Page 41 of Avenging Kelly

The Gambler cackled over the line. “If you don’t believe me, so be it. I think you’ll learn I’m telling you the truth in a day or two when that baby goes missing.” The line went dead without further comment, and my heart nearly stopped.

Was she credible? Was someone going to take Daisy? Was I losing my damn mind right there on the spot?

My thoughts were all over the place, my head racing and spinning and making me second and third guess myself. It was worse than it had ever been, and I had to wonder if it was because I needed to start shooting up twice a day to stay sharp. I didn’t have enough Poker Chips to do that, so what the fuck was I going to do?

It was as though a shelf had broken, and everything bad was coming down on my head. Karma had finally caught up to me…

17

LONDON

“I’m Sergeant Mason Quinn, and this is Officer Eric Jong,” the tall man told me as he sat down across from me in the hospital conference room where I was being held for questioning in the reappearance of six… actually seven girls who’d been missing anywhere from a month to a year. How fucking dumb had I been to check on the girls when I saw the place was swarming with cops? I was sure Kelly was losing his mind.

When they had me face down on the floor of the emergency room waiting area with some big bastard’s knee in my back after I’d asked about the girls, I’d overheard two uniformed cops talking about who the girls were and how long they’d been missing.

It turned out the blonde girl Anna, who’d helped me get the rest of the girls out was the granddaughter of a prominent Las Vegas businessman, Alden Bloom, Senior, the owner of The Intercontinental Casino and Resort. The girl had gone missing from the resort the previous October, and the Las Vegas authorities were looking for a person of interest, Miguel Montero.

I’d told four different cops that I wasn’t Miguel Montero, but I couldn’t say I knew where to find the bastard or I’d have to admit that I’d been responsible for that fire at Dare Ya, and that I knew who’d shot Rick Fleming.

It would be just my fucking luck that Kelly would get out of prison and the two of us would fall in love just in time for me to be arrested for arson and murder. Irony at its finest.

“London St. Michael.” I extended my zip-cuffed hands to shake, but Sergeant Quinn only smirked.

“I was a DEA agent and currently work as a private security professional licensed in New York City. I didn’t take those girls. I found them on the street and called nine-one-one.”

They looked at each other before Quinn pulled my wallet from the plastic evidence bag they’d put all my things into—including my goddamn belt. Thankfully, I was sitting. If I walked very far, my jeans would probably fall down and show the world my black boxer-briefs.

I was yet to play the lawyer card because I was hoping to find out more about the girls and whether the cops knew Rick Fleming was pimping them out. Of course, Rick wouldn’t be able to tell them anything…

“If you’re not Miguel Montero, do you know him?” the younger cop, Jong, asked me as the asshole stared at my fucking driver’s license.

That, I could be honest about. “I’ve heard of him. He’s an MMA fighter, I believe. I never fought him back in the day when I was undercover in the MMA world to shut down a drug distribution channel for the DEA, but I have heard of him,” I answered, using my former employer once again to try to convey that I wasn’t the bad guy in the situation.

Then something occurred to me. “Try finding a guy named Ace Hampton. He works for the same group I do, and I believe he might know of Montero,” I offered as Jong pulled out one of my business cards and handed it to the Quinn.

If they called Ace and got the story of Montero from him, then I had a shot at getting the fuck out of there before hell froze over. I was still waiting for my one phone call.

“Where could we find Ace Hampton?” Quinn asked. I didn’t hesitate to give them the main number to GEA-A—as I pointed to my business card. The number went to Beaver’s cell phone when the office was closed.

I saw my phone in the bag, too, but I wasn’t giving them permission to go through it. That required a warrant, and I wasn’t stupid enough to waive my rights.

Jong pulled out my New York armed security guard registration that allowed me to carry a weapon in New York State while I worked.

“You know, California doesn’t honor your pistol permit from New York, correct?” Jong asked. Thankfully, I’d left my gun in Marianna’s car before I got out to go into Dare Ya. I hoped like hell Kelly had picked it up.

“Did you find a weapon on me?”

It was a cocky answer, but I knew the fucking law. I simply cherry picked when I’d follow it, depending on the situation at hand.

“No,” Quinn answered. I grinned at him and sat back in the chair a little.

“So the six minors brought in earlier have claimed they were being held against their will. Someone set the dumpster on fire behind the bar where they said they were forced to be sex workers. It’s a mixed answer when we asked if someone helped get them out. One said a tall man helped, but another said it was one of the other girls who smelled the smoke. Seems the flames from the dumpster jumped to the back of the building,” Quinn stated, eyeing me carefully.

I didn’t so much as blink unnecessarily. “Like I said, I saw them on the street and called it in.” I was becoming one of those assholes I used to hate interviewing, but nothing I could tell them would help any of us because they didn’t know me and damn well didn’t trust me.

“Let’s just hold him for seventy-two hours and let it sort out?” Jong replied.

“Sure. You can do that, or you can ask me the right questions.” I knew it was a mistake, but those two fuckers were blind to the bigger picture.

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