“Rutledge?” Layne asked.

“He went down, he’s still alive, it’s bad though and he’s on his way to hospital,” Sean answered.

“Fuck, Sean, that is not good news,” Layne clipped.

“No, the kind of good news is that Rutledge took down one of her army, the cops got the other three, they were all armed and, man, it is highly likely we’ll get ballistic matches on the slugs they pulled outta you,” Sean returned.

Sean was right, that was kind of good news.

“Any of her crew know where the party is located?” Layne asked.

“They’re workin’ them now,” Sean answered.

Layne nodded and moved, Cal moving with him. They separated in the parking lot, both going to their trucks, Cal following close as Layne headed to The Brendel.

Ryker’s bike was parked at the foot of the stairs leading up to Towers’ apartment. Layne didn’t bother finding a spot and neither did Cal, they parked at the curb. They both got out and started to jog up the stairs where Ryker was waiting.

“Bust it,” Layne ordered, his head tipped back to look at Ryker and Ryker didn’t delay, he took a step back, lifted his big motorcycle boot and the apartment door crashed in.

The alarm immediately went off, Ryker and Layne ignored it, both of them moving into the space. Cal went to the alarm panel, ripped the face off, twisted some wires together and the alarm stopped.

“Shit, child’s play,” he muttered, his eyes slicing to Layne. “Rocky lives here, to do list, man.”

Layne didn’t have to think about Roc’s security. Rocky was, that night, officially no longer living at The Fucking Brendel.

“What are we lookin’ for?” Ryker asked.

“Anything,” Layne answered. “Just look.”

“Devin sifted through this place, bro, and I get the sense he’s good at what he does,” Ryker noted, pulling cushions off the couch.

Layne picked up a cushion Ryker pulled off, yanked his army knife out of his jeans and his eyes locked on Ryker.

“He had to go easy,” Layne said softly. “We don’t.”

Then he ripped the cushion open with his knife.

Ryker smiled his ugly smile, it was without humor but filled with something else which made it uglier and a fuckuva lot scarier.

Then he ripped a cushion clean in two with his bare hands.

* * *

Towers’s apartment was clean so they moved to Rutledge’s.

By the sounds of it, Cal and Ryker were tearing up the downstairs. Or, at least Ryker was.

Layne was working the bedroom when he flipped the mattress on the bed, his eyes glancing across the bottom of the mattress to go to the box springs then his eyes shot back.

Stitches.

Shit.

He walked on the mattress, crouched down to the stitches and carefully slid his knife in. Ripping the material away, he reached in and felt it, he found the edge, pulled out the manila envelope and also pulled in breath.

He knew he didn’t want to see what was inside. Still, he opened the envelope carefully, shook out the eight by tens on the mattress and used his knife to move them around as his stomach churned.

Rutledge. Rutledge and Towers. Towers with girls with Rutledge in shot, watching; Rutledge with girls Layne had never seen; and Rutledge also with Tara Murdoch.

He stood, tearing his eyes away, looking at the wall, taking a moment to pull his shit together.

Then he pulled out his phone and called Merry.

“Hope this is good, big man, ‘cause I’m –”

“I’ve just located evidence that Harrison Rutledge is a pedophile,” Layne told him.

Silence then, “Where are you?”

“Rutledge’s apartment.”

“Man, we’re still holding on the search warrant,” Merry bit out.

“Good, then we’ve assisted the Department in a time-saving measure,” Layne shot back. “We’ll finish up, leave visible what you need to see and move out. No one needs to know that you boys didn’t make this mess.”

“Fuck, Tanner,” Merry hissed.

“Merry, suck it up and work with it,” Layne advised.

“This is not your burden, brother, you didn’t let those girls down,” Merry said low.

“No, brother, we all did,” Layne returned, flipped his phone shut and kept looking.

* * *

“This is bullshit!” Ryker barked. “Time is wastin’.”

Cal’s eyes cut to Layne, his phone to his ear, he moved out of Layne’s office and into the reception area, closing the door. Cal was working through every number on Rutledge’s cell phone bill, he had half the pile, Dave was sitting at the receptionist’s desk with the other half. They’d taken pictures at the apartment of a number of hopefully useful documents and gone to Layne’s office to print them out.

Ryker and Layne were going through credit card statements.

“Focus, Ryker,” Layne advised.

