A Girl Betrayed (A Leah Mason suspense thriller Book 2) Read online

  A security guard looked up from a small portable TV sitting on the reception counter as he approached and gave him a tired smile. Chan slowed and managed a small bow, as was his custom. The guard gave him a flippant salute.

  “Burning the midnight oil again?” the guard asked.

  “I work late,” Chan responded.

  “Nothing new about that. Have a good one. Don’t drive too fast in that golf cart of yours,” the guard teased, alluding to Chan’s Tesla.

  “I drive safe,” Chan said, and gave the guard a final wave before pushing through the doors into the muggy night air, the parking lot empty except for his vehicle and the guard’s geriatric Ford Taurus, the building’s obsidian panels rendering it nearly invisible in the dark of night.

  Chapter 4

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Go-go dancers wiggled in cages suspended from the ceiling of the hotel nightclub, undulating to a heavy rap beat, the bass booming from massive speakers mounted in every corner. The club was packed with bleary-eyed partiers, most no older than thirty. The women were dressed as provocatively as possible, while the men were largely clad in untucked long-sleeved dress shirts and jeans. Cocktail waitresses in bikinis and stiletto heels pushed through the dense crowd with trays of precariously balanced drinks, managing as if by magic to avoid spilling them.

  At the entrance of the club, four bouncers with no necks stood with muscular arms folded over their chests, glaring at the line of hopefuls waiting to get in. The nightspot was famous with the party crowd that flew in from L.A. and San Francisco on the weekend, and celebrants were willing to wait as long as it took to be part of the scene, which was a riotous madhouse of sexual tension and abandon.

  A tall young man with brooding good looks sipped a drink and scoped out the scene from the bar, grinning occasionally at a particularly shapely female as she bounced up for a drink. The crowd was evenly balanced between the genders, and most were intoxicated at the late hour, their faces shining with perspiration and excitement. The air was thick with cologne and perfume. Anything seemed possible in the town that never slept, and the club would keep going until dawn, the DJs taking turns to rile up the throng and ensure drink orders never slowed.

  The man finished his cocktail and set it on the bar. He ran strong fingers through thick black hair and then made his way around the packed dance floor toward the bathrooms. Halfway there he stopped to chat with a trio of women in skimpy outfits, and after a few minutes of shouting over the music, two of the women peeled off and accompanied him to the back while the third safeguarded their postage stamp-sized table.

  Once in the hallway that led to the bathrooms, the trio could hear each other, and after a short conversation the girls led the man to the women’s room, laughing drunkenly as they each pulled him by one of his hands. They entered the bathroom, ignoring dirty looks from a few of the girls fiddling with their makeup at a long row of mirrors, and moved to one of the stalls.

  “You sure it’s good, Tony?” one of the women asked for the third time.

  “Of course. Never had a complaint yet,” the man answered.

  “Do you have enough for more of our friends, if we want to buy six tabs?” the other woman asked.

  “You bet. The more the merrier. Now, we going to do this?”

  “You can’t go lower on the price?”

  “What do I look like, the dollar store?”

  The women exchanged a glance. “I suppose…” The second woman felt in her purse and frowned. “Crap. I left my money with Angie.” She kissed the man on the lips. “Wait here for a second. My friend can probably think of some way to keep you company.”

  “That’s right,” the first woman giggled.

  The second woman left, and the man diverted himself by kneading the remaining woman’s bottom while kissing her neck. After a minute of this she giggled again and whispered in his ear, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where you going?” the man asked.

  “Stall next door. I have to…you know.”

  The man released her, and she pulled the door open and moved to an adjacent stall. He frowned at being left alone in the women’s room and was about to call out when the door burst open and the gap was filled by two men and the woman who’d gone in search of her money – all holding badges.

  “You’re under arrest for the sale of narcotics,” the larger of the two men said. The woman gave him an ugly smile.

  “Looks like it’s not your lucky night after all, Tony.”

  The larger cop matched her ugly grin. “Turn around, shitbag. Cuff time. You have the right to remain silent…”

  Three hours later, Tony was sitting in a holding cell in the Las Vegas jail, having refused to say a word to anyone, the alcohol buzz still faint in his head. Two guards entered the block and escorted him to an interview room, where a detective sat with a world-weary face, the lines in it etched so deep he looked like a shar-pei, and a pair of fatigued eyes beneath a heavy brow. He watched as the guards chained Tony’s cuffs to a bar on the steel chair so he couldn’t come over the table at the detective.

  “So, Tony Altos,” the detective said, reading from the file in front of him. “Now two-time loser Tony Altos. I see you have a prior for possession. Same crap, too. Ecstasy. But this time you’re not going to get off so light. With ten hits, you’re dealing. We have you on tape selling. You have any idea what the penalty is for dealing ecstasy in Sin City, Tony?”

  Tony gave him a sullen stare. “I want a lawyer and a phone call.”

