Page 28 of Velvet and Valor (Platinum Security: Shadows of LA #4)

“And now I’ve taken that disadvantage and turned it to my favor,” he says. “Because you’re going to get those gems for me, Mr. Sawyer. Otherwise, I will have to be less than gentle with Miss Mayweather.”

I tamp my anger down and struggle to control my fear for June’s safety. I wish I could shoot Moorcrock through the phone.

“Fine. I’ll bring them. Where?”

“Hang on to the phone. I’ll text you. And Mr. Sawyer? You are being watched. Don’t do anything stupid. Call the police, or your friends at Platinum Security—who we also have under surveillance—and June dies. It’s that simple.”

“How do I know if she’s still alive?” I demand.

“I suppose that you don’t.”

The call ends. Rage builds up inside of me at the thought of June in danger. The injured guard has flopped down to the deck. I don’t know if he’s faking it or not. I leave him be, though, and head down the steps to the main deck.

A cold sweat breaks out on my body. It’s a bit of a drive out to the beach house, but I don’t have much choice.

It feels like I’m abandoning June, by leaving the marina.

But it’s not like I could just jump in a boat and go look for her.

I have no idea where she is, and the waves are getting choppier by the minute.

Here’s hoping that steering the boat takes up all of Ricky’s time, so he has to leave June alone. June’s no pushover. I know she can take care of herself, but she’s not ruthless. She’s not a killer. This is a world of ruthless murder and she’s too good for it, god-damn it.

Dane doesn’t take it very well when I tell him that he has to back off.

“I can’t explain any more than that,” I say. “I’ve got eyeballs on me. Just back off and tell everyone I’ve got this. Do not interfere, repeat, do not interfere.”

“Jax is going to hate this,” Dane replies.

“Ask me if I care. I wouldn’t be saying this if it weren’t super important. Nobody in Platinum Security should take any action for a bit. We’re being watched.”

A long pause.

“Damn, are you sure?”

“No, of course not. But the threat is enough to make me wary. Just…just let me handle this, okay?”

“I’ll pass it along to Jax, but ultimately it’s up to him what happens next.”

I end the call, cussing under my breath. If those guys show up guns blazing, they might get June killed. Moorcrock might really have eyeballs on all of them. If so, he’ll know the second I break my promise.

If I’m going to get backup, it will have to be someone outside of the normal Platinum Security crew. Somebody Moorcrock can’t possibly know about. That leaves out Jax’s friend on the force, or any of our regular contacts.

Then it hits me—I know a guy. Not someone I would normally bother, but he’s probably available. If I’ve caught him early enough in the day that he’s not drunk, that is.

Best of all, Moorcrock doesn’t know him. At least, I hope he doesn't.

I have to get a cab back to my place. Not long after I leave the Marina, I notice a tail following us like stink on rotting fish. I hide my smirk at how amateurish it is. I keep the phone tucked in my pocket for now.

When the taxi drops me off, he asks if I need a return trip.

“No, thanks,” I say, tipping generously. I’m not about to get someone else killed. I head inside while the pickup truck that tailed me from the marina pulls up outside and parks. Real subtle guys. Of course, they might want me to see them. Clearly, I underestimated Moorcrock once. Never again.

Once inside, I ransack the shit out of the place until I find the briefcase. I dig around and find a circular plastic container of breath mints. I give it a rattle and it doesn’t sound like anything suspicious.

I open the container and see perfectly wrapped mints. My face twists into a sour grimace.

“Moorcrock sent me on a wild goose chase,” I grumble, thinking I’ve been had. “I should have kept looking for June…”

I pick up one of the mints and turn it over in my fingers. It looks professionally wrapped, but the feel is off. It should be smoother. I break the seal, again thinking it looks authentic in every way, and unwrap the object within.

It’s a fucking mint.

“Bullshit!”

I throw the mints across the room and it smashes into the wall. The mints spill out onto the carpet. Now I feel bad for making a bigger mess than I already have.

I pick up the container and freeze dead in my tracks.

“Tricky sons of bitches,” I whisper as I find a cleverly concealed false bottom in the mints. Inside are about a dozen objects. I lift one out between thumb and forefinger and purse my lips, nodding to myself. It’s rough-looking, pinkish, and about the size of a six-sided die.

