LITMIR.BIZ

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laughed out loud, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “Oh, it really is good to be back at River Trace.” He was surprised to realize he truly meant that. “I’m looking forward to my time here.”

      MARCUS CLIMBED into the steaming enclosure and let the hot water pelt his face. He wanted to wash off the stink of the dive he had been in earlier. His contact had never shown, but he’d met with the people he came to see. Now he reeked of cheap liquor, cigarettes and God only knew what else. He was surprised Mrs. Burnett hadn’t noticed, but she’d been distracted by the kid.

      Cally Burnett was unexpected. Curvy in all the right places, she intrigued him with that mane of auburn curls and big blue eyes, not to mention those lips that made him think of ice cream and X-rated movies. He shook his head. No more than five foot five, what there was of her was extraordinarily well packaged.

      When she’d answered the door, he’d been almost embarrassed by his response. She looked more like the winner of a wet T-shirt contest than a mother and widow. But she certainly wasn’t his type. Forget about sex. It had been so long since he’d had an extended conversation with a woman who wasn’t a cop, a snitch or a victim—he wasn’t exactly sure what his type was anymore.

      Not that his body’s response was any indication; it had no real discernment in these matters, especially given the timing. Celibacy was a bitch. Doing without wasn’t his first choice and had more to do with the fact that his love life had been nonexistent lately.

      Marcus consciously pushed thoughts of the lovely Mrs. Burnett out of his mind. He had little time to himself to socialize outside of work, and he no longer got involved with the women from this side of his life. It was entirely too complicated and dangerous. Tessa had taught him that lesson the hard way.

      He wished Gregor had picked different lodgings. This wasn’t going to be as clean as the man claimed. That worried Marcus for the widow’s sake as well as his own.

      Gregor Williams was a dangerous man. Marcus suspected some mental instability. Boggs had confirmed those suspicions last week when he told a story about Williams “roughing up” a hooker in New Orleans. Later Asa did some checking and found the woman had been hospitalized. It should have caused quite a stir. But for some reason the woman didn’t press charges. With the high-profile job Gregor had in Iraq as a private security contractor, a significant amount of money must have changed hands to keep that incident quiet.

      Marcus had met Gregor and his mercenaries for the first time a little over a month ago. Things had progressed rapidly from there, once they found out about his position at the casino. And tonight, he’d been at the Tonk where Gregor had spelled out his entire plan.

       The bar sat on a gravel back road between two cotton fields. During the day it was hardly more than a shack. At night, with half-burned-out Christmas lights strung around the door, the Tonk looked like an old whore on Bourbon Street determined to sell her worn wares and show the world she still had what it took.

       Marcus heard music blaring as he pulled into the potholed dirt parking lot. Three motorcycles and a half dozen trucks were haphazardly parked out front. A light crowd for a Saturday night, but it was early yet. Things didn’t start rocking here until after midnight.

       The scent of spilled beer, stale sweat and cigarette smoke assaulted him as he cruised inside. The bikers were at the bar with a couple of women Marcus recognized from previous visits. The hookers working here on weekends were a sad lot. The Tonk was the last stop on the food chain. Marcus could never imagine being so desperate to get laid that he’d take up with one of these “ladies.” An STD or worse was in a john’s future. But, apparently, the women did a booming business—especially on a holiday weekend.

       Manny, the owner—a massive black man with two gold front teeth and an attitude—was tending bar. Marcus gave him a nod.

       Manny didn’t need bouncers in his place. Instead, he kept a sawed-off shotgun behind the counter and a snub-nosed revolver in his belt. Oh, fights might break out. But when Manny told you to leave—you left. The cops were never called.

       Heavy metal blasted from the jukebox at the far end of the room. A few tables were scattered around a pool table on the opposite side of the bar, and a game was just starting. Marcus nodded to one of the players as he walked toward the far corner.

       Four men sat at a scarred wooden table. Even in the darkened room, their buzz haircuts and perfect posture stood out. There was just no hiding that kind of discipline in a place like this.

       “Hello, Gregor. Boggs.” Marcus sat without being invited.

       The older man in the group spoke in a growl, “North, it’s about damn time.”

       “Here I am, as we discussed.”

       “Have you checked in yet?”

       “No, I’m going over to the bed-and-breakfast after this.”

       Manny sauntered over with a beer and set it in front of Marcus and nodded a greeting to Frank Boggs.

       “Evening, Manny. Where’s Earleen tonight?” asked Marcus.

       “That girl has done gone and got the flu. Said she might be in later. But she looks worse ‘n she usually does.” He paused a moment, his gold teeth disappeared, then winked again in the dim light. “She sure hates to miss the weekend tricks.”

       Marcus laughed out loud. “Yeah, like you’d let that happen. Sure hope she feels better.”

       “I’ll tell her you said so.”

       Gregor waited until the man ambled back toward the bar.

       “Who’s Earleen?” he asked.

       “Manny’s daughter,” said Marcus.

       “Her father pimps for her?” Gregor asked. His growl had changed to a rumble.

       Apparently, his few puritanical tendencies were highly offended at their conversation. He didn’t get it and Marcus decided not to enlighten him.

       There were plenty of tricks turned in Manny’s Tonk but his daughter, Earleen, was not involved in that lifestyle. Manny probably didn’t know she’d ever even considered it and would kill the man who laid a finger or anything else on his daughter.

       “Yeah, he’s a real prince. Giving her all the advantages,” said Marcus.

       “A girlfriend of yours?”

       Marcus smiled, but his stomach turned. He’d met Earleen several years ago when she was a runaway and contemplating turning her first trick on Farish Street in Jackson. Working Vice at the time, he’d almost arrested her. Instead, after hearing her story, he’d put her on a bus back home to South Mississippi.

       Unfortunately, this audience wasn’t interested in the only “happily ever after” Marcus had ever seen while working that side of the street in Jackson, so he spun it a bit.

       “I never kiss and tell, Gregor. Do you?”

       Boggs snorted. The other two men smiled uneasily.

       “You know the nicest people,” snarled Gregor, ignoring the question.

       Marcus realized he was antagonizing his mark more than he should. He slid a manila envelope across the table. “Here’s the blueprint you wanted.”

       “Have any trouble?” Gregor pulled out a small loose-leaf notebook and tucked the envelope inside.

       “No trouble. The security personnel have access to all the wiring schematics

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