High-Heeler Wonder (Killer Style 1)

Suddenly, the awful truth hit him square in the gut.

“Fucking hell. He’s a human trafficker.” He’d known the guy was an arrogant asshole, but this—God, he hoped the bastard fried.

Her eyes widened and she stood up abruptly, backing away from the screen as if to get as much distance between herself and the ugly reality.

“He won’t be for long. Not after we get this stuff to the cops. Gather everything you can. We’ll turn it all in as soon as we’re out of here.”

He hurried to the filing cabinets, making quick work of the drawer locks. The first drawer was stuffed with photos of people having sex or getting blown. Judging by the angles and the grainy images, the pics had been snapped using a cheap surveillance camera. Another drawer held a USB drive, which he slipped into his pocket, and old fashioned, handwritten accounting ledgers. Flipping through the pages, he found names, dates, and monetary amounts. In the notes, Anders had scrawled the client’s drug of choice, most often cocaine. Tony thumbed through five books before he hit pay dirt. Keith’s undercover name was listed among the buyers.

Yes!

“Got him,” he growled, and allowed himself a covert fist pump. He had done some questionable things to get here, but if it brought Keith’s murderer to justice, those less-than-honorable actions would be totally worth it.

“Tony, take a look at this.”

Holding tightly onto the ledger, he hustled to the desk. Under a sheaf of papers was a laptop, the cover of which had a distinct scratch.

“Is it yours?” He knew the answer before he asked the question, but a sixth sense reverberated in the back of his skull. Something was off.

“Uh-huh.” Her shoulders shook and she inhaled a wheezy breath.

Instantly alert, he reached for her purse where she’d dropped it in the chair. “Do you need your inhaler?”

She shook her head. “I’m not having an asthma attack.” Her jaw clenched and she squeezed her fists so tightly her knuckles whitened. “I’m just so damn mad right now I could tear Anders apart with my bare hands.”

His chest tightened and guilt rose to clog his throat. The preview of her reaction to his impending confession made his palms sweaty. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

A click sounded.

More light flooded the office.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” Anders strolled in.

Marvin followed close behind, carrying the pink-haired sales girl. She appeared barely conscious. He stepped in front of his boss and dropped her limp body to the cold concrete floor. She moaned but didn’t try to get up.

Anders spared her an unconcerned glance and then tilted his head at them, a malicious smile slithering onto his lips. “So. I see you two found my happy place.”

Chapter Sixteen

“I will not retire while I’ve still got legs and my makeup box.”

—Bette Davis

Sylvie rushed forward, but Tony circled her wrist, jerking her back before she could plow headfirst into deep shit. In the same move, he took a half step to the side, obstructing Anders’s and Marvin’s view of her. Out of sight and out of mind—he hoped like hell. He prayed the girl on the floor would be okay. But he had to stay focused on the men and, somehow, take them down. He needed to get Sylvie the fuck out of there.

No other outcome was acceptable.

“A pity. For you, that is.” Anders walked farther into the room, crushing the girl’s fingers under his shoe. She didn’t even flinch. “I love being a designer, but it’s my other profession that really makes me feel alive.”

“You goddamn bastard.” Sylvie hurled the words at him, anger thick in her strained voice.

Instead of pissing Anders off, he smiled at the insult.

Marvin loomed by the door, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders straight, his face a blank mask. Former military, Tony figured. Best to target him first. Fast and hard.

Sylvie pushed her way around Tony, stopping shoulder to shoulder with him. “Profession, you call it? You’re not just selling a little blow to some models. You sell people.”