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But it was the large window that drew Cain’s eye. It was clearly one-way glass, giving Dante a bird’s-eye view into the packed club below.
“You got it?” Dante asked, dropping into his desk chair.
Cain withdrew the file and dropped it on the desk. “You’ll make sure he goes down?”
There was a glint in the other man’s eyes. “Fuck yeah. The bastard hurt the daughter of a friend. Lured her in, did sick shit to her, photographed it.”
“You got her out?”
Dante ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, but she committed suicide three weeks later. She was thirteen.”
Hell. Cain felt a blip of sympathy, but the truth was that he was desensitized to bad shit. He’d seen a lot of horrible things, all around the world. A lot of innocents chewed up and spat out. “Sorry to hear that. This will help you make sure he doesn’t hurt any other young girls.” And didn’t venture any further into human trafficking.
Dante nodded. “He’s going down.”
“Uncle Sam thanks you for your help.”
“Thanks, Shade. You need help from me, you only have to call me.”
Cain nodded, then headed back down the stairs. As he crossed through the club, he ignored the welcoming, interested look from a stacked brunette in a tiny, red dress.
Outside, he headed down the street, taking several turns until he found where he’d parked his rental car. It was a short drive to his hotel in the French Quarter.
He liked staying at the Bourbon Orleans Hotel. He liked its old-world charm, which made for a nice change from the sterile hotel rooms he was used to. He strode through the grand lobby with its pillars and grand furniture.
When he reached his suite, he checked the small, near-invisible strip he’d set to ensure that his room was still undisturbed. Once inside, he pulled his shirt off and headed for the shower.
The room had more French styling and a view into the hotel’s lush courtyard. Not that he ever had time to stop and enjoy it.
He’d wash off the day with burning hot water, but he already knew that he’d never quite feel clean. He was dedicated to protecting his country. He knew his work was important, and that it saved lives, and kept many innocent people safe.
But sometimes it sucked. It was hard and horrible and shitty.
He walked in the darkness and did the hard things so other people didn’t have to. So they could stay safe and naïve, so they could voice their uneducated opinions on social media, and get up every morning and have breakfast with their kids, then go to the job they bitched about.
Shit. He shook his head. He was in a mood today.
After indulging in a long shower, he dried off. With a towel wrapped around his hips, he went to the computer on his desk and let the facial recognition read his face.
An image of the Sentinel Security office appeared. Not the stylish upper levels of the warehouse that housed the corporate security and cybersecurity divisions. No, this was the lower levels, where Killian’s top team worked. The command center where a hacker called Hex ruled.
She sat on a chair, one leg tucked under her, moving it slightly side to side as she studied the screen. Her brow was creased in concentration.
He smiled. He liked watching her work. Of course, if she knew that he’d planted a tiny, secret camera the last time he was there, she’d lose her mind.
Suddenly, the elevator to the side of the image opened, and a woman in a neat skirt suit strode out holding a vase of flowers.
Cain frowned.
Jet stood up, her mouth open.
He saw her smile and reached over to touch a flower. Then she grabbed the card nestled in the blooms and read it.
He flicked on the sound.
“Who are they from?” the receptionist asked. “A secret admirer?”
“No, a guy I worked with on a recent job. Cybersecurity.”
