Without a Net (27 page)

Given that his stomach was churning with acid, Ollie didn’t think the tracker would stay silent that long, but he didn’t say that. “What are we looking at?”

“These are state police. As far as we know, they aren’t involved in Greyson’s schemes. Too many variables when bringing in outsiders like that. So tell the nice officer this is all consensual and part of a control game, and we’ll be on our way. The tracker is in case it’s a trap.”

“Crap, crap, crap,” Ollie said softly. “Is this related to Darla’s van on the side of the road?”

“I hope not,” Travis said, but his tone made it clear he wasn’t counting on it being coincidence. “Do you want me to cut you loose?”

“With Greyson possibly watching? No. We can’t afford to screw this up.”

Traffic was stopped, so Travis leaned to the side and looked in back. “I don’t care about the case as much as I care about our hides.”

“And our hides will be toast if they think we’re playing them, and this is a trap. I’m fine.”

Travis snorted and turned back to the front. “Your definition of ‘fine’ terrifies the fuck out of me, Robertson.”

Ollie wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. They had backup, but none of those agents were particularly close. Darla was their first line of defense, and then two agents Ollie hadn’t met, Sisseton and Reid, were in a trail car. They also had satellite coverage, but that felt pretty inadequate right now.

“It looks like they’re checking licenses and then waving cars through. We’ve only got a couple of cars in front, and then they’ll be here,” Travis said. Then Ollie heard the sound of a window being lowered. Ollie took several deep breaths and tried to keep his thoughts focused on the job.

With the window open, Ollie could hear the traffic, the distant voices as cops asked for identification, and the sharp sounds of boots on concrete. Footsteps stopped very near the van.

“Unlock the door, Agent Goode,” a deep voice ordered.

“Excuse me? You clearly know me, but I don’t recall ever meeting you,” Travis said calmly.

Ollie’s heart was pounding painfully hard, but he closed his eyes and reminded himself to have faith in Travis and their backup.

“Well, I’m the person who has a picture of this woman,” the stranger said.

“Where is—”

“You don’t expect me to answer that,” the new guy interrupted Travis. If Ollie had to guess, he’d say this guy had a picture of Darla, and her surveillance van had not accidentally broken down. The guy ordered, “Now unlock the door.”

Ollie heard the
thunk
of the automatic locks being disengaged. The passenger side door opened, but Ollie kept his head down and didn’t look at who climbed in.

“That him?”

Travis ignored the question and went right for the heart of the problem. “Did Jackson or his boss send you?”

“Driving around with a missing detective… You’ve got balls of steel, Agent Goode.”

“I know how to train a sub. He’s not a problem. Now, where is she?” Travis sounded aggravated.

“Greyson told us you’d have a partner. He said cops and feds are predictable. Even the dirty ones want to have backup. Your partner is keeping Greyson company.”

That was the first time any of these pricks had admitted Greyson was the boss. Ollie wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign, but it certainly made their case stronger. And right now, Ollie could only focus on the case. If he thought about how screwed they were, he might do something stupid like hyperventilate.

“Greyson? Is that the boss?” Travis asked after a long pause.

“Yep.” There was more awkward silence, and then the van moved again. Only then did the new guy start talking. “It seems like
your
boss is missing. Where’s Crosica?”

“Not here. He sent me to deal with this. He doesn’t often leave the property, so if Greyson wants face time with Milan, he’ll have to go there. Otherwise, he’ll deal with me.”

“You’re high enough in Crosica’s operation to speak for him? That’s funny, because as far as we can see, you’re a fed in good standing. Oh, you have more than a few write-ups in your file, but not even a hint of actual dirt.”

“If there’s a scent of dirt, then I’m doing something wrong.” Travis sounded utterly disgusted.

The guy laughed. “That’s what Greyson said. He’s waiting for us, so you’re going to drive us to his garage, and maybe I won’t shoot you in the gut.”

Ollie gritted his teeth as a wave of helpless rage washed over him.
Fuck.
Travis had a gun pointed at his stomach, and Ollie couldn’t do anything to help. He hoped the FBI trail car still had their location, or this could get amazingly ugly.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ollie could only listen as the suspect who had brought word that Darla had been kidnapped ordered Travis to drive around the state police roadblock. If the police weren’t involved, they were being entirely too accommodating to a cop from another jurisdiction. When this case was over, Ollie planned to have a few words with the state supervisor.

