On the side of the storage center, two men huddled at a side door while the third—Miguel—kept a lookout. Then the door was open and they disappeared from the screen, too.

Jeremy heaved a breath. “There go our eyes. Damnit.”

For long minutes, nothing. Eternity came and went as they stared at the motionless buildings. Not even the bugs the guys had planted helped them because the blaring music inside the club drowned out everything else. So there was nothing for Becca to do but wait.

Then a line of cars crossed in front of the strip club, eased through the narrow aisles of cars in the lot, and went around to the back. Becca’s heart tripped into a sprint. Could that be the “company” arriving? Or Charlie? Or, of course, it could be totally unrelated.

Jeremy had seen it, too. “A1, be advised. Three cars just arrived at your target and drove immediately to the back of the building.”

“Any other details?” Nick’s voice was deadly calm, an odd contrast to the base beat pounding in the background.

“No.” Jeremy covered his mouthpiece and glanced at her. “Couldn’t make out any passengers because of the glare off that streetlamp. Could you?”

She shook her head, wishing she could see more than the narrow view these cameras allowed. What was happening?

Suddenly, chaos crackled through the speakers. “Eileen, we are taking fire. Repeat, B-Team is taking fire.” Loud pops and cracks pierced the background. “Tell A-Team to move their asses.”

“Oh, my God,” Becca said, her hand trembling against her mouth. The puppy whined and sniffed at her face.

Jeremy’s voice was tight as a whip. “A1, this is Eileen. B-Team is taking fire. Repeat, B-Team is taking fire. B1 says to move your ass now.”

RIXEY PRETENDED TO sip his beer and watch the G-stringed dancer grind against a pole. “We have two situations,” he said as casually as he could to project over the ear-shattering music. “B-Team is under fire.”

“Shiiit,” Shane bit out.

“And?” Easy asked, muscles so tense his grip was likely to break the bottle in his hand.

“Three cars just arrived out back,” Nick said, throwing the dancer a smile like he was paying attention. She slithered toward him on hands and knees, her bare and very fake breasts swaying as she moved. Hoping to send her on her way, he tugged a dollar from his wallet.

Whipping her long black hair over her shoulder, she pushed up onto her knees and gestured for him to slide it under the side strap of her thong. Fighting back aggravation, he did it, hating the thought that any other woman would be on his skin when all he wanted to feel, smell, and touch was Becca. Especially after she said she loved him.

The dancer crawled away toward the next dollar donor.

“We should check out those cars, now. Too coincidental given today’s intel,” Shane said.

“Slow and steady, gentlemen,” Easy said, voice an even keel. They all got up. “Half the guys in this place are carrying. Let’s not give them a reason to draw. This way toward the back.”

Nick had noticed it, too. Flashes of weapons under people’s jackets. Printing through clothing. A few unconcealed carries, too. It was an OK Corral gunfight waiting to happen.

Easy led the way toward a back hallway. Unsurprisingly, a real meathead of a guy in a Confessions T-shirt blocked the way.

“This area’s private,” he said in a deep voice.

“Well, that’s a good thing,” Easy said, a scowl on his face. “Because we’re company, and we don’t want our business all out in the open.”

Nick held his breath and kept his face a blank mask. Fucking Easy and his titanium balls. Precisely what had kept them alive on that dusty road that day.

The guy frowned and looked around like he hoped no one had noticed his faux pas. “Of course. Sorry, sir. Uh, welcome.” With his tree trunk of an arm, he held open the fabric-and-beads curtain.

They stepped through and the curtains closed behind them, leaving them in a dim hall that ran the length of the club.

Shane’s gaze met Nick’s, and it was filled with all kinds of I can’t believe that just worked. Nick nodded.

When Shane turned around, he walked right into a leggy, long-haired redhead. “Whoa,” he said.

“Oh, my God, sir. I’m so sorry.” She shook her head and dropped her gaze to her spiky pink heels. “Please. I’m sorry.”

“No harm done, darlin’.” He smiled at her, turning on the southern charm.

Impatience crawled through Nick’s veins. They didn’t have time for Shane to flirt, even if this girl was the most natural-looking female he’d seen since they arrived. No five-grand implants for her. Not that he was looking. It was just that she appeared too real for this place. He cleared his throat. A wordless Come the fuck on, McCallan.

“Say,” Shane said to the woman. “We’re company and we got turned around when we went out to the bar. Any chance you know which way everyone went?”

