Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 122896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 614(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 614(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
He gazed down into her blue-green eyes, strumming his thumb over her soft cheek.
“Was that more practice?” she whispered. “Because no one was here to see it.”
“It wasn’t for them.”
She stared at him a few more seconds, a soft smile curving her naked lips. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Text me if you need me,” he reminded her.
She nodded and it was impossible to pull his eyes from her as she walked away. Once the office door was closed, he went to work.
Sitting in the Tacoma, Finn’s eyes swept the shadowed parking lot for the hundredth time, searching for any signs of movement.
He’d been sitting there for over an hour already and was about to crawl out of his damn skin from boredom. He swore if Crew had him do surveillance for any length of time, he’d quit the task force. To him, sitting surveillance was inhumane torture.
But, once again, the last hour had been frustratingly fruitless since he saw no one dealing in the rear lot or going out to the Astro Van.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered.
If the line of Harleys parked in the rear lot was any indication, at least a half dozen Demons had to be inside the club. Like Mel feared, Saint was slowly replacing all of the employees with his own people.
That left no doubt that, between the increase in prospects, the original CI’s report and the recent arrival of the Astro Van, the MC was dealing out of the club. He just needed solid fucking proof.
Finn sent Mel a text, hoping she had her phone with her.
Here. Can I get thru the back door w/o Saint noticing?
While he waited for an answer, he mentally ran through his day, both here at the club and The Plant.
While in the club’s office this morning, he had watched a few recordings, looking carefully for any signs of dealing. Like surveillance, it was mind-numbing work. Especially since each camera feed had about seven hundred and twenty hours’ worth of footage to comb through. And there were multiple camera feeds.
Granted, a lot of it was of an empty parking lot or a dark, deserted club that could be fast-forwarded through, but it was still a time-consuming task.
An hour and a half was definitely not going to cut it. It wouldn’t even make a dent.
Wanting to avoid any questions or blowing his cover, he had to be out of the office before any of the dancers showed up. He ended up downloading all the folders available onto a 16TB hard drive small enough to fit into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
Once he shut down the computer and checked on Mel at the tail end of her workout, he reluctantly left her to head over to The Plant and sat through a few more hours’ worth of security feed until he wanted to throw himself out of the third floor window.
He left the hard drive for Crew, hoping he would get someone other than him to scour the rest of the footage for evidence. Two or more sets of eyes were better than one, anyway.
Hell, the task force leader could throw a damn watch party if he wanted to. Show it on the big screen, invite all available task force members, get a case of beer and order in pizza.
That was one party Finn wouldn’t be attending if he could help it.
When his phone finally dinged, he read the text from Mel:
He’s tied up with Mutt. Now’s a perfect time.
He answered with:
Heading in now.
Climbing out of the Toyota, he took a quick glance at the cameras at the rear of the building. One pointed at the paved lot, the other was over the employee door, facing downward. But like Mel said, they seemed to have conveniently stopped working the day before the stash van showed up. That left Finn with no proof of who dropped it off, though he had a damn good idea.
He walked down the music-filled hallway and paused behind Popeye standing guard at the velvet rope with his arms crossed over his chest. Just beyond the biker, Finn spotted the person who was most likely the culprit talking behind the bar with Mutt.
From where Finn stood, he could see the bartender nodding but not saying much as Saint’s gums flapped.
Seeing that motherfucker instantly made his spine tighten.
As he pushed past Popeye, the surprised prospect growled, “How’d you get the fuck back here?”
“You must have been in the bathroom yanking on your dick,” Finn said, not stopping. If Popeye had more to say, the prospect could chase him down.
With a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw the biker wore a sour expression but remained where he was.
Finn scanned the room and didn’t see Mel, but he did spot Sapphire sitting on some man’s lap, leaning in close and talking into the guy’s ear. His guess was the former hostess was working hard to get the customer to buy a private show from one of the dancers. Maybe even from her since she was now being forced to work the floor.