“Fremont Street?” Sasha clarified.
“That’s what he said.”
“How far are you out, Reed?”
“Getting off the plane now.”
“I have my eye on Ruslan. You find Wade and he’ll lead you to the girl.”
“You know where Ruslan is?” Reed asked.
“He’s sitting in a hotel room, far away from anyone with a hostage. He’s a murderer, but he isn’t stupid. I have him, you take care of Mr. Country and his mother.”
“I’ve got to go. Wade said he had a bomb here, and I can’t have one more death on my conscience,” Trina said.
“Go, Trina, get out of there. Leave the cars behind. Ruslan likes planting bombs in cars.”
“How do you know all this?” Trina asked Sasha.
Sasha didn’t answer. “Reed. I need an all clear when you have the hostage.”
“You got it.”
The line went dead.
Trina glanced at the faces looking at her. Cooper held Avery under her shoulder. Trina’s housekeeper, Stella, stood clenching her bathrobe. “We head to the barn, quietly. Do you know how to ride a horse?” she asked Cooper.
“How hard can it be?”
“He can ride with me,” Avery said.
Trina crossed to the fireplace and removed the shotgun that hung on a rack over the hearth. She pulled back the stock to find it loaded with two rounds. “If this is some ploy to get us out of the house, it worked, but we won’t do it unarmed. Avery, bridle two of my mares. I’ll wake the Folsoms and get them out.” The Folsoms were a husband and wife team that handled the livestock.
“Not without me,” Cooper said.
“And leave Avery and Stella alone? No, you stay with them. I will wake the Folsoms. We don’t have time to argue.”
“Damn it.”
“Let’s go.” Trina opened the door and felt a rush of unexpectedly cold Texas air.
With a laptop open, Ruslan watched the blips on his monitor for sudden movements.
Texas was sleeping. No one in. No one out.
Wade’s aunt snored like a truck driver.
Trina’s parents had gone to bed without realizing that their room over the garage would be blown to pieces if he made the call.
But the target Ruslan wanted to pull more than any was the bitch lawyer’s building in Los Angeles. He couldn’t get close enough to place the explosives in her room, but they were close enough to keep her from sleeping soundly for the rest of her life.
Blips on the radar told him no alarms had been sounded.
Wade’s locator placed him two miles outside of Fremont.
There were men there to take him once he stepped out of the car. He was the hostage that would get Trina to do whatever Ruslan wanted.
The last two miles to Fremont Street were excruciating.
Jeb handed the driver’s phone over to Wade. “Reed.”
“Hey.”
“How ya doing?”
Wade wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Not bad for a man about to walk into a trap.”
“I just landed on the helipad on the top of the Golden Nugget. There are four of us. We are dressed like tourists and armed like ISIS. When we break silence, you will know it. Take cover and get out of the way.”
“And in the meantime?”
“You have to trust that we are watching you. I have your phone on radar.”
“What if they take that?”
“Are you wearing your boots?”
Wade looked at his feet. “Yeah.”
“Right buckle.”
Sure enough, there was a decorative stone that wasn’t on the left boot. “Stalk me anytime, man.”
“I only bug people I like. Follow their directions. And, Wade . . .”
“Yeah?”
“They need your mother alive to get to you. When they get to you, they get to Trina.”
“Is Trina safe?”
“Yup. Okay, we’re on the ground floor, spreading out.”
“I owe you a beer, Reed. Keep us both alive so I can buy it for you.”
“You’re on.”
Wade hung up as the car pulled to a stop off Fremont Street. The famous Fremont Experience was midway through the light show in a canopy over one of the oldest streets in Vegas. The crowds were busy craning their necks to watch the show. Some were lying on their backs, heads resting on towels or blankets to keep the grime off their clothing. None of them seemed to notice a dark sedan pull up and idle.
Wade’s phone buzzed.
Step out of the car, alone. Leave the phone. Lose the hat. Turn in a circle, hands where we can see them. Put on your bodyguard’s coat and walk towards the Plaza Hotel.
“I’ll follow.”
“No, you won’t.”
Jeb pressed his lips together.
“You know they will spot you. Reed has a better chance of going undetected. Ruslan still thinks he’s in LA.”
