Page 1 of Black Jack (Advantage Play 5)

Prologue

Jack

The lock on the outside of Dominic’s door is a stark reminder of the world I’ve slipped into. I enter the six-digit code Kingston gave me and hear the lock click open before shoving the door aside.

Even though the lights are on, the room is dark. There isn’t any natural light from a window. It’s just a box. No pictures on the walls. No drawers or nightstands. Just a camera in the ceiling. A bed. And a prisoner. Which is when I see him.

On the mattress sits a suave cockroach who’s seen better days. His dark beard is scraggly, and his clothes are nothing but a white T-shirt and basketball shorts. But it looks like he’s been fed and taken care of, which is more than he’d offer anyone else if the roles were reversed.

Looking bored, Dominic asks, “You done?”

“With what?”

“Staring.”

I stay silent and rock back on my heels, but continue my perusal of the asshole in front of me as if I have all the time in the world.

After another minute, my mouth quirks up on one side. “Now I’m done.”

Unamused, he demands, “Who are you?”

“Not sure if you’re in a position to ask questions.”

His lips pull into a thin line, but he doesn’t argue.

Satisfied, I continue. “What do you know about Reed?”

“Who’s Reed?”

“The guy on the inside you’ve been communicating with. The one who’s looking for a girl.” I keep the specifics of her identity to myself because even though I hate to admit it, Kingston was right on that count. The less Reed—and anyone else for that matter—knows about Q, the better.

“Reed, huh?” Dominic lets the name roll off his tongue as though he’s tasting it.

“That’s the one. Tell me, do you know he’s a Fed?”

Eyes wide, Dominic flinches back and loses his calm demeanor. “What?”

I ignore him, and continue down the interrogation path I’d chosen before walking in this room. I only have one shot at this. I can’t screw it up. With my hands at my sides, I take another step into the small space and inspect the bucket in the corner of the room. It’s a sorry excuse for a toilet.

Poor bastard.

“Do you know that Kingston is going to kill you?” I ask.

“Yeah, I figured that much out,” he replies. “How do you know he’s a Fed?”

“You’re surprised?”

“Only an idiot would work with the Feds. You saw what happened with Burlone.”

Burlone. He was the head of the Allegretti family and enjoyed dabbling in human trafficking before I delivered him to Kingston Romano in exchange for a few of Burlone’s associates who also enjoyed selling women against their will. It might not have been legal for an FBI agent like myself, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and I was sick of women disappearing.

It’s too bad I’ve been bitten in the ass because of it.

“Then you know you’re fucked,” I finish for him.

He gulps and tugs at the collar of his T-shirt, desperate for air. “Kingston has to know I had no idea my associate was a Fed. He has to.”

With a shrug, I tuck my hands into the front pockets of my jeans and answer, “Unfortunately, Kingston doesn’t really give a shit whether or not you knew who you were dealing with.”