He left his glass on the bookshelf and turned back to face the room. As he did, he saw that the blonde had crept to the edge of the bed while the redhead had actually slipped off and was now walking toward him, her hips swaying provocatively.
He fought the urge to tell them both to get dressed and go home, because right now, he really wasn't in the mood.
But that didn't matter anymore. The Dallas Sykes he'd created was always in the mood. That was the illusion, after all.
He held up a finger to stop the redhead's approach, then cocked his head in disapproval at her irritated expression. "Back on the bed," he said to her. "Your mouth. Her pussy."
When she didn't obey immediately, he moved to stand in front of her. He heard her ragged, excited breathing, and the last of his reticence faded. He wanted this. Hell, he needed it.
Not her, but her willingness. Her obedience.
He slipped his hand between her legs and
thrust two fingers inside her. She moaned, a low, passionate sound that rumbled through him, satisfying that deep, primal need.
"Now," he said. "Until I tell you to stop."
She licked her lips, her eyes glassy with desire. Then she moved naked back to the bed and buried her face enthusiastically between the waiting blonde's legs.
A trill of satisfaction cut through him, as he marveled at how eagerly she obeyed. How enthusiastically. They were in his control. As much as Mueller was. As much as the sixth kidnapper soon would be.
"Sorry to interrupt your party," Liam said dryly, when Dallas had retrieved his phone and returned to the balcony.
"Fuck you," he said amiably.
"Appreciate the offer, man, but I think you've already got your hands full."
Dallas almost laughed. Of all his friends, Liam was the one who most understood what Dallas did--and why. But although they'd been on the verge of celebrating just moments before, now the tide had shifted. Despite the attempt at levity, Dallas could hear the hard edge in Liam's voice. The frustration. Even defeat.
He didn't want to ask, but he wasn't one to hide from bad news. "Tell me," he demanded.
"Apparently our Mr. Ortega is on a lot of people's shit lists. Noah just confirmed that local officials are looking for him, along with Interpol and, quite possibly, the FBI."
Dallas bit out a curse.
"It gets worse," Liam continued. "Turns out he's been missing for the last thirty-six hours."
"Someone else got to him first." The words were hard to get out past the tightness in his chest. All this time--all this work--and they missed the prize by just over a day? Fuck that.
"And it's not hard to figure what card he'll play if he's trying to catch a deal."
"Not hard at all," Dallas agreed. "Spill the beans about a Sykes kidnapping--say that he's certain one happened and that he can point to the man behind it--and Ortega will be some agency's goddamn hero with immunity and a pat on the back."
Inside the bedroom, one of the women screamed in ecstasy.
On the balcony, Dallas closed his eyes in anguish.
He took a deep breath, then raked his fingers through his sex-mussed hair, trying to find some solution. Some magic fix. "If any one of those agencies finds out who the Jailer is before we do..."
He didn't bother to finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
For seventeen years, he'd been fantasizing about killing the motherfucker who'd taken him and Jane. He'd sweated. He'd planned. He'd researched and interviewed and wrangled and prayed. And when he'd had every piece in place, he'd started recruiting.
Now Deliverance was in full swing, and at the height of its power. A lean, nimble machine. A goddamn thing of beauty that thrived in the shadows.
Deliverance was about rescuing victims, yes. But it was also about justice. It was also about revenge. And everyone on the team knew that. There was no sugarcoating. No happy trappings of procedure and rules. Deliverance found the bad guys. And it did what was necessary to punish them and bring the victims home.
If the government located the Jailer, it would prosecute.