“Uh.” Back pressed to the wall, nipples showing through her gauzy pink teddy, she glanced both ways down the hall, like she was checking no one listened. What the hell was she so scared of? Did Church knock his dancers and waitresses around? Wouldn’t that be the perfect little irony, given the ridiculous name of this place? “Well, some went to the private party room down that way, and some went downstairs with, um, the sick guy. I’m supposed to be getting him some food.”

The sick guy. Rixey’s gut rang out a three-alarm code telling him that was Charlie Merritt.

Shane grinned. “That’s where we’re headed, too. Gotta message to deliver.” He winked. “Just downstairs?”

She nodded. “On the left.”

“You were very helpful . . .” Shane smiled expectantly. Boy, this guy could pour on the charm. Woman was skittish as hell, but he played her like a marionette, moving her along from one thing to the next like he held the strings.

“Crystal,” she said. “You’re welcome, sir.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Okay.” Her smile was nervous, and the minute Shane stepped back, she bolted down the hall.

They went the opposite way toward the back door and, apparently, the basement steps.

“You see how fucking scared she was?” Shane asked.

“Yeah. Job well done, though. My gut says ‘sick guy’ is our guy,” Nick said in a low voice.

Easy heaved a breath. “Now that I know the rendezvous, I’ll bring up the car. I’ll be outside this door in five.” He glared at them. “Don’t fucking get shot. There’s only room in the car for one slacker to lie down at a time.”

“Roger that,” Nick said as Easy disappeared out the door. “Come on.” Nick and Shane went slowly down the steps. Voices echoed from below.

Static sounded in his ear. “A1, A3 just crossed the parking lot on foot?”

Nick pressed his com button. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Roger,” Jeremy said. Damn if his bro wasn’t hitting this out of the ballpark. Pride over how Jer had stepped up formed a warm ball in his chest.

They reached the stairs at the bottom, and Rixey shoved every other thought away. One door on the left, two on the right toward the far end of the long hall. Crystal said the sick guy was in the room on the left. Nick hand signaled to Shane to prepare to enter. They donned masks.

The door flew open in front of them. “Who are—” The overgolded black man predictably went for his gun.

Rixey didn’t let him get that far. He punched him in the throat, which ensured the man grabbed there instead of his gun, didn’t scream, and was momentarily incapacitated. Guns drawn, they rushed him into the room and pushed the door shut. A quick visual sweep found no cameras.

Rixey swiped Doorman’s feet out from under him with a kick. He fell flat on his back, breath exploding out of him.

“Freeze,” Shane ordered two teenagers who’d been hunting and pecking away at their cell phones on a cushy couch. “Toss ’em down. Nice and slow. Now, hands up. Don’t be stupid.” They sprawled onto their stomachs.

When Doorman’s gaze cleared, it landed on Nick’s gun pointed right at his head, and he froze.

“A1, be advised that A3 is in wheels coming around to the back of the building.” The volume of the games playing on multiple TVs made Nick press the piece to his ear.

Ah, great goddamned news. “Roger. We got a ride.”

“Go,” Shane said, nodding at the door just past the boys.

Nick crossed the rec room and, gun drawn, pushed open the door. He cleared the room in a sweep. A blond-haired man lay on a bed with messed-up blankets. Jesus, he was pretty damn close to the spitting image of Frank Merritt. Just much younger.

They’d found Charlie.

“I got him,” he said over his shoulder, elation filling his chest for Becca. Damn, it was going to feel good to bring her brother home for her. “Eileen, do you copy? We have him.”

Crouching beside the bed, Nick scanned for injuries and found plenty. Cuts, bruises, badly chapped lips, sunken-in eyes, a ball of bandage around his right hand. Nothing obviously critical, which meant they could deal with it back at Hard Ink.

Charlie moaned, his eyelids fluttering.

“Becca sent me, Charlie. Can you hear me? You’re with friends.”

For a moment, Charlie’s eyes seemed to focus. And then it was gone again. Rixey was going to have to hump him out of there. He dragged him to the side of the bed, pulled his arms over his left shoulder, and hiked him up from a dead squat. Nick’s back screamed. Shit. Tall and lanky as Charlie was, he wasn’t light. Things were gonna get dicey if they hit any resistance on the way out.

Charlie over his shoulder, Nick came out of the bedroom to find that Shane had been busy. Doorman and the teenagers lay bound and gagged.