Page 55 of Blackmail

I lead the way using my phone as a flashlight. “Of all the sketchy places I’ve been…”

“You’ll understand when you see him.”

The search team we’ve been using to find our missing clients said they had found an asset for us to talk to. Other than this address, we weren’t given much to go on.

The back door is unlocked. It’s practically hanging off its hinges, and the scrape of metal when it opens could wake the dead. But when we walk inside, there are lights on, and a guard stands across from us at another door.

“Sebastian Pierce,” I tell him. He nods and pushes open the second door.

Which is when we hear the screaming.

The second room is interesting. Mostly dark, with a portable spotlight set up, shining down on a man who appears to be bound to a chair. He’s got his hair hanging in his face, and blood running down his arms onto his clothes. Another man is standing over him with what looks like a fillet knife. I recognize the guy with the knife. He was there when we tried to ask Cam who had taken him.

“Bas, you remember Liam. Anything yet?”

The man with the knife shakes his head. He’s wearing what look like tactical pants and a black T-shirt with a gun strapped to his hip. He slides the knife onto a table and reaches over to shake my hand.

“Nice to see you again.”

“What’s going on exactly?” I gesture to the bloodied man, who has taken to babbling. Something like he’s said everything he knows, and we should let him go, which I suspect isn’t happening, given that he knows all our names and faces.

“Truthfully, I can’t take credit for all of this,” says Liam. “The little firecracker he tried to take out of the country did most of the work.”

I glance at Lehman.

“Lilliana Spring. She’s at the hospital but agreed to speak with us. She sobered up as they tried to get her onto a private plane, and she fought back. Liam here says they found her holding this guy’s gun on him. The other one was already dead.”

“She killed him?”

“Kicked him down the jet stairs. Broken neck.” Laim sounds almost reverent.

“How’s she handling it?”

“Remarkably well.”

“Hey, um, can I please get some water? Please? Anything?”

The man sounds pathetic. Frightened. A better person might give a damn, but I’ve never been a particularly good man, and I have zero tolerance for kidnappers.

“We got lucky with this one,” Liam says. “Our sources got word of a particular request, so we were able to get ahead of things before they took her out of the country.”

“Has he given you anything useful?” I ask, gesturing to the guy in the chair.

“He admits he took her from a party, claims he didn’t think she was that drunk, and he and his buddy were only looking to have a good time.”

“On a private plane?” I look the kidnapper up and down. Rips and stains on his jeans, sweat on his shirt, and a pair of standard-looking work boots. Don’t judge a book by its cover, but I’d bet money this guy’s lying. “How do you have a private plane?”

“It-it was a loaner from a friend. He didn’t know what we were planning to do.”

“Whose plane is it?” I ask Liam.

“Shell company in the Caymans with the adorable name of TMI. We have a hacker trying to trace ownership.”

I give a kick to the crying man’s leg. “So who’s this friend who loaned you the plane?”

“He works at the airport. Jim…Bo. Smith. Jimbo Smith. He said the plane never got used, and we could borrow it.”

“This guy’s the worst liar I’ve ever seen,” Lehman murmurs.