Hiding From Danger (Danger Incorporated Book 2) (22 page)

Sipping his whiskey, Travis’s gaze settled on Alan Morton standing next to the roulette wheel, a stunning brunette to his right. Dressed in a deceptively simple midnight blue cocktail dress, the woman was beautiful enough to be a model or a Hollywood actress. Average height but not skinny, the strapless satin skimmed her generous curves and pushed up a pair of obviously real breasts that begged to be worshipped. Sable colored hair with golden highlights was swept off her graceful neck and secured with a gold barrette. From this distance it didn’t appear that she was wearing a face full of makeup, her cheeks flushed and her skin glowing with life. Naturally beautiful?

He needed to see her up close and personal.

Travis took a step forward but then hesitated. In an instant he’d gone from being all business to lusting after a woman he’d seen across a crowded room. It was cliché and also stupid. He needed to keep his head in the game if he didn’t want to end up dead. Alan Morton wasn’t a man to take lightly. He was making too much of a female. In all probability she was no different than every other woman Travis had met. Lovely to look at but far too interested in his money.

Taking a deep breath, he strode up to the roulette table, keeping his shoulders relaxed but making sure his posture and bearing spoke of confidence. He’d learned that trick when attending Harvard. Travis had been the nouveau riche kid there, brought up around cows and pickup trucks. He hadn’t immediately fit in and had been fascinated by how self-assured those around him seemed. It was as if they had no doubts about, well, anything. He’d quickly learned to emulate their sanguine attitude while at the same time exuding an alpha vibe that came in quite handy during business negotiations. It had held him in good stead all these years and he called upon every little trick he knew tonight to get under Morton’s skin and get him to talk.

Stepping to the right of Morton, Travis placed a few chips on red nineteen, completely ignoring anyone around him. Rich and powerful people liked to be noticed and nothing snagged their attention faster than when they were overlooked.

The wheel spun and landed on a black twenty-eight. The dealer deftly swept the losing chips on the table away. Travis placed more chips down on red nineteen while keeping his focus on the wheel and not the man standing to his left. The wheel spun again and the numbers blurred before his eyes. If he kept silent it should prod–.

“Does the number nineteen have significance for you? If not, you should play either red or black. Your odds of winning are higher.”

Bingo.

Travis gave Morton the barest of glances before dismissing him with a nod. “It does.”

This time red thirty came up and Travis’s chips were once again swept away. He sipped his whiskey before placing two more chips down on red nineteen. Again.

“You seem very determined with that bet. Let me introduce myself. I’m Alan Morton. I own this club.”

Travis transferred the glass of scotch to his left hand before turning toward Morton and holding out his right. A few inches shorter, Alan Morton looked to be in his late thirties although Travis sucked at guessing ages. Boyishly handsome at one time from the pictures in the file, Morton now had the beginnings of sagging jowls and neck plus a little extra around the middle. He didn’t look like a criminal mastermind but more like a used car salesman with his dark hair parted on the side.

Of course no car salesman would be able to afford that suit. It appeared to be bespoke dark navy blue. Probably Italian.

“Travis Armstrong.” He shook Morton’s hand and looked around the club appreciatively. “Nice place you got here. It’s all yours?”

“I have a partner,” Morton answered casually. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before. Who referred you?”

So that’s what this was about. Morton wanted to know how Travis had found out about the gambling room. Suspicious, wasn’t he? In his profession that was probably a wise thing.

“Sheldon. But it’s been quite awhile since I’ve seen him. I’m always traveling. Haven’t been in Chicago in several years, but then it never seems to change.”

Travis had pulled the name of the richest, most powerful man he knew in Chicago out of his ass and he hoped like hell it would work. It was his own fault he wasn’t prepared for a question he should have anticipated.

“Milo Sheldon?” Morton smiled and nodded. “He hasn’t been here for months. He’s been spending a lot of time in Palm Springs since the divorce.”

“Shame about him and Karen,” Travis said, breathing a little easier. Morton had bought the bullshit. “I thought they seemed happy.”

“Things aren’t always as they seem, Mr. Armstrong.”

No shit.
Alan Morton appeared to be completely normal. Travis could see how Gigi was taken in.

“Sadly, that’s true,” Travis agreed. “Are you married?”

“Engaged. And yourself?”

Was the asshole talking about Gigi? If so, he really was batcrap crazy. And from the stiffening of Morton’s shoulders he didn’t like being asked personal questions.

Too damn bad.

Travis let his gaze wander around the room, resting on the stunning brunette he’d noticed earlier. “Too many beautiful women to limit myself.”

Morton smiled when he saw where Travis was looking. “Someday you’ll meet a woman that will change you, Mr. Armstrong. You’ll do anything, even move heaven and earth just so she’s safe and happy. Everything I do is for her.”

“Everything I do is for me. I like money. And power. But then I didn’t have any of that growing up. It means more to you if you’re not born with it.”

Morton nodded in agreement. “I find the most motivated men to be those that were not born with wealth.”

“You appear to be a self-made man,” Travis challenged. “I too admire those that can pull themselves up by their bootstraps. You have a popular nightclub in the heart of the city. But a smart man like you? I bet you’ve diversified. I’m in cattle, oil, and mining. If one is down something else is up.”

