Forever Alexa (Book Four In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (44 page)

Jackson came to attention when Alex rolled to a stop at the makeshift valet station. He kept going, peering in his rearview mirror for a last look at Alex in the bright lights of the enormous circular drive. “Take care of her,” he muttered as Christina stepped from her side of the car. He clenched his jaw as the car keys changed hands. Alex and Christina were officially on their own.

A half-mile down the road, he spotted a black Audi Q5 with blacked out windows pulled to the curb. Two agents would be manning their post in the front seat, hanging on every word exchanged. Jackson turned right, making his way around the block toward the back of the estate.

“All agents are reporting excellent sound quality,” Tucker said into his ear. “The last vehicle just rolled into place half a block from the residence.”

“Good. I’m circling around. I’m almost back to where I want to be. Did you double-check with Ethan about the surveillance system along the perimeter?”

“Yeah. He hacked into Hartwell’s security company’s files. There’s no record of a sensory light installation, and they don’t use dogs.”

“Idiots. Just think, some asshole could climb the wall in the dark, have themselves a seat, and stare in the windows for hours.”

“Can’t imagine what moron would want to do that. Got your rope?”

Jackson grinned. “Absolutely.”

“Alexa and Christina just made contact with Eric.” Tucker’s voice went from joking to professional in an instant. “He’s introducing them both to Hartwell and…hold on…son of a bitch, Lorenzo Cruz.”

Dread surged through his veins as he thought of Alex standing face-to-face with the man who surely played a part in her sister’s disappearance. “How does Alex sound?”

“Like a pro. Maybe she should give up her teaching gig and pick up a roll or two on the big screen. I barely hear her nerves. They work as well in this situation as they did last night.”

“Thank God for that.” Jackson turned on the parkway and slowed, catching glimpses of the twelve-foot wall through the dense tree cover. Who the hell was in charge of security? The pretty pillars with thick concrete mounts spread every thirty feet were aesthetically pleasing but completely impractical. “If Ethan could see this layout, he’d shit himself.”

“Good stuff?”

“Hell no. I’ll be up the wall in less than five minutes.” He was looking forward to using Hartwell’s security errors against him. Dick.

“No lights. No dogs. Some guys have all the luck.”

“That’s me. One lucky bastard.” Jackson continued past the estate, taking advantage of the momentary ebb in traffic and flipped a u-turn. He idled on the shoulder and waited before backing closer to the shrubbery and trees. “Looks like I’m parked about an eighth of a mile from where I’ll be.”

“I have a decent idea of where you’re at.”

He reached for the door handle, ready to go, but stopped when he spotted the flashing yellow lights of a security vehicle turning into the doctor’s office parking lot a hundred yards behind him. “A rent-a-cop’s checking on the complex behind me. I’m going to wait a couple minutes.” But he didn’t want to. He was ready to be the asshole climbing the wall to stare in the windows for hours. The operation seemed to be going well, but he would feel better when he could verify that for himself. Glancing at his watch, he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel and blew out an impatient breath. What the hell was this guy
doing
? How long did it take to drive around a damn office building? He fidgeted in his seat and stabbed the power button on the radio. Crossfade blared through the speakers, and Jackson quickly turned it down. The gritty guitar and hard drumbeat fit his restless mood perfectly. He looked at his watch again, waiting for the security vehicle to move on. “Goddamn.” It had been less than five minutes but it felt like an eternity. “Let’s go, buddy.” He grabbed his bag and settled it on his shoulder when the yellow lights reflected in his mirrors. “What’s going on? How about an update?” he demanded in frustration.

“Nothing new. They’re schmoozing in the foyer. The place is loud and jam-packed.”

“You sure you’re getting good copy?”

“Everything’s fine. You do your climb yet?”

