Into The Dark (Lords of the Underworld #5.5)(51)
Author: Gena Showalter

“When this is done, I’m going to find me a woman. No, two women. You won’t see me for a week.”

Farrah chuckled as she secured her bag on her shoulder. She’d emptied out her tools during the drive and now carried a small, hand-held laptop. With a last, lingering glance at the male face on the box, she emerged from the car. Cold air enveloped her, thick with cigarette smoke and the pungent fumes of alcohol. Farrah walked over to the club, the music growing louder with each step. Her trench billowed at her ankles.

Her adrenaline was spiking again, rushing through her veins like an awakened river. There was as much danger in meeting her buyers as there was in breaking into a building. But this, too, she loved. There was something so…invigorating about knowing that any moment could be her last.

Her mom, God rest her precious soul, used to call her a danger junkie. There’d been admonishment and fear in Jennifer Roberts’s tone, but she’d never asked Farrah to stop. Not even when Farrah was caught the first time. Or the second time. Or the third. But cancer had been eating the sweet woman alive, stealing her energy, destroying it, and she’d been unable to provide for her only daughter—for herself. Farrah had quite happily taken up the slack and never looked back.

Farrah entered the nightclub, scanning for any hint of betrayal. There were dancers, couples writhing together with a fluid eroticism that caused her blood to heat deliciously. Damn that sexy voice! She never would have noticed the dancers otherwise. There were drinkers at the bar, and waitresses hurrying from one table to another, taking orders. All under the constant swirl of multicolored strobes, casting a sparkling shower of pinks, blues and greens.

No one aimed a weapon at her. No one tried to grab her.

Farrah paid the cover charge, briefly removed her glove so that her hand could be stamped, and sauntered the rest of the way inside. Per the buyer’s instructions, she headed toward the back. The room was filled to capacity, overflowing with eager, lust-hungry men and women. She maneuvered around them. Manufactured smoke billowed in the air, creating a dreamlike haze. Surreal.

Not surprisingly, her contact was waiting for her. He was alone, his table pushed into a shadowy corner.

She knew it was him. Muted beams of light caressed his hand, illuminating a large sapphire ring on one of the fingers clutched around a glass of Scotch. Her heart hammered all the more intently in her chest. She eased into the seat across from him. Without a word, she slipped the photo from under her belt and slid it beside the glass.

A moment passed without reaction. Another.

She wanted to ask him why he was so fascinated with the story of Pandora, but didn’t. Early on, she’d learned that questions always made the client nervous. And nervous clients were not good. Most often they became trigger-happy.

The man gripped the photo between shaky fingers and held it closer to his face. Thick, silver hair glinted as a violet strobe passed overhead.

“You may have the item the moment I collect my fee,” she said, speaking loudly to be heard over the music.

He cocked two fingers, signaling the need for her laptop. She withdrew it from her bag and handed it to him. It was already booted and ready to go. All he needed to do was type in his account number and press Enter.

The entire transaction took less than sixty seconds.

He handed her the laptop and she double-checked her account. Sure enough, the million was there.

“Uh, Farrah,” River said in her ear.

His voice surprised her, and she jumped. Her gaze darted left and right, searching for him. Until she remembered that she still wore the earpiece. “What?”

“I’m being followed,” he said nervously. “Had to leave the parking space when I saw I had company. Two cars. Taking turns. I can’t shake them.”

She cupped her ear with her hand. “Cops?”

“I don’t think so.”

Trying not to panic, she pushed to her feet. The buyer did the same. He was tall, wider than she’d realized. Muscled. For the first time, she glimpsed his features. He was younger than she’d assumed, too. Probably no more than thirty-five. His eyes were big and brown and devoid of any hint of emotion. His nose was straight, his lips too thin but sexy nonetheless. His hair wasn’t silver, as she’d thought she’d seen, but white. Like snow.

He radiated power. Lethal charm.

Not allowing herself to show a single ounce of fear, she flattened her palms on the table and leaned forward. “Do you have a tail on my guy?” she demanded.

“No,” was the surprisingly gentle reply. “There has never been a need for that.”

He was right. They’d worked together before, and he’d never deviated from plan. So who was following River? “Think you can get home?” she asked her friend. Home, for now, was a motel on the north side of town.

“I’ll try.”

Her gaze bore into the man’s. “I’m afraid I’ll have to reschedule with you. Something’s come up.” She tried to run to the door, but he stretched out his arm and grabbed her, stopping her flat.

“You’re not leaving until I have the box.” His tone was no longer gentle, but strong, demanding. “I paid you. I want it.”

Automatically, her fingers wrapped around the dart gun at her waist. She didn’t aim. Yet. But her blood pounded through her veins at full speed. A gloss of sweat beaded over her skin. “I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment. The box stays with me until my boy is safe. And right now, he’s being followed.”

The man hesitated for a long while. Finally, he said, “Go to him. Help him. But I expect to hear from you before morning. If I do not…” His voice trailed off. Then he added calmly, “I do not want to, Farrah, but I will hunt you down and kill you. Your friend River will be next. Neither death will be quick or easy. Feel me?”

He knew their names. She’d never told him; none of her other clients knew. She’d gone to great lengths to keep them hidden. Lightheaded, Farrah nodded.

The man released her. She spun on her heel and ran. Just ran, shoving people out of the way in her haste. I’m in way over my head this time, she thought, as she flung open the front door and sprinted into the night. This was not exciting.

Breath burning in her lungs, she hastily searched the cars. When she found an older, unlocked vehicle, she tossed her bag in the passenger seat and jumped inside. She quickly jerked off the dash cover and rerouted the wires. The engine roared to life.

“River,” she said, “you still good?”