Harper left his cell phone in the car—they’d no doubt take it from him anyway—and slowly exited the vehicle. The man frisked them both, took their wallets and Blake’s cell phone.
“Move it,” the man said. He marched them to the front door of the unit they’d been watching. He produced a key and opened the door. “Get inside.”
“I guess we found a way to get in after all,” Blake whispered.
“Jesus, shut up!” Harper hissed.
His bowels gurgled and his stomach clenched. Every nerve in his body was on edge. He walked into the townhome. The main floor was dark as midnight. What was going on? Could they have been wrong?
The gunman led them to a door and opened it. Steps to a basement appeared. “Go on down.” He nudged Harper with the gun.
Harper nearly lost his footing and tumbled down the staircase. He caught himself in time and shakily walked down the steps. Blake’s breath was hot on the back of his neck.
At the bottom of the stairs stood a closed door.
“Open it,” the man said.
Harper turned the knob.
Inside was a huge room decorated in early American sleaze. He recognized the red satin bed sheets Amber had been photographed on. That was the vanilla area, obviously. On the other side of the room was a stockade, whips and chains, suspension hangers from the ceiling. Every torture device he could imagine, and some he couldn’t have imagined in his worst nightmares.
Three women lay on the red satin bed. Two were playing with each other, their eyes glazed over. The other was out cold. Drugged. God help me, Amber was telling the truth. Amber. Sweet, beautiful Amber.
Marta, clad in a black satin robe, covered the unconscious girl with a quilt.
Three cameras stood on tripods at various points throughout the room.
No doubt what was going on here.
“I found some peepers,” the big man said. “Saw them nosing around out back and followed them to their car.”
A bigger man—Oscar, the bouncer from Rachel’s—stalked forward. “Good work, Don. Who the hell are you two?” He studied them. “Wait a minute, weren’t you in the club the other day? Jesus Christ, this is that lawyer who’s been skulking around asking questions. Holy fuck.”
“You’ve got the wrong guys,” Blake said. “We don’t know anything about any lawyers.”
“Cut the crap,” Oscar said. “I don’t forget a face. What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ here?”
Harper gulped. “Trying to stop you from harming any more innocent women.”
Oscar let out a boisterous laugh. “Excuse me? We don’t hurt anyone. They come here of their own free will.”
“Right, and then you drug them and have them pose for pictures and make them sign their rights away. We know all about your operation.”
“Jesus,” Blake said through clenched teeth, “shut the fuck up, Bay.”
“What does it matter now?”
Oscar clapped him on the back so hard he almost fell over. “You’re absolutely right. What does it matter now? Because I’m afraid we can’t let the two of you live.”
“Hey, we don’t know anything,” Blake said, shaking. “Nothing at all.”
Harper said nothing. His stomach threatened to empty. For a moment, he envisioned his brains glopped all over the gold carpeting, but then he realized these were professionals. They wouldn’t make a mess of things. One bullet to the back of the head, a clean shot. What would they do with the bodies? What would happen to Amber when he and Blake didn’t come back?
Weird, his life wasn’t flashing before his eyes. Just his brains on the carpet.
And Amber.
Beautiful Amber.