“You pay me to protect you.”
Wade grabbed the door handle before he lost his nerve. “Fine. You’re fired.” Wade pushed out, dragging Jeb’s coat behind him. He had some hope he wouldn’t instantly be shot when he didn’t see a red dot on his chest as he turned around.
He shrugged into Jeb’s oversize coat, turned up the collar, and started walking down the street. He weaved through the crowd, avoiding eye contact in hopes that no one would recognize him. People passed by, most holding drinks and looking at the lights flashing above their heads. The music from the show deafened his ears more than the speakers he had onstage. Or maybe he was hyperaware of every sound and every sudden movement.
He felt the weight of eyes and started to look around. If he could just see Reed, he’d feel so much better.
No, instead he noticed a man wearing a black leather jacket watching him from across the street. He didn’t look away when Wade met his eyes.
The stranger nodded to the right.
Wade looked around before he complied.
His heart pounded loud enough to dwarf the music.
There wasn’t a deserted alley off Fremont, but the side street he walked down was close. He followed Leather Jacket Man as he turned in to the back door of a Korean barbeque kitchen. He stepped around the tables filled with pots and pans and odiferous food without so much as one employee looking up to see who walked by. If there was one time in Wade’s life he wanted to be noticed, it was when he was walking toward what could be a life ending experience. Apparently, that wish wasn’t going to come true.
Leather Jacket Man up close looked like a cross between a crack addict and a meth head. Twitchy, without a lot of teeth. Wade couldn’t help but think he was someone Ruslan used to lure Wade to their current location but would probably have him tossed off a bridge before the night was over. Wade had a strange compulsion to warn the man.
He decided not to push his luck.
Leather Jacket Man stood in front of a tiny elevator with the door open. He waved Wade inside, pressed a button, and stepped out before the doors closed.
Leather Jacket Man wiggled his fingers in a comical goodbye and sealed Wade inside. “Top floor.” Which was only six stories. It was old Vegas, and outside of the hotels, many of the buildings were old construction with low ceilings and tiny elevators.
When those tiny elevator doors opened, Wade took a cautious step outside.
Someone grabbed him from the side, threw him against the wall, and started patting him down.
Wade’s instinct was to push back.
He squelched it.
The man checking every pocket and touching every part of him was nothing like Leather Jacket Man. This guy was a house. Bald head, dark skin. Slavic? Hispanic? Wade wasn’t sure. Or maybe he was American and his parents had been in the circus.
Either way, this man wasn’t twitchy or timid. “Where’s my mother?”
Baldy pushed Wade toward a lone chair in the virtually empty room and turned on an old television set.
Vicki sat in a chair, in a room that looked a lot like the one Wade was in now. She pulled at the restraints holding her. Her mouth was stuffed with some kind of towel, and duct tape wrapped around her head.
A voice through the speaker of the TV sounded like Donald Duck after he inhaled helium. “Sit down, Mr. Thomas.”
The last thing Wade wanted to do was sit.
Then two more of Baldy’s friends stepped into the room.
Wade lifted his hands and sat. “Okay. Sitting.”
“Let’s begin.”
“Let her go.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Thomas. Do you think you’re in charge?” The voice was almost impossible to take seriously.
“If you want my help, you’ll let her go.”
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.
His mother stopped struggling and stared off camera. Without warning, someone the size of Baldy walked over to Vicki, grabbed her middle finger on her left hand, and dislocated it.
Wade yelled “Stop!” while his mother screamed through her gag.
“God damn you!” Wade kicked the chair across the room.
Baldy moved in with one of his friends and held him while the third man reminded Wade why he avoided bar fights. Two hits to the gut without the ability to guard himself, and he felt the need to throw up.
Baldy shoved him into a chair.
“Let’s try this again . . .”
Chapter Thirty-One
It wasn’t a trap.
Trina and her band of travelers arrived at her closest neighbor’s house, half an hour away from hers. It was cold, and dark, and she was a little surprised they didn’t get shot at. Chances were if they had arrived in a car or on foot, they would have seen someone with a gun at the door. But six people and three horses, some in their pajamas . . . they looked like a homeless troupe instead of bandits.