  “I’m sure you do. And you’ll get it. I’m just here to tell you unofficially that you’re screwed. We have you dead to rights, on tape, with witnesses. Almost a textbook bust.” The detective paused. “You ever see the end result of the crap you’re selling? Kidney failure in nineteen-year-olds? Lives over for what – a few hours of buzz? I got no problem with wanting to take the edge off, but that stuff…I won’t pretend it doesn’t make me happy to bag someone like you.”

  “A lawyer and a phone call.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You got it. Notice I’m not asking you any questions? Asking for a confession? Trying to get you to slip up? You’re a bright boy, judging by your sheet. Why do you think that is? I’ll tell you. You’re dead meat. A felony, wrapped with a bow, and with a prior that says you didn’t learn from your last run-in with the system.” The detective studied him for a long beat. “Good-looking guy like you is going to be very popular in the prison shower. I’ll give you a tip: they like it more when you fight it.”

  Tony gazed at a point a thousand miles to the left of the detective’s shoulder, ignoring the man. The detective nodded and stood with a groan, holding his back. “Guy like you with everything, and you do this. You got no excuse. None. The system’s gonna eat you alive. Don’t think anyone’s gonna pull strings for you – this one’s too tight.”

  The detective left the room, the slam of the steel door as loud as a rifle shot. Tony took in his surroundings, and his stare settled on the mirror on one end of the room. Outwardly indifferent, inside his brain was working at lightning speed, trying to figure a way out. He knew the cop was right – they had him stone cold, and even his family’s connections couldn’t get him off. Those had worked the last time, but that was different – he’d been back east, where they had all the clout in the world, with a prosecutor handpicked to view his educational record in a positive light…and the case hadn’t been as good. But even if it had been, Tony’s father had made it clear that if he threw away his prospects on drugs, he was on his own.

  What had made him do it? He cursed inwardly. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The money was easy, obviously, but he had money. So why? Getting one over on the system? A feeling of invulnerability, that he was smarter and better than everyone else? That he would never get caught?

  He tried to imagine the penalty for dealing ten hits of X, but couldn’t. Probably years, though. Hard years, not easy ones.

  The sound of the door opening behind him startled him from his though
ts, and he waited as a tall man and a woman, both in business suits, sat down opposite him, their expressions neutral.

  “Anthony Dominic Altos. Difficult spot you’re in, isn’t it?” the man said. “I’m Agent Nichols, and this is Agent Brent. FBI.”

  Tony’s eyes darted to the side slightly in spite of his best efforts to control his reaction. What were the feds doing on a small-time drug bust?

  “I told the last guy I want a lawyer and a phone call,” Tony said.

  “We heard,” Brent said. “But before you get lawyered up, we thought we would have an off-the-record chat and see if there’s some way to resolve this without it going official. Once you call an attorney, you’re in the system, and there’s nothing for us to talk about. You’re going in one side of the sausage machine…and what comes out the other isn’t going to be pretty.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say.”

  “Right. Because you’re a tough guy.” Nichols opened a folder he’d carried in and set it on the table. “Penn State, then Wharton. MBA. Impressive stuff. Unusual for a bathroom drug bust, but you stay on the job long enough, you see it all.” He skimmed the document and then closed the file. “We have a proposal. It’s a onetime offer, and when we leave the room, it’s no longer available. You understand?”

  Tony didn’t say anything.

  Brent took over from Nichols. “We can get all of this scrubbed like it never happened. No arrest record. Everything sealed. Just a bad dream.”

  “You’re probably wondering why we would do that,” Nichol said. “Don’t worry. It has nothing to do with your family.”

  Brent leaned forward a fraction. “That’s right. We have an interest in your employer. We think he’s been a bad boy, and we want to clear things up. You can help.”

  Tony tried to remember what he knew about the law from watching cop shows. He’d asked for a lawyer, so they couldn’t use anything he said from now on or it would get tossed out of court. So why were they pushing this? Maybe because it was the real deal?

  “How?” Tony asked.

  “Nothing big. Wear a wire to work. That’s it. For a month. In exchange, we’ll make this disappear.”

  “You’re serious?” Tony couldn’t see how he could lose by taking the deal. He’d only been with the company for eight months and hadn’t made any friends. Everyone treated him like a gofer, busy with important matters while he was sent on coffee and sandwich runs – a far cry from what he’d imagined when he’d gotten his degree.

  “We’ll put it in writing,” Brent said. “This never happened if you cooperate with us. But…Tony? You get busted again, it gets unsealed, and they’ll core you a new one so wide you’ll never sit normally again. So this is a gift – a onetime get-out-of-jail card you did nothing to deserve except work at the right place.”

  “Will I have to testify or anything? I won’t do that.”

  “The wire is all we’re asking you to do. We’ll show you how to tape it in place. So small these days it’s virtually invisible under a shirt,” Nichols said.

  Tony thought for several seconds. He could see no downside other than selling out his boss, who treated him like an illegal anyway. Tony smiled at the idea of helping put the arrogant prick away.

  “What’s he been up to?” Tony asked, now sure the offer was real.

  “That’s none of your business. You wear the wire, you make sure you’re around him as much as possible, we do the rest. Truthfully, we don’t need you. You’re icing on the cake, nothing more. It’s just lucky your name was flagged and we could get here before real damage was done.”

