Page 30 of The Unbuttoned Ranger (Texas Heat: The Heart of a Texas Ranger #1)
“Come on, sweet girl. Dance for me.”
Mercy Sams tucked her bottom lip as she infiltrated the encrypted files and data, just as easily as taking candy from a baby. There was nothing better than outsmarting a villain at his own game. Well, perhaps sex, but that was beside the point.
She tapped the keyboard, a thrill coursing in her as she watched her computer screen dance with confidential information.
Clicking several buttons, the data began saving.
She swiveled her chair to view a row of monitors.
The surveillance drone would be hovering near the targeted location, an abandoned warehouse where Jules Cross did all his illegal businesses—money laundering, drug and sex trafficking, and extortion.
The boss, an influential businessman, had earned a considerable reputation for hosting parties for Denver, Colorado's upper-crust society of billionaires.
Cross dined and wined the elite partiers, comprised of politicians, doctors, celebrities, and anyone with a hefty bank account.
No less than twenty girls served on-site as hosts, ensuring that the “billionaires club” received top-notch care during exclusive parties.
Many of the girls were barely eighteen, which made the situation more personal for Mercy. Her best friend, Hart, had been kidnapped and trafficked when she was seventeen. Hearing the abuse she suffered during that year made Mercy determined to do her part in putting a stop to men like Cross.
He had become so powerful in recent years that the CBI struggled to secure any charges against him. Whenever agents thought they were close to putting Cross away, a high-profile attorney exploited a legal loophole to secure the crime boss's release. He employed several lawyers on his payroll.
“Let’s see what we can do to make his life a bit more miserable,” Mercy whispered as she activated her earpiece. “McKinley, are you there?”
“In position.”
“Drone ready?”
“She’s ready to fly.”
“BOLO for anyone who gets within a hundred feet of the warehouse tonight and take a glam shot.”
“Copy.”
Roger “Howie” Howell came into the mobile security unit. He looked like shit, which seemed usual since his wife left him.
“Where’d you go to get that cup of coffee? Columbia?” she said with a smile that disguised her irritation.
“Sorry, the line was long.” He sat down behind the row of monitors.
Mercy liked the missions to go efficiently, which meant a lower chance of failure. If she saw a hiccup in the protocol, she had to smooth it out. “You one-hundred percent?”
“Let’s bring him down,” Howie said, inserting his earpiece .
“I guess it’s that time,” she said, pulling out her earpiece and setting it at her station.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Howie asked. He knew computers, which made him an invaluable asset at SHM Security, the company he co-founded with McKinley and her. The team specialized in ethical hacking and surveillance .
This mission would be different. Instead of their usual roles as “backseat drivers,” Mercy would be taking the investigation up a notch. She wanted to bring Cross down, and that meant infiltrating one of his parties without getting caught.
She smoothed her hands over the sequined dress that fit her snugly—a little too snug for her tastes.
She’d never been one to dress flashy. Even as a teenager, when her friends were shopping for makeup and the current fashion trends, Mercy had been buying books.
She’d enlisted Hart’s fashion sense to help Mercy fit in at the billionaire party.
There were risks involved in attending one of the parties. If her cover was blown, she could end up in a compromised situation.
“It’s not too late to pull out,” Howie encouraged.
“Once I have made up my mind, there’s no turning back,” she reminded him.
“Mateo is going to kill us both.”
She knew her brother would have vetoed the plan, so she’d chosen not to tell him.
Two years ago, SMH Security had achieved certification for collaborating with law enforcement agencies to aid in fighting crime on Colorado soil. Mateo was assigned to work undercover and had been working to bring Cross to justice.
“I’m ready. How do I look? Do I meet party girl standards?” Although she put on a brave front, her nerves were rattled.
Howie looked her up and down. “You’ll fit in.”
“Good.”
“Who knew you had sexy party girl in you underneath all that librarian facade?” He popped up a brow.
“These shoes feel... strange. Let’s hope I don’t break my neck.” She adjusted the straps on the high heels that looked more like weapons. “Pray. Let’s hope Mateo doesn’t break my neck when he discovers that you’ve put yourself in danger.”
