Page 78 of The Vigilante's Lover

We’re only an hour outside D.C. when Sam gets a buzz on the Blackphone.

“Who the hell is that?” I ask. “Who even knows you have that thing?”

Sam ignores me and answers the call. “Have you found her?”

Her who?

“Is it Mia?” I ask.

Sam shakes his head, straining to listen.

Must be they’ve tracked Jovana. Good. I’ll wring her scrawny neck myself. Then I realize what I’m thinking. I already strangled someone to death because of her.

I can still see the man’s face, turning red, then ashen gray. Killed him with my bare hands. No clean, easy Vigilante dart. The messiest, most up-close way to dispatch someone.

I’ve thought through that fateful night a million times. Jovana’s tears and rage, pointing out the man who abducted her and sold her into the sex slave operation. My blind rage and my hands on his neck, squeezing the life out of him.

Only now that I can put together Sutherland’s grand scheme does it all start to fit. Jovana was a plant from the beginning. I saw it at the time, that she was different from the other girls in the slave trader’s den. I just thought it meant she was plucky, a survivor.

Now I know I was intended to meet her. She was part of a plan.

I first saw Jovana six months before her betrayal. She seemed so young, so naive. She had nothing to do with the network. She was a civilian, at least that’s what our records said, reported as abducted from her college campus.

I was orchestrating a low-level sting on a sex club in my jurisdiction. Two new Phase Threes had uncovered a more elaborate business behind it. Girls were trained to be sold as extremely high-end slaves to wealthy men.

I had to keep the Phase Threes on the job, since they were my in to this secret bonus service.

But the underground bunker where the trade was housed was uncharted by the Vigilantes, and we had no idea what they were getting into.

I decided to handle this takedown myself to make sure it went like clockwork.

A dozen girls, from late teens through early twenties, wandered the front room of the sex club, accessible to anyone who knew of the place. They were dressed in outfits that varied from schoolgirl uniforms to leather harnesses that hid nothing.

They circled us, smiling, winking, kissing each other, vying for our attention.

We had to go in as customers, and we had to look the part. Wealthy, able to afford anything they had to offer.

I had no intention of busting the sex club for prostitution. This was not illegal to Vigilantes as long as the girls weren’t coerced. Now that we had seen how easy the top business was to infiltrate, the regular law enforcement could sort that out.

I wanted access to the girls sold as slaves in the bunkers below. They, we knew, were taken from their homes, often in other countries, and trained as slaves. Most were chemically restrained with heavy narcotics that got them addicted until the training took over.

They became entirely different people. Scarred. Remote. Unable or unwilling to think for themselves anymore. It was a grim business, and we were going to end it.

The two Phase Threes who had been using the club acted the part, looking over the girls, touching them, spanking them. As planned, I stayed aloof, holding back.

A slick, smiling bald-headed man in a gray suit approached them and they pointed to me as if they had no interest in what I wanted.

He came over and extended a hand. “Mr. Phillips,” he said, “I’m Fredrick. I received your preferences and account information. All is in order.”

However, he wasn’t quite ready to trust me, and the two Phase Threes, his regular customers, were extracted from the girls on their laps. We were all led to an elevator.

My senses were on keen alert. The background and profile that had been sent to the man were flawless.

I was a wealthy businessman who owned a private island.

A slightly dark past was added to the file, complaints of cruelty by a few women who were discredited.

This all led me to appear to be the perfect customer, both able to afford their services and with the means to keep my life private by whatever means necessary.

Our goal was to find the head man, negotiate a price for his most prized woman, taking our time to learn the layout and extent of his scheme.

And then kill him and any of his guards and henchmen on the spot. An explosives team would then come in and blow the whole operation sky high. We already had the fake permits for a demolition and plans for a new construction, so it would seem perfectly legitimate to civilian government.

Neat, tidy, complete.

Our hardest challenge was to get the girls out alive. Regardless, the business practice would end. None of the financial trails we followed led us to believe this business was any bigger than what we saw here.

Not then, anyway.

When the elevator opened, we were led to a wide sitting room. Fredrick sat us down and offered us drinks.