“I’m on my way.” The security vehicle turned in the opposite direction and Jackson pulled his keys from the ignition, opened his door, and crossed the street. Vehicles whooshed by, their headlights blinding him as he walked along the shoulder waiting for another lull in the Saturday bustle. His moment came a minute later, and he dashed into the thick of trees. So far, so good. The pillar ahead was the one he wanted.

“Alexa and Christina are heading to the main living room. We can’t hear much over the music.”

“I’m about to secure the rope. I’ll have a visual in less than five.” He moved quickly, needing to get a glimpse of Alex. If the agents couldn’t hear her, he wanted to see her. He made a loop in the heavy rope, lassoed it around the head of the pillar, and pulled leather gloves on his hands, ready to begin. Steaming out breath after breath, he fought against his own weight to reach the ledge. The rough texture of the wall wreaked havoc on his knees and forearms but made the climb easier. If the stone were smooth, he would’ve had a hell of a time. Thank God for Hartwell’s dumbass security.

Jackson reached for the top. “Shit,” he hissed as his knuckles connected with the unforgiving grit. He hitched his leg up and over. Finally on the ledge, he swiped at the sweat dripping in his eyes. “Damn.” He pressed at his earpiece. “I’m up.”

“Sound a little winded.”

“Kiss ass,” he said without heat. He wiped the blood running down his arms on his jeans and winced at the sting as he stared at the mansion lit up like glory. Every light on the first floor blazed bright through the windows. Where was Alex? He grabbed the binoculars from his bag and honed in on the triple set of French doors where the band played. Echoes of laughter and the bass from the drums blared all the way out here. “Has Christina updated their location?”

“They’re still in the living room, as far as we can tell.”

Jackson continued his search of the crowded space. “Where are you?” he whispered as he brushed at his forehead, wiping away the drenching perspiration. “Where are you, Alex?” He pressed his earpiece. “I can’t establish a visual.” Then he found her and he could breathe again—the relief was huge. There she was among the hordes of guests, talking to Renzo as she brought a flute of champagne to her lips but didn’t actually sip. Jackson smiled. “That’s my girl.” He didn’t have to worry about wine dulling her wits.

A balding, muscular man dressed in black came up behind Alex, and her smile vanished as Jackson’s did. “Where’s Christina?”

“She should be with Alexa. They’re transmitting the same sounds. They’re definitely in the room together.”

“I don’t see—” He spotted her talking to Hartwell not far from Alex. “There she is.”

Christina smiled and edged closer to Alex. Alex took Christina’s hand, and they followed Eric and the man in black out of the room. “What’s going on?” Jackson clutched the binoculars tight. “What the hell’s going on, man? I’ve lost sight of them.”

“Hold up.”

He scanned rooms frantically, waiting for Tucker’s voice to come back.

“They’re off to meet some big shot modeling agent.”

“Where? What room? I can’t find them.”

“Audio transmission’s coming through fine. They’re together.”

Tucker could hear her, but Jackson wanted his visual back. He peered at his watch. An hour and a half until Christina was scheduled to come down with a migraine. He didn’t know if he could make it that long.

The noise was deafening and the room hot. Alexa glimpsed at the silver wristwatch her grandmother left her, feeling worried. Thirty minutes had already flown by, and they had nothing to report to the taskforce but a definite professional link between Zachary Hartwell, Lorenzo Cruz, and Eric Stevens. In her heart she knew they were all tied to the ring, but the justice system would require more than Alexa Harris’s gut instincts to bring down a sex trafficking organization. She and Christina needed to make something happen soon, or the night would end a complete bust. Sipping alcoholic beverages and making small talk wasn’t getting them anywhere. The window to save Abby was closing with every minute passing. There had to be
something
incriminating among the maze of endless rooms she could bring to the authorities.

Alexa’s gaze wandered to the beautiful curved staircase in the elegant entryway as she and Christina were lead to the ballroom. Maybe Mr. Hartwell had an office on the second floor. Surely there was information about his other ‘business’ in a filing cabinet or drawer. She just had to find it. After she met the modeling agent, she was
going
to find a way up those stairs. How she’d do that was another matter considering the swarms of people everywhere, but she would worry about that when the time came.