Uncut gems aren’t pretty but they’re worth a damn lot more than the cut variety.

I’d say I was holding roughly eight million dollars’ worth, and that’s a low estimate I’m sure.

A lot of terror groups and criminal syndicates use them for currency for that reason, not to mention they’re easy to fence.

I’m holding a lot of money in my hands right now. I could rescue June and leave the country. We could start up a whole new studio in some country that doesn’t allow extradition. Buy enough security to keep us safe…

For a second or two, it’s tempting. But June doesn’t want a new life.

She wants the life she’s built. And as much as I’d like to start over from scratch and be a new person, I can’t.

June has taught me that all of the experiences I’ve had, both good and bad, turned me into the man I am today.

I might not be perfect, but at least I TRY to do the right thing.

Guys like Moorcrock do the thing that’s only right for themselves.

I stuff the gems into a plain bank billfold for safekeeping, since I’ve ruined the mint container.

I’ve got the goods. Now I need to know where I’m going. More importantly, though, I need a way to get there. Time to call my back-up and hope he’s sober.

I go into the bathroom just in case they’re watching the house. As far as I know there’s no cameras in there. Just in case there are listening devices, I turn on the water in the bathtub and the overhead exhaust fan before making the call.

“What do you want?” says a gruff voice on the other end.

“Hey, Ezra, my oldest friend–”

“Don’t you oldest friend me,” he grumbles. “Boot camp was a long time ago.”

“And did I not help you get laid a whole lot of times by telling everyone you were that guy from the Hangover movies?”

A long pause, then.

“I said, what do you want? You’d never call me this time of day unless you needed something. You sound sober, so it’s not that you want me to bail you out of jail. So, it must be something that could potentially get me killed.”

“Um…yeah, okay, pretty much spot on,” I say. “Including the potential for death part. I hate to ask but I’m out of options, Ezra.”

He groans. “I knew you were going to say that. I can barely hear you. Are you on an airplane or something?”

“I might be suffering from a case of dropped eaves.”

“I get it. Where are you at?”

“Texting you the address. This is the tricky part. You’re going to have to pretend to be here to give me a ride. So, hang an Uber or Lyft sign in your windshield or something.”

He snorts. “I got you, man. Just hang tight.”

“Remember, I’m being watched.”

“So you said,” he replies.

“I’m just saying. Be subtle.”

“Subtle is my middle name.”

“I thought your middle name was Reinhold.”

“And I thought I told you that if you repeated that again, I would kill you,” he growls.

“All right. All right. I’ll see you soon.” I wait until my finger is just about over the end call icon and then speak again. “Reinhold.”

That takes care of my ride, not to mention backup. But I still don’t know where I’m going. I have to wait for Moorcrock to tell me.

My stomach twists with hunger pangs, but I don't feel like eating. It would not be right, with June in danger. Instead, I pace the floor for a while, waiting on the arrival of Ezra and Moorcrock’s impending call.

At last, the phone dings with an incoming message.

Send a photo

I resist the urge to be a smartass. I don’t want to piss him off and send a selfie with June’s life on the line. Obviously, he means he wants to see proof that I have the goods. I take a photo of the uncut gems, alongside my driver’s license. That should shut him up.

A moment later, an address comes through. I check it out and grimace. I have no idea where it is, which probably means it’s some desolate area where there could be an army waiting for us.

Ezra sends me a smiley face text. His way of telling me he’s waiting outside.

I gather up the gems and stuff my gun in the waistband of my pants.

I stick a second pistol in my hiking boot, and a folding knife on the other side.

Hopefully, they’ll find the first gun and stop looking. I know I’m going to be searched.

When I get outside, I don't have to ask which car on the street belongs to Ezra. The bright yellow taxicab gives it away. As well as the fact it’s clearly a Hollywood prop taxi for a period movie. The thing looks ancient.

“Oh yeah, asshole,” I say, getting inside. “Real subtle.”

Ezra glances over at me, his eyes hidden behind mirrored shades. Rough stubble covers his face. Looks like he was recovering from a bender when I called him. I probably did Ezra a favor by recruiting him for a death defying mission.