Assuming he survived. If he didn’t, he was haunting their asses.

Travis drove for hours, and the silence in the van grew increasingly heavy. The quiet weighed on Ollie more than the restraints. They were navigating a field of land mines, and he kept waiting for an explosion that never came.

Instead they joined the city traffic, stopping and turning as the man with the gun ordered, “Next right, turn in at the parking garage.”

“That’s a little cliché, isn’t it?” Travis asked.

“Shut up and drive.”

“Just pointing out the obvious,” Travis said as he turned the van. “Are those friends of yours?”

“Yeah,” the suspect said. “Drive slow, and when you park, keep your hands on the wheel.”

“You already have my gun, so if you’re still feeling threatened, you might want to consider that it’s a personal problem,” Travis said, and then he grunted. Ollie assumed the suspect had punched him. Travis didn’t say anything else as he parked the van, and then the engine turned off. The silence nearly deafened Ollie. For one minute, time halted.

Then someone pulled a door open, and there were shouted orders and curses and the sounds of scuffling. Something hit the side of the van, and then the back doors opened. Ollie didn’t look to see who was standing there. Whoever it was, they had an obscene view of Ollie’s bare and bruised ass, of the straps holding him down, and the stripes from the whip. The person got up into the van, and when he started unstrapping the restraints, Ollie finally looked.

It was Rene Sauvageot, one of the SWAT officers. She still had her uniform on, and for half a second Ollie thought she was part of a rescue. However, her expression was cruel and cold. Ollie didn’t say anything to her as she disconnected the restraints and then pulled him out of the back of the van.

Familiar faces waited in the overly lit garage. Jackson was there, and Cooper. Huda stood in the background, but front and center was Captain Greyson. He hadn’t physically changed, but now instead of looking athletic and distinguished in an older-man sort of way, he looked like the actor who played the crime lord on
Kink City
. He had the same heaviness in his face—an overly square jaw that made him seem villainous. Of course Ollie might be biased because the asshole clearly was the villain.

Greyson smiled at Ollie. “Well, if it isn’t our lost little lamb. This didn’t turn out quite like I’d planned.”

Travis took a step forward at the same time Ollie dropped his gaze to the floor. He didn’t need to feign fear; his knees were knocking together.

“Oh?” Travis asked with a casual air that would have been more appropriate for talking about the weather.

Huda spoke up. “Keeping Robertson around is dangerous. He knows too much.” He was only saying that because Ollie knew the most about Huda’s activities.

“And I have complete control over him,” Travis snapped. “He’s not a threat. Now, where’s Darla, and why did you bring me here?”

Greyson shook his head as though disappointed in Travis. “You didn’t think we’d meet on your territory, did you?”

“Considering it’s in your city, I assumed you’d feel safe enough.”

“I never feel safe enough. That’s why I like having insurance. A lot of insurance. For example, your colleague is being entertained by an employee.”

Silence returned, and this time hatred hung in the air. Ollie glanced over, and Travis was grinding his teeth. “She’d better be safe,” he eventually said.

Greyson waved a dismissive hand, which could have meant anything. “How deeply is she involved anyway?”

“She doesn’t know anything. She covers for me.”

“So, you’re counting on the loyalty of your partner?” Greyson clucked disbelievingly. “You’re not an idiot, so don’t play one.”

Travis lifted his chin, and the two men stared each other down. “She’s got kids, and she’s got a gambling habit. I help her out, so she has every reason to make sure she has my back.”

“Ah, greed is a more reliable motivation.” Greyson turned to one of his men and looked at something on a tablet. After that brief distraction, he turned his attention back to Travis. “So, where is Crosica?”

“He doesn’t leave the estate.”

“Then we have a problem, because I don’t deal with flunkies any more than he does.”

Travis crossed his arms. “There’s a difference. I’m not a flunky.”