“I’ve never been in a house with ‘wings,’” Christina gushed. “First the west wing, now the east. This is pretty cool.”

“Definitely a little different than the parties we go to in Baltimore.” Alexa played along while Christina gave Agent Terron, Detective Cannon, and Tucker their location. She glanced to the window and the summer dark beyond. Was Jack out there somewhere? He said he would be close by.

“In here.” The large, serious man dressed in black gestured with his head.

Alexa looked over her shoulder, catching a second peek at the staircase, dreading that she would waste more time in yet another crowded room when she could be heading up those stairs. She turned back and bumped into someone. “Excuse me.”

The buxom blonde in a clinging, black, sleeveless cocktail dress gave her a polite smile and continued past. Alexa took two steps and froze as she remembered that face—Blondie. Whirling, she tried to catch site of the waitress from Lady Pink before she disappeared among the sea of guests. Craning her neck, frantically searching, Alexa spotted her down the long hall as she opened a door and closed it behind her.

Why was Blondie here? She looked so different with her hair done up in a twist and actual
clothes
on. Maybe she knew where Abby was. Alexa took a step, intending to follow and find out, but Christina’s cool hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“Are you okay, Jenny?”

Shaken, yet eager to investigate, Alexa struggled to remember her role. “Um, yes. I thought I saw—I thought I saw Ms. LaTrain. You know, my mom’s friend I used to cat sit for?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I’m pretty positive that was her. Let’s go say hi. I haven’t seen her in ages.” She clutched Christina’s hand and pulled her forward, wanting to tell her whom she just saw.

“Later.” Eric stepped in front of them.

“Oh, but we’ll lose her if we don’t go now.” She sent him a pleading look, hoping he would let them go.

“Let’s do this first,” he winked, smoothing the demand from his voice. “I’ll help you find your friend after you meet Mr. Lee. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

She and Christina exchanged glances. Without another option, Alexa nodded. “I guess we’ll find her later.”

She smiled at Eric and the big man in black as she and Christina continued behind them. Alexa moved closer to Christina and grabbed two flutes of champagne as a waiter passed, wanting to have something in her hand. “I saw Blondie,” she said under her breath as she brought the glass to her lips. “A dancer from Lady Pink.” She didn’t dare say more.

Christina nodded.

As they continued through the crowd, Alexa scanned faces, looking for more people she might recognize from the strip club, but no luck. She turned her attention back to Eric as they stopped in front of a short, stocky Asian man in his late forties, early fifties.

“Ah, so you’ve come.”

“Yes.” Eric smiled. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Lee.” The men exchanged a handshake. “I want to introduce you to Jenny Carstens and her friend Christina Detrick, and of course you know Lenny.”

“Lenny,” Mr. Lee nodded. “And two very beautiful young women.” Mr. Lee took their hands, one at a time, and kissed their knuckles.

“Jenny, Mr. Lee owns and operates Face, one of New York’s top modeling agencies.”

“Face.” Her eyes widened and she pressed a hand to her heart, feigning her excitement. “I know what Face is.” The sooner they got this over with, the faster she could get down the hall and find Blondie. “This is so
cool
.”

“Have you modeled before, Ms. Carstens?”

“Uh, no, no—but I’ve always wanted to.” She sent Eric a grin, trying hard to ignore her discomfort as Mr. Lee scrutinized her face.

“I’ve seen you before.” He frowned. “Your eyes.”

Alexa swallowed against the rush of fear clogging her throat. Was her cover blown? Did Mr. Lee recognize her eyes because they were identical to Abby’s? A man in his profession would pay attention to such details. Was he part of the ring too, or did he meet her sister at one of the several fashion shows she’d attended? Alexa wanted to ask Mr. Lee if he’d been to the Fashion Fair here in DC when Abby had stolen the show with her clever designs, but she didn’t dare.