  Tony blinked twice and then slowly nodded his head. “Put it in writing and we have a deal.”

  Chapter 5

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  The Las Vegas Convention Center was packed with exhibitor booths, but there were few customers strolling along the wide aisles, taking in the displays. The trade show was for the benefit of a select clientele of international security and defense groups, by invitation only – functionaries chartered with making the buying decisions for governments around the globe. Supermodels in skimpy outfits, bleached smiles, and silicon-augmented curves greeted potential customers at reception kiosks while lights atop elaborate booths strobed and whirled as presenters gave canned pitches describing the benefits of the wares being demonstrated.

  The crowd was almost exclusively male, of a certain age, their faces puffy from lives of plenty and the excesses of those who didn’t have to worry about innovating or earning their living. Most were dressed in the uniform of bureaucrats everywhere – nondescript suits of muted gray and blue, the ties as boring as the haircuts and shoes. They ambled along the conference center floor, bags filled with literature and giveaway items, their eyes lingering on the models as they chuckled beneath their breath to one another.

  At the end of one of the primary arteries, a two-story booth with displays on the ground floor and meeting rooms above blinked neon to attract attendees from the central area. A small stage was erected on one side, and beside it stood a seven-foot form covered with a purple velvet sheet. A crowd had gathered in front of the mystery item, listening to a tall man in his sixties, fit and tan, his goatee and hair dyed a convincing shade of virile brown, giving a presentation.

  “The XZ-2020 represents a new era in passive detection. Gone are the days of ambiguity and costly redundant screening. With guaranteed threat recognition, augmented by our proprietary AI processing capability, the 2020 adapts and grows with the times, ensuring a longer service life than anything else in the industry. Our sensor technology is at the cutting edge, as is our user friendliness. And because we’ve designed it to be modular, you can add capabilities as we develop them rather than being forced to purchase new equipment.”

  The man cleared his throat. “As president of Ravstar, I can assure you that nothing else on the market comes close to our combination of programmability, durability, performance, expected service life, and efficiency.” He offered the assembly a friendly grin. “Are there any questions?”

  One of the audience cleared his throat. “Do you have any third-party lab results on its performance?”

  The presenter nodded. “We’ve already got a rollout planned, where we’ll be submitting to all the usual suspects. I don’t anticipate any issues. Our in-house quality control is industry standard.”

  “What about cost?” another asked.

  “Our sales team is here to answer any questions. Obviously, it will depend on quantities, as well as your targeted delivery time.”

  “And warranty?”

  “All covered in the literature. Again, our goal is to set the new bar for quality. I think you’ll be pleased by what you see.”

  The first questioner raised his hand. “When do you foresee the first units being available?”

  The president smiled again. “We’re scheduled to begin shipping in sixty days.”

  The crowd murmured, obviously surprised by the answer. “How firm is that?” the questioner pressed.

  “We’re working round the clock to make it happen. You can take that deadline to the bank.”

  When the presentation finished, a curvaceous model whisked the velvet sheet from the scanner, and the crowd pressed closer in order to get a better look. Salespeople barred anyone from getting too near, and the president took the opportunity to introduce the director of marketing before stepping from the stage and walking to the far side of the booth, where a shapely woman in her forties stood with an expectant expression.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Patrick, if I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you believe every word you said,” she whispered.

  His grin returned. “It’s not a lie if you believe it when you say it, Susan.”

  “Think there will be any takers?”

  “With this bunch, you never know. But I’m not worried. I have my ace in the hole. Once word gets out about our first big order, these clowns will be tripping all over each other to jump on the bandwag
on.”

  Susan studied him wordlessly for a long beat. “But that first big order isn’t in the bag, is it?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing’s certain but death and taxes. And I’m not convinced about death.”

  She laughed. “Ever the optimist.”

  “Beats the alternatives.”

  They watched the sales force go to work on the prospects. Susan was the owner of the PR agency that had helped Patrick make his company a darling of Wall Street even though it had yet to ship product after almost a year of being publicly traded; a magician at managing perception, Susan had positioned Ravstar as a maverick innovator that was revolutionizing the space – no small feat for boring technology that had no broad appeal and was largely a hodgepodge of existing products arranged in slightly different ways.

  Patrick smiled again as his marketing director finished the final bit of his pitch, and applauded to start everyone else clapping. It was as orchestrated as Kabuki theater, but effective. Nobody wanted to miss out on the next big thing, and Patrick was foremost a showman. He was already familiar to many in the audience from numerous appearances on the financial networks, often brought on as a security expert even though he had no background in the field other than having started his company. None of which mattered, given the claims Ravstar had made. Everyone loved better, faster, and cheaper, and the new airport scanner Patrick’s group had developed promised to be a hit before the first one ever shipped – at least, to hear him tell the story.

  A short man with an olive complexion approached them, and Susan excused herself with a wink. Patrick greeted him with a placid expression, his eyes never leaving the group gathered by the scanner.

  “Patrick, we need to talk,” the newcomer said.