“You said make it look like you’re getting a ride,” he replies with a shrug of his huge shoulders. His long sleeves cover up tattoos that are almost as cool and just as numerous as my own. “So, what says that more than a taxi?”

I start to get in the front seat, and he snarls.

“The fuck are you doing, idiot? Get in the back.”

“You should be calling me sir to stay in character.”

“You son of a bitch,” he replies. “I get off my ass to come up and save yours, no questions asked, and I even get the stupid taxi to help, and all you do is complain.”

“You know what, Ezra?” I sigh. “You’re right. You’re doing me one Hell of a solid and I appreciate it. Thank you.”

“Now that’s more like it.” He puts the car in drive, and the engine rumbles like thunder. I give him a look.”

“What have you got under the hood? Not the three cylinder it came with in the fifties.”

“Twelve cylinder.”

“Twelve? You’re going to break the drivetrain. At least it’s not turbocharged.”

“I haven’t broken the drivetrain yet.”

We take off like a bat out of Hell. The beat up Ford pickup struggles to keep up.

“Slow it down, man,” I say.

“I’m trying to lose the tail.”

“Don’t. Don’t lose the tail. Remember, you’re just an ordinary taxi driver.”

“I get that, but this isn’t exactly breaking character.”

I can’t argue with that, but he does dial it back a notch. The address takes us away from the concrete canyons of LA and down the coast. The sea looks rougher than ever, a metaphor for what’s going on inside of me.

I fill Ezra in on the when, why, and how of the shit hitting the fan. He interrupts constantly to ask stupid questions, to the point of driving me insane but he eventually gets it.

“So, this Moorcrock guy intended to steal the gems for himself all along?” he asks.

“Right. If it hadn’t been for June getting ID’d as their courier, he probably would have gotten away with it, too.” I snicker without any humor whatsoever. “So much for honor among thieves. Moorcrock would have been long gone by the time the Triad realized that the courier was missing. ”

“He would not have let the courier live,” Ezra says. “No way he would have left any loose ends.”

“Exactly. If I hadn't shown up when I did, June… She…” I can’t seem to get the words past the lump that has formed in my throat at the thought of what might have happened to her.

“And your client just got in the wrong place, at the wrong time.” He chuckles. “What are the odds?

“This is LA,” I say. “Anything can happen here.”

“It ain’t LA no more,” Ezra grumbles. “We’re halfway to Mexico at this point.”

“You exaggerate, but we are pretty far out from civilization. Guess we can’t count on the local cops for help.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to call your buddies at the security agency for help?”

“Moorcrock says he’s watching them,” I reply. “That’s a lot of manpower to dedicate, but I can’t take the risk that he’s not lying. I’ve got to make sure nothing happens to June.”

Ezra glances back at me before returning his gaze to the road.

“You’ve really got it bad for this chick, don’t you?” he asks.

“Shut up and drive.”

He laughs. “That’s a yes. I think I know where we’re going.”

“You recognize the address now?” I ask, perking up in the back seat.

“No, look.” He points at a gray monolith squatting on the coastline like an overgrown tumor. “I think that’s an old shipyard. Or what’s left of one.”

“Looks like a great place to get ambushed and murdered,” I reply. “I guess you're going to have to drop me off and come back.”

He nods. “Don’t worry. I can be subtle for a big man.”

“Subtle? Like engaging in a high-speed car chase on the freeway?”

“I was as subtle as could be given the circumstances.”

“Jax’s buddy on the force says there was over ten million dollars in damage.”

“You’re one to talk.” He pulls to a stop on the gravel road leading to the shipyard.

“Are you sure you don't want me to pull closer? That’s half a mile walk, maybe more.”

“Nah, I’m good. It will give you time to get out of sight and then work your way back around.” I square my shoulders as the wind whips up the waves on the pacific. “I’ll see you soon, hopefully.”

“Don’t worry. I got your back.”

He pulls away. The pickup truck follows him. I curse under my breath as I turn to walk toward the shipyard.

Fuck. He’s going to have to give them the slip before he can possibly return and back me up. That will take time.

For now, I’m completely on my own.