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Since when is Patricia agreeing to scheduling changes without talking to me first?

“Where would you like for me to meet you?”

Fisher’s eyes meet mine in the rearview. I lift a finger to my lips, indicating for him to be silent.

“We’re at The Gold Standard. Swing by.”

There’s a click, and I check the phone to confirm that, yes, he did just end the call.

“Well, boys, looks like we’ve got an unexpected stop.”

Fisher checks the side view and pulls out into the traffic.

The Gold Standard is a high-end strip club.

My dad used to tell stories about how all the gunrunners used to have after-work parties at strip clubs.

Or, sometimes, they’d just have parties at home and invite strippers.

That stripper life kind of died out as the revenue continued to climb and lawyers began weighing in about scrupulous behavior as some of the bigger players went public.

We park in the parking garage and agree that both Fisher and Ryder will join me. They’re dressed similarly, and as I walk in with two armed suits behind me, I look the part of a CEO who won’t take any bullshit.

A woman in a tiny tight black skirt, heels, a bow tie, and a black vest that bounces with her steps revealing perky breasts leads us through a dark room with a stage and tables off to the side.

She takes the stairs, and we head up to a balcony with sofas and private sitting areas.

The music pulses. It’s lunch hour, and I’d guess the place is about half full, filled mostly with men, but there are some women mixed in with the men who lunch.

Victor holds court in a back corner. He’s sitting in a semicircular leather booth, and there’s a scantily clad woman leaning into his side.

Her dark hair and voluptuous curves remind me of Ava.

Ava is more attractive than this woman, especially with those haunting, hypnotic eyes of hers, but she’d fit in here with her eclectic assortment of tattoos.

She might fit in, but she’d never step foot inside a place like this.

She’ll never need to, given my sizable payment.

The tightness in my chest intensifies, and I hold out my hand in a professional courtesy.

Victor leans forward, and the woman at his side slides out of the booth and saunters away into the crowd.

Fisher positions himself on the back wall lining one side of the sitting area, and Ryder flanks the opposite wall.

“I hear you purchased the boat.”

This is curious, because I do not know how he would know I’ve done any such thing. Wolf’s team will need to figure that one out.

“Yes. I did.” I pull out a chair across from him and sit.

There’s a candle on the table and dimmed overhead lights.

He leans forward and motions for me to do the same with the twist of an index finger.

Music blasts through the space, offering a level of privacy.

Curtains hang on each side of the booth, providing an additional level of discretion, should we choose.

On stage, a dancer twists around a brass pole.

“An underground tunnel was discovered last weekend.” He speaks in a low voice which requires me to shift my chair and come even closer to his side. “I’ve got product I need to move. Your boat, it’ll be stored in San Diego?”

“That’s the plan.”

“How long before it’s operational?”

“I need to hire a crew.” I cross one ankle over my thigh, sitting back.

I’ve never hired a crew before and am uncertain what is involved, but my gut tells me it’s better to not let him know that.

The only thing I can figure is that Killington let him assume I’d been aware of the smuggling operation.

It’s possible Victor wouldn’t have done business with him if he’d known he was dealing with a rogue employee.

He let me know from the get-go he thought Sophia’s abduction was unconscionable.

He holds a finger up and motions for one of his men to come over.

A man in a suit, with a shaved head, tattoos covering his neck, and one large silver hoop earring bends to hear his boss.

Morales says something to him, but with the deep bass vibrating across the floor, I don’t stand a chance of hearing their conversation.

The bald man stands straight and backs into his darkened corner.

“I can provide crew.”

“It’s a hundred-and twenty-five-million-dollar super yacht. Are your men qualified?”

His expression says that I have clearly pissed him off.

“You think I don’t own a yacht? You just can’t have too many. The feds these days, they are vicious. The Coast Guard… they check registry. Doesn’t do to own more than one super yacht unless you’ve got a couple halfway around the world.”

His eyes narrow, and I have the urge to adjust my position in the seat. I might have let him in on my ignorance. But he snaps his fingers and leans forward.

“I’ll send my order to Phillip.” It takes a tremendous amount of effort to keep my expression neutral. I wanted to find out who within my organization he worked with, but I did not expect it would be Phillip. Motherfucker .

“Twenty million for your product,” he says, looking at me.

“Wholesale pricing. It’s fair.” He slides a hand into his jacket and pulls out a cigarette pack.

Directs the pack to me, offering one, and I decline with a shake of my head.

He lifts one, and the bald man leans over with a lighter.

He drags on the cigarette, blows out, then leans forward.

“We reload in Mexico. When we unload stateside, I’ll transfer you a five-million bonus.

Same arrangement we had with Wayne. Bueno ? ” He sucks on his cigarette.

“ Bueno ,” I say.

A topless waitress appears, and I glance at my watch.

“I need to head out,” I say, shaking my head to decline a drink.

“Stay,” he says. “Enjoy a lap dance. Go into one of the private rooms.”

“Thank you, but I need to stay on schedule.”

He grows serious. “How is your Sophia?”

This man might be a gun and drug smuggler, and possibly even a human smuggler, but to his credit, he is a family man.

“She’s still recovering.” I move to stand, and his hand clasps my wrist. “What he did to your daughter.” His lips purse, and he shakes his head tightly. “Unforgivable. Should you decide you want something to happen,” he shrugs and gestures, “let me know. I have ways.”

“Like Mike Ventola?”

His eyebrows nearly meet over his nose. “I do not know that name.”

“No worries. Gracias , Victor.” I remove my hand from under his grip, offer a brief nod, and depart.

Victor has connections to prisons. But if he’s not the connection eliminating informants, then who is? And damn. Phillip. Who else? One thing is certain. My list building has begun.