In exchange for protecting Bryan by eliminating the woman, Vonn had secured his immunity from prosecution, and a monster had been unleashed.
Devon Vonn liked hurting people.
Women specifically.
At the time, Roland had thought the first young woman had been an anomaly. A singular mistake on Bryan’s part. A one-and-done situation he believed he’d handled. Her death an unfortunate outcome, but one he didn’t foresee happening again.
Not the case.
After Bryan’s second abduction attempt failed, the detective had once more intervened at Roland’s request. Files were lost. Reports deleted. Follow-ups discouraged. As a result, the investigation never got off the ground. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Overworked and underpaid, the men and women of the LAPD did the best they could with the resources they had. Unfortunately, the circumstances allowed bad apples like Vonn to thrive amidst the chaos.
The man was a psychopath with a badge. A deadly combination.
And Roland had invited him into their lives. But what choice did he have?
Bryan came first, and he would do anything to protect his son.
“You focus on Eve, and leave Bryan to me,” he said, sacrificing his deceased friend’s daughter to save his own child. “She’s smart, and you won’t find her easily.”
“Oh, I’ll find her,” Vonn said with the confidence of a serial killer on the hunt. “Trust me. She won’t be a problem much longer.”
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Grant shookhis head at the images coming through to his tablet.
“You seeing this?” Cody asked, sweeping his head back and forth to take in the scene of the crime. The microcamera attached to his smart glasses transmitted the live video to Grant and Jay simultaneously.
“Holy shit,” Jay replied through the Bluetooth speaker jammed in Grant’s ear. “What kind of asshole do you have to be to make a couple of hookers do that to you?”
“I think the politically correct term is a couple of fucking awesome personal escorts,” Cody replied. “Best two grand ever spent. Think you’ll be able to make an ID?”
From bright blue eye shadow to Crayola-red lipstick, the high-resolution images showed two men sporting a full face of makeup. Stripped naked and covered in an assortment of wax-based slurs taking aim at their manhood, the assholes in question were out cold and handcuffed together on a single bed.
Jay snorted as Cody placed the unconscious men in a compromising position. “That’s a shit ton of greasepaint, but it won’t change the geometry of their features. If they’re working for the feds, facial recognition software will identify them.”
“No sign of the colonel’s laptop?” Grant asked from the front seat of the Denali.
“Negative.” Camera now projecting a narrow hall, the video did a sharp left, right, left as Cody shook his head. “I got wallets with cash, top notch surveillance equipment, key fobs for both vehicles, but no ID, and no sign of the colonel’s laptop. Checking the van next.”
“Copy that.” Parked two trailers down from the ten-by-twelve shack Hoyt called home, Grant sat in point position, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. “Nothing new on the thermal scanner. You’re good to go.”
They’d found the JTT’s cargo hauler during their afternoon recon of the area. Rookie move tucking the white Chevy in behind the mobile home across the street from the shithole Hoyt had squatted in.
The brand newfor salesign duct-taped to the mobile’s grime-covered front window had raised their suspicions. But the top-of-the-line blacked-out Yukon parked in the weed-choked drive had been the dead giveaway.
No need to see inside the trailer to know a surveillance team had taken up residence. Johnson and his backers had found Hoyt first. The only reason he remained alive was because they were using him as bait.
Grant had wanted to storm the place. Throw some knuckles around. Pistol-whip the fuckers until they gave up every scrap of knowledge they had on the bastards they worked for. Unfortunately, beating them to a pulp in the middle of the afternoon with the neighbors ten feet away posed too much of a risk for too little gain.
Obvious newbies assigned to surveillance duties, no way these guys knew anything about Tak, or the men who had him. Plus, Adam had nixed the plan pretty fucking quick. Mostly because it had been a stupid fucking plan. Yeah, they needed to get inside to see what’s what, but a covert approach was key.
The hookers were Cody’s idea. A littleoopsie wrong address, followed by some professional-grade flirting, and the women were inside the trailer with a bottle of ecstasy-laced vodka. The bastards never stood a chance.
The double chirp of the van’s alarm system disengaging came through the communicator before Cody threw open the rear doors. “Shit. Nothing here.” Switched to night mode, the camera captured the dark interior of the empty van, and Grant’s hopes of finding his grandfather’s knife dwindled.
“Checking the Yukon,” Cody said, leaving the doors open and moving to the second vehicle. With the fob, he opened the rear hatch, and did a quick search of the metal cases. “Lots of tech but no laptop.” He opened the rear passenger door and jumped inside to access the bags occupying the third-row seats.