While he moved behind a bar, another man joined us and introduced himself as Amin, the head trainer. I could tell by his dress and demeanor that neither he nor our bald escort was the one we sought.

“Would you like to meet a few of the women?” Amin asked. “Your opinion of them will help us narrow your choices.”

“Of course,” I said. “Will there be a proper setting?” I knew the bunker must be a labyrinth of rooms, as there was only one door out of this sitting area. We had not been examined for weapons yet, so clearly we had another check to go through before we were even close to the women or their owner.

“Yes,” he said. “Would you like to take a drink with them or see them set up in a play dungeon?”

One of my Phase Threes shifted uncomfortably. I was right to have chosen to go on this mission. They weren’t ready.

“My tastes are very exacting,” I said.

“I have three girls who fit the profile you sent us,” Amin said.

“Let me see them all and select one for the dungeon,” I said. This way I could get the layout of the bunker.

“Very well,” he said. “And what of your companions?”

“They are my bodyguards and scouts,” I said. “They don’t need to come with me.”

“Excellent. You may leave any weapons here with them.” He nodded at Fredrick.

This was what I expected. I pulled a standard Glock from my inside coat pocket and laid it on the table in front of the Phase Threes. Everything so far was according to plan.

Fredrick approached the only door and pressed his palm to a lock. The Phase Threes would anticipate this and take necessary measures to ensure that I could make a hasty exit when it was time. None of the men we were meeting were going to survive this day. No one in this sort of business should.

Amin stayed behind, and Fredrick led the way.

The next room was similar in decor and style to the previous. Two sofas, a bar, and this time two additional doors. A beefy man in a black suit stood in one corner. When we entered, he approached and used a wand to check for any weapons.

“So sorry for the inconvenience,” Fredrick said. “We must keep our girls safe.”

“Understood,” I said. None of the dart guns on my body would be found by a metal detector or a pat down. All were encased in very ordinary items. A wallet, a cell phone, a money clip, and a plastic case of tobacco.

I doubted I would need to use them. Everyone here was armed, and I could use their own weapons on them.

“You may meet the girls with no obligation whatsoever,” Fredrick said. “If you would like to try one, a deposit will ensure her safety and our continued willingness to do business.”

“Transfer what you require from the account,” I said.

“Excellent,” he said. “That is being handled now.” He paused for a second, listening to the earpiece. Obviously the room was monitored.

“Everything is in order,” he said. “Let me bring in the girls. You can take one or choose them all for the playroom.”

A door to the left slid open and three women demurely walked in. Their appearance and behavior could not have been any more different from the girls in the front room upstairs. They sat with elegance and poise on the sofa. All wore soft white dresses and ballerina flats.

“This is Elise, Ana, and Shantelle,” Fredrick said.

“May I talk to them a moment?” I asked.

“Of course.” Fredrick gestured to a chair. “Take all the time you need.”

I glanced at the bar. “Maybe the ladies would like a little champagne. Would you?” I asked them as I sat down.

They all nodded, gentle smiles that were neither too fake nor too genuine. All had varying degrees of blond to light brown hair. All were slender and medium height. If they could provide three to match this description so exactly, how many women were back there?

“Do you have others?” I asked Fredrick as he moved behind the bar.

“Are these not to your liking?” He paused, his hand on a bottle.

“Yes, but I think maybe I would like one with more color, darker hair.”

“Should I send these away?”

I looked over the women. They did not change in expression whatsoever. I hoped the network could find their homes. I hoped they were not so damaged already that even doing that would not help them.

“The one on the end. She is lovely but reminds me of my sister.”

Fredrick spoke quietly, and the door slid open again. A new woman walked in, sultry, dark haired, foreign.

“This is Jovana,” Fredrick said. “Is she what you were looking for?”

Jovana was unique from the moment she entered the room. Not as well behaved, I could see. Saucy. Sultry. Dangerous.

She headed to the sofa like a tigress. Her white skirt swished around her knees.

Shantelle dutifully stood up and headed out the same door.

It led to a hall, narrow and white, with additional doors.

Perhaps their quarters. I tapped my watch, a code that would provide a rough layout to the Phase Threes plus the explosives team that was at the ready.

That sector needed to be checked before the blow.