathing’s not enough, huh?” he asked her with a grin that she found hugely unsettling. It wasn’t that it was creepy. What worried her was that it wasn’t. Moreover, it got to her—which was totally unacceptable.

  “Not even close,” she told him. “They have very definite requirements.” When he didn’t say anything in response for a couple of minutes, just looked her over, she found it difficult not to shift uncomfortably. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Making a judgment call.”

  He was judging her? Tiana squared her shoulders combatively. “And?” she challenged.

  His expression was easygoing—quite the opposite of what she felt. “You pass.”

  “Good to know,” she said in a bored voice. “Now will you take me to talk to someone in authority?” It was more of a demand than a request.

  The amused, cocky grin widened. “What makes you think I’m not someone in authority?”

  “Let’s call it a hunch,” she told him.

  He inclined his head. She’d played that hand well. Whatever she was up to—and he was fairly certain she was up to something, something she was keeping to herself right now—she had guts. “Not bad. All right, I’ll take you with me and introduce you to Roland.”

  “The man in charge?” she asked.

  Brennan laughed shortly. There was very little humor in the sound. “He thinks he is.”

  Her eyes never left Wayne’s face. She was looking for a chink in his armor, a tell she could use in her favor. There was nothing. “Is he right?” she asked.

  Isaac Roland was far from in charge, although no one who worked directly for him would ever have had the nerve to tell him that to his face. The man in charge had yet to be identified, a fact that kept Brennan playing this charade. They needed a name in order to shut everything down and make their arrests.

  “He’s two rungs up the ladder,” Brennan told her.

  “What about you?” she asked. How did the man who called himself Wayne actually figure into all this? Was he the cleanup man, the guard at the door of an exclusive club who decided who gained access and who was turned away?

  Or—?

  “I’m the guy leaning against the ladder,” he told her. The grin on his face made it impossible for her to gauge if he was telling her the truth or pulling her leg. And just what did he mean by that line, anyway? Was he say
ing that he wasn’t part of the operation but just an interested spectator?

  Or was he deliberately belittling his role in all this to gain her confidence and get her to talk to him? If so, to what end?

  It was too much of a puzzle for her to solve now. As long as he didn’t pose any sort of an immediate threat—and she remained on her guard—she didn’t care what he was in the scheme of things. Or who he thought he was.

  On the surface, she seemed to be winning his trust—as far as it went—and right now that was good enough for her.

  “If you’re going back to him, I’ll follow you in my car,” she told him, about to leave the room. The dead man was making her feel claustrophobic.

  Brennan caught her by the arm and she looked at him quizzically. She also spared a look at his fingers that were wrapped around her upper arm, her indication clear. The words Let go practically vibrated between them.

  But he ignored the silent message and continued holding her forearm for a moment longer. “I think Roland would prefer it if we both used my car. He’s very big on green energy and cutting down on pollution,” he told her, his expression unreadable.

  This “Roland” was also big on cutting back on avenues of escape, Tiana couldn’t help thinking. But there was absolutely no way she could allude to that without raising all sorts of suspicions on the part of this man.

  First she had to find Janie, then she could plan their escape, she told herself. The idea that, since Wayne was dead, Janie also might be dead, fleetingly visited her thoughts, but Tiana refused to allow it to take root. Janie was alive and she was here. Tiana refused to allow her mind to entertain any other possibility. To believe that her sister might be dead would render her completely inert. She’d be no good to Janie or herself that way.

  Still, she knew she couldn’t just docilely allow herself to be led away like some overgrown, directionally challenged lemming.

  “What about my car?” she asked. “I can’t just leave it here.”

  “Sure you can,” he said. “I’ll bring you back for it after you meet Roland and state the nature of your business to him.”