“Don’t kid yourself. You aren’t in the same league with me or Crosica. You’re middle management at best. If Crosica wants a deal, he can get his ass out here.” Greyson’s voice had a dangerous edge that made the hairs at the back of Ollie’s neck stand up. Despite Greyson making a big deal out of being amused by Travis, Ollie got the feeling Greyson was annoyed, and every cop knew that criminals made some pretty stupid mistakes when they lost their tempers.

“But here’s the thing. He doesn’t care.” Now Travis sounded amused. He didn’t sound like a man being held hostage by a whole fucking herd of dirty cops.

Greyson didn’t seem to like the tone, because he stepped right into Travis’s personal space. “Without some sort of protection, he’s going to prison for kidnapping. Speaking of that unfortunate situation, how is Detective Robertson?” Greyson turned and gave Ollie a long and hard look. Ollie kept his head bowed and watched through his lashes, and Greyson’s interest was enough to send a shudder of disgust through him.

After moving between Greyson and Ollie, Travis said coldly, “He’s mine.”

“I heard Crosica had given him to someone. I have to admit I expected more fire, but then he always was a weak-minded fool. I suppose breaking him wasn’t that hard. I’d love a sample of his services.” Greyson detoured around Travis, and when Travis tried to intercept Greyson again, Jackson grabbed his arm.

“I don’t share,” Travis said. He divided his hateful glares between an amused Greyson and an indifferent Jackson.

Greyson stopped right in front of Ollie and ran a finger over his chest. Cold sweat broke out across Ollie’s skin, and Greyson chuckled before he told Travis, “I didn’t ask for your permission.” When Greyson grabbed Ollie’s neck, Ollie hunched his shoulders involuntarily. And then, after Greyson pushed down on his shoulders, Ollie went to his knees.

“He’s mine. If you want some toy for yourself, then ask Milan for one of your own, but he gave Sunshine to me,” Travis said fiercely.

“And if I want him, I’ll take him.” Greyson seized a fistful of Ollie’s hair and jerked his head to the side. Even though Ollie knew this was part of the plan, stomach acid burned the base of his throat as the fear intensified.

When Travis spoke next, his voice had a conciliatory tone. “That’s not the way Milan works, and that’s good news for you. He’s not a street thug that you will have to watch every second. No, he understands power and loyalty.” Travis shook his arm free from Jackson’s hold. “Once he gives you something, it is yours, and he will fight to make sure you keep it. But that means my toy is mine, and Milan will make you pay if you fuck my toy.”

Greyson tightened his hold on Ollie’s hair. “Do you really think I want my dick to touch this pervert? No, that’s your twisted definition of sex. But you know, if you and Crosica and all your pervert kin want to fuck each other and leave the women for the real men, I don’t mind. But understand this. Crosica works for me, so you’d better get used to having me as a boss. If I want to see Robertson groveling on his knees, then you had better make that happen.”

Fear and hope warred in Ollie’s soul. Greyson wasn’t going to rape him or kill him. That was all he could ask for.

“But there is something visceral about watching that piece of shit put in his place,” Greyson said with a malicious glee. “Why don’t you put the slave through his paces?”

A long silence followed. Finally Travis said, “Meaning?”

“He’s your fuck toy, so show me how you put him in his place.”

Ollie started to tremble. He liked sex with Travis—loved it, even. But the fear had caused his cock to go into full retreat, and he couldn’t come up with any desire at all with all these people watching. They wanted him hurt, and that twisted the sex into something darker. Even now, the hatred swirled around them like a malevolent spirit.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Travis said.

“You can fuck him or whip him, or I can just shoot him in the head to satisfy my own desire to watch Robertson suffer. I’m not picky. But he nearly screwed up six years of work on this organization, and I want my pound of flesh.” The sound of a weapon cocking seemed to echo in Ollie’s head.
Shit.

“Don’t,” Travis said in a dark tone.

“Then put on a show, Agent Goode. I want to see Robertson used like an animal.”

Travis rested his hand on Ollie’s head, and Ollie imagined the hell Travis was going through. That was easier than thinking about the threat Greyson posed.

“You want to watch?”

“I don’t get off on gay sex, but I do get off on watching interfering cops put in their place,” Greyson said. “And his place can be six feet under as easily as not.”

“No. He’s mine. If I knew you wanted a demonstration, I could have taped you something back at the house where I have the proper instruments for a good round of torture.”