Morton’s eyes narrowed and his smile flickered. “I’ve got a few irons in the fire here and there.”

“More than a few, I’m betting.”

Morton stroked his chin, still smiling although it didn’t reach his dark, cold eyes. “I never bet, Mr. Henderson. It was good to meet you but my manager is signaling me. If you need anything this evening don’t hesitate to ask. We’re here to serve.”

With that Alan Morton strode toward the entrance while Travis inwardly cursed. He hadn’t been able to get anything out of the guy who was clearly beyond paranoid. But then if the Feds were investigating Travis, he would be overly suspicious too.

Eyeing the patrons at the bar, Travis hoped at least one of them was a regular here. If Morton wouldn’t talk then perhaps someone would speak
about
him.

Time for Plan B.

*     *     *

“He’s there.” West
lowered the volume on Travis’s conversation with some drunk in the nightclub so he could hear Jason’s friend Agent Faulkner more clearly on his cell. “Travis is in there right now wearing a wire. He’s hoping to get some information to help your case.”

“Shit,” Faulkner hissed. Despite the lousy connection, his expletive came through loud and clear. “Didn’t your brother Jason call you and let you know that I was planning a raid tonight? I’ve got the club surrounded by a dozen agents plus SWAT. Fuck. I don’t want your brother caught in any crossfire.”

It wasn’t like West’s detail-oriented brother not to call about something this important, but there had to be some reasonable explanation.

“When did you talk to Jason?”

A small silence. “I didn’t actually talk to him. I left a message on his phone about two hours ago when I knew the mission was for sure.”

“That explains it. Shane got out of the hospital this afternoon and they’re transporting him back to Tremont. They may be on the road where the service is spotty or even still in the air.”

Shane’s father flew a small private plane and it would make sense for him to fly Shane home instead of subjecting him to a long car ride or a commercial airline. Jason probably flew with them while Jared went back to Seattle to be with his wife and baby. West had decided he didn’t need the extra manpower in Chicago. Zach was working out well. Better than well actually. The man knew what he was doing when it came to personal security.

“Is there any way you can get your brother out of there? Can you call him?”

“I’ll call him now. How much time does he have?”

“Five minutes.”

Faulkner hung up abruptly and West didn’t hesitate. Punching a few buttons, Travis’s phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Son of a bitch.
Why wasn’t he picking up?

West could hear his brother speaking on the recording sounding perfectly normal and relaxed.

He hit the end button before quickly typing out a text and pressing send.

Sucking in a breath West watched the front doors of the club, waiting for his brother to come out. With each passing second his nerves stretched thin, causing sweat to trickle down his neck and back.

West’s fingers fumbled with his cell again, trying to call Travis one more time even as the clock ticked down. A SWAT team was about to raid the club and no one would be safe.

No answer. Shit.

One glance at his watch told West that time was up. Even from this distance West could see the dark shadows of officers rushing through the front doors. West’s guts twisted into a knot as the sound of gunfire pierced the dark night along with flashes of light through the windows.

Upstairs, where the gambling room was located.

Travis was in the middle of a firefight.

And there wasn’t a damn thing West could do about it.

‡

“T
hey’ve been gone
for hours. Maybe I should call West.”

Gigi paced the hotel room, her hands wrung together in worry. West and Travis had gone to Alan’s club despite her pleading to the contrary. They wanted to learn as much as they could and see if perhaps they might get some information that might help the government’s case. They’d known it was a long shot but sitting around in a hotel room waiting for the Feds wasn’t something these Anderson men did well.

Zach was sitting at the small table in her room, half watching television and half watching her. “You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet. Just relax. I haven’t known West Anderson all that long but I got the distinct impression that he can handle himself in just about any situation. His brother didn’t look any less capable. How about we check out the mini-bar?”

“That’s not a bad idea but I’m not sure I can eat when I’m this nervous.”

Her heart was racing faster with each passing moment. At this rate she was going to stroke out before West and Travis came back.

Zach chuckled and pulled open the door of the mini-bar. “Who said anything about eating? I was talking about busting open some booze. We’ve got Coke. I bet there’s some rum down here.” He held up two small bottles in triumph. “Rum and vodka. There’s gin in here too.”

Gigi reached for her glass on the dresser and slapped it down on the table. “That sounds like a plan. I swear West Anderson does this on purpose to make me crazy.”

Zach poured her a rum and Coke, generous on the alcohol. “Drink this and calm down. I’m sure everything is fine.”

She took a big gulp enjoying the burn all the way to her now empty stomach. She’d been too nervous to eat dinner so it wasn’t going to take much rum to make her tipsy.

“I just wish he’d call–”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence. The door of the hotel room flew open to reveal West and Travis – alive and in one piece – although the older brother looked a trifle worse for wear. There was a small cut over one eye and his impeccably tailored suit had a few dark spots on it that hadn’t been there when he left.

“Are you alright?” Gigi raced to West’s side and wrapped her arms around his middle, breathing in his familiar scent. He patted her on the back and pressed a quick, reassuring kiss to her lips.

“We’re fine. Agent Faulkner’s men raided the club and Travis was still in there.”