“Relax. No one is going to face a broken neck. By the time my brother finds out what I’ve done, he’ll have all the details he needs to put Cross behind bars where he belongs.
” “Remember the plan and stay on track. Get in there, get the pictures, and get out,” Howie said firmly.
He took a drink of his coffee and spilled it down the front of his shirt. “Shit!” He jumped up from his chair.
Mercy grabbed a roll of paper towels and handed them to her partner. “I don’t know who’s more nervous — you or me,” she teased.
He clumsily wiped at the stain. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Let’s not get mushy.” She winked. “Stay in contact with McKinley and keep our drone up, just in case we need it.”
“You can count on me,” he assured her.
She grabbed her dainty black purse, checked to ensure the invitation was tucked inside, and the camera was hidden in the secret pouch, then dragged it over her shoulder. “You did an amazing job with the invitation. No one will have a clue that it’s fake.”
“I can be handy at times,” he said, blowing on his knuckles and swiping them down his shirt.
“See you on the flipside.” Mercy slipped out of the mobile unit and glanced around the parking lot of the closed Chinese restaurant. It was a warm, balmy evening, and she appreciated the way her dress exposed her skin. Sweat would not be a welcome effect.
Usual on a lively Saturday on the strip, businesses were in full swing in the brewery district.
Patrons and their banter overflowed outside of crowded bars onto the sidewalks.
Mercy gained attention as she pushed her way through the throngs of people.
She wasn’t used to receiving this much attention and had to remind herself to keep her appearance easy and sexy.
Just be a girl out enjoying the evening.
She rounded a corner, entering the artsy district where it was more subdued. The entire row of buildings was owned by Cross, who rented them out to business owners, earning the street the nickname “Cross Row.”
Although she couldn’t see or hear the drone, she knew it was above her, and she should be in view by now.
A neon sign buzzing above heavy metal double doors alerted her that she’d reached the club, aptly named Power House. From the sidewalk, one might assume the club was empty because the outside appeared just like many of the other businesses at this time of night: closed.
There were no cars in sight because clients were dropped off at the entrance, and the girls discreetly entered at the back door.
She knocked twice, following the instructions on the invitation, and the door swung open, revealing a doorman who towered above Mercy and looked as if he were about to burst a seam on his too-tight suit.
She flashed her invitation, and he nodded, stepping back to let her enter.
As she stepped through another set of doors, she was welcomed by a quartet playing instruments. The atmosphere was like high society, sin, and debauchery.
The gatherings served purposes beyond leisure and enjoyment.
Numerous deals were struck, alliances established, and decisions made at these events, which were primarily attended by men in elegant suits, wearing elite watches, and custom-made shoes.
Young women, dressed in revealing gowns, flowed elegantly through the rooms, lavishly decorated with lit candles, tables overflowing with gourmet food, and mini bars.
Inside one room, a row of tycoons sat on an L-shaped sofa, flanked by beautiful women, while exotic dancers danced on tables.
In another room, women were lying on tables and their bodies were being used as sushi bars.
The party felt like a playground for indulging the wealthy and reinforcing their powerful statuses.
Mercy accepted a flute of champagne, eager to blend in as best as she could. Someone grabbed her arm, and she looked up—way up—to a man with slicked-back hair and striking features. He offered her a charming smile. “You’re new to these parties.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only because I would have remembered you.”
She sipped the champagne, allowing her time to think about how she’d respond. “This is my first. I hear they’re amazing.”
One groomed brow flicked up. “Have you met anyone?”
Mercy had a feeling that was code, asking if she’d been chosen to entertain anyone for the night, but before she could answer, a tall, beautiful blonde in a glittery rose-gold dress swept in and hooked her hand possessively around the tycoon's elbow.
Mercy smiled at the woman, but she responded with a frigid glare. It was clear there were some territorial boundaries that Mercy was being made aware of.
“Buy me a drink, handsome,” the blonde said to the man.
He seemed a bit agitated, but his smile didn’t slip. “Sure.” he said. Then, he pulled his arm from the blonde’s grasp and bent close to Mercy’s ear. “Come and find me later. I’ll make it worth your while, beautiful.”
Mercy had to bite her tongue to staunch the flow of words that threatened to spill forth.