“Every second we waste –” Ryker growled.

“You wanna hold hands and meditate and hope her location pops in one of our heads?” Layne growled back. “Or do you wanna investigate this fuckwad and hope he tripped up and leads us to your girl?”

Ryker glared at him. Layne held his glare then looked back to the statements.

His eyes shifted through the one in his hand, down and then back up.

Then he stopped.

He had August’s statement. August was the month when Tara Murdoch told Sully the party was held. It started with a photo shoot where they gave the girls champagne likely laced with Rohpynol or another fast-acting, date rape drug. She’d woken up blindfolded. A ball gag with a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth. She’d described what the gag felt like and he’d seen it. She’d been tied to the bed. She’d taken five men, none of whom she’d seen, one of whom he knew. She had no idea how much time each one had with her but she reported they took their time however a girl enduring that, five minutes could seem like five hours.

When it was done, Towers had made her warnings and they were good ones. None of the girls talked for fear it would happen again. Each of them had a younger sister. Each of them was told, they talked, they’d come back and their sisters would be accompanying them. Alexis didn’t fit this profile but Giselle and Tiffany did. The girls were told to tell their parents they were with each other. They did and held their secret until Tara spilled it in the interrogation room.

Hannah lost her mind. Summer faded into herself. And Tara built a wall.

And Harrison Rutledge had ordered himself a couple of drinks from the bar prior to his turn and the dumbfuck had paid for them on a credit card.

Layne stood, grabbing his jacket as he growled, “Let’s go.”

Ryker’s head shot back then he was up with Layne. “What’d you get?”

Layne didn’t answer, he had his cell phone out and he was out the door. Cal’s eyes came to him when Layne put the cell phone to his ear. He jerked his head to the door, Cal took his cell from his ear and moved with them. Dave didn’t miss a beat and kept talking into his phone.

Merry answered, “You got something, Tanner?”

“Get IMPD to get units to every exclusive hotel in Indy, starting with The Townsend. And tell them to go in soft,” Layne ordered.

“On it,” Merry replied and then he disconnected.

Layne led Ryker and Cal down the stairs.

* * *

“Stick with me,” Layne murmured as he drove through the parking garage.

“We should get inside,” Ryker hissed.

“Stick with me,” Layne repeated.

“Shit, this is shit, this is bullshit,” Ryker muttered.

“A woman like that is not gonna revisit the scene of her crime,” Layne explained. “Rutledge had his sick fun at The Imperial. Second top spot in Indy is The Townsend. She’s there and she’s the kind of woman who can sense heat. She’s gonna bolt. She’s gotta go down, brother.”

Then he saw it and braked.

Not the silver BMW, her sporty, red Mazda.

He put the car in neutral, set the brake and turned to Ryker.

“Knife,” he growled.

Ryker didn’t hesitate, his hand went to his belt, he popped the button on his huge-ass knife, yanked it out and handed it over.

Layne opened his door, ordering, “Stay here.”

He jogged quickly to the Mazda, motioning with flicks of his fingers, communicating to Cal. Cal nodded through his windscreen and passed the Suburban.

Layne didn’t watch to see where Cal went. He crouched by the back tire, thrusting Ryker’s knife into the rubber. He moved forward and took out the front tire. He jogged around the car and did the same to the other side. Then he jogged back to his truck.

He swung in, handed the knife to Ryker, pulled out his cell, put the car in gear, released the brake, located the pedestrian entryway to the garage and scanned for a spot with good visibility all at the same time he scrolled on his phone.

He hit go and put it to his ear.

“Yo,” Merry said quietly.

“You at The Townsend?” Layne asked, seeing his spot, he started maneuvering the behemoth to reverse in while still talking.

“Yes, just got here. This is it, brother. Management says three weeks ago they had an unusual reservation. One day, big money, an entire floor of suites cleared. They had to juggle but they did it. I’m in the security room, they have cameras on the halls. She’s got sentries. Two at the elevators. One outside each room. Three rooms. Two at the emergency exit. The hotel was told it was a VIP with stringent security and that they needed confidentiality and discretion which the hotel assured them they could provide. So we got seven boys, from what I can see by the bulges in their jackets, heavily armed. We don’t know if there are more in the rooms and the hotel didn’t clock them, considering the promise of discretion and all. IMPD is pulling together a team to take the top without collateral damage.”