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Jax and the Brown Eyed Girl

By: JayCuck



Author's Note:

The following story is complete fiction. I'm not related to, or affiliated with, any characters depicted in this story. I sincerely hope everyone enjoys reading it.

A sincere and heartfelt 'Thank You' to LadyVer. She graciously edited this story, despite a busy and demanding professional schedule, and her edits, recommendations, and feedback improved the story immensely. She was a joy to work with and a consummate professional. I accepted 98.9% of her changes, but also added some material after the editing process was completed.

Any errors are mine alone. It's highly likely she recommended I change them.

As a fan of the main female character in this story, I highly recommend her work. She's naturally beautiful and completely genuine—a rare combination.

*

"Attention in the terminal."

"US Airways flight 1694 has been delayed approximately two hours. Sorry, folks. There is serious weather in the northeast and it's delayed this flight. As soon as we receive another update, we'll inform everyone in the terminal."

"Also, due to other flight delays and cancellations, we will have to re-seat some passengers. We will call individuals up and inform them of their new seat assignments."

"Thank you for your patience and understanding."

Groans, sighs, and curses filled the air. Flight 1694 was already an hour overdue. Now all the passengers were stuck waiting another two hours. A line immediately formed at the counter, angry faces staring bullets at the airline attendant.

Poor woman. It wasn't her fault, but she was the one dodging bullets. Matt watched the stressed-out attendant do her best with the frustrated passengers. Phoenix Sky Harbor airport was pretty comfortable as airports go and Matt figured it could have been a lot worse. Sky Harbor was certainly more comfortable than the Albuquerque or San Luis Obispo airports.

Matt's destination was San Diego, his home for the last five years since leaving the military. A weekend of serious fishing and light partying was waiting in San Diego. Or was it light fishing and serious partying? Unfortunately, he was now stuck in Phoenix for at least two more hours.

Matt sighed and stowed his Kindle, the bar across the hallway beckoning. He smiled when he saw the waitress. He couldn't resist attractive Latin women. Then Jackie slid into his mind.

She's an employee, dude, back off.

Grabbing his black soft leather laptop bag, Matt stood and stretched. That's when he noticed them.

Predators. Four of them.

Matt's training barely prevented him from doing a double-take.

Sitting together on a row of chairs against the wall in the seating area, each of the men wore the lean, hungry, intense look that all predators displayed, whether they walked on two legs or four. They were trying hard to appear casual, to blend in, and most folks wouldn't notice them because they were too busy dealing with their own shit.

Matt now had another reason for heading into the bar. He'd be able to watch them without being conspicuous.

He walked over to the bar thinking about the men. Not law enforcement. Definitely not military ... they didn't stand right.

An empty table at the bar gave Matt a good view of the terminal. The table also had the added benefit of being out of the predators' line of sight. Placing his worn leather briefcase onto the empty seat across the table, Matt pulled out his Blackberry. There was no better way to look occupied and oblivious to the world than with a smart phone. They were better cover than anything else invented by man, except kids. As Matt typed several fake messages on his Blackberry, he watched and evaluated the four men.

No formal training.

No obvious weapons.

Definitely foreigners.

Dark hair, dark eyes, light complexion, little facial hair. Freshly cut hair ... cut close ... trying to look American. Brand new fashionable clothes.

Probably Central or South American.

It was hard to forget some things, especially things that saved your life once upon a time. Matt had been out of the game for a while, but the training came back easily. Although given what he did for a living, most people would say he was still in the game. His unique skill set was like an old coat that fit perfectly, even though it hadn't been worn in a while.

Predators for sure, but who was the prey?

The terminal was packed. Understatement of the century. The Fourth of July was only a week away. Kids were running all over. Stressed-out and tired parents following, limiting the damage. Businessmen and women talked into cell phones or typed frantically on smart phones and tablets.

Vacationers were the easiest to spot. They were disappointed, but relaxed, otherwise not worried about being stuck in an airport for another two hours.

Matt envied them.

The four predators did a passable job of looking in every direction, but one. They didn't look at the windows, which was odd because most travelers liked to watch the planes come and go. Matt focused on the row of chairs in front of the windows.

Single mom, three kids.

Not her.

Old guy, mid-sixties, AARP, Medicare.

Definitely not him.

Businessman ... cheap suit, wrinkled. Been traveling for a while. Late 20s, early 30s. Salesman. Building his career. Hair plastered back by god-knows-what grooming product.

A possible. Four guys for him, though? The single mother could take that guy. Hell, her five-year-old daughter looks capable of putting him on the floor.

Woman. Single, or at least sitting by herself. Mid to late 20s. In shape. Excellent shape, by the look of her. Athletic, but curvy. Brown hair, probably brown eyes. A woman alone.

Bingo!

One of the predators separated himself from the group, walked over slowly and casually, and sat a few rows behind her. The dumbass didn't even have a magazine. He simply stared out the window looking completely creepy and out of place. Matt looked for a sign on his back that said "Creepy Dude" but didn't see one. That's all he was missing. Matt waited to see if the single woman noticed him.

Instincts. Hopefully she'll have good instincts.

Human beings were basically animals with animal instincts they've tried to ignore or suppress for thousands of years. But the instincts are still there and occasionally come in handy. One of the instincts most people have is the ability to know when a creep has taken a seat behind them and is staring holes into the back of their head.

The single woman was no exception. Hallelujah!

Whether she saw the creep's reflection in the window, or she just had good instincts, Matt wasn't sure. Either way, she stood up. Keeping her eyes averted, she walked over to the bar.

Matt continued to focus on the four predators.

They had no idea what to do. It was kind of funny.

After watching them for fifteen minutes, he sensed they were outside their mission plan. Matt was ready to bet dollars to donuts they had never anticipated being delayed in the terminal. Now they were forced to do something they hadn't planned on and definitely hadn't trained for, and their stress level was going up. Lost in the sauce, was what we used to say. Matt guessed their original plan was to join the woman's flight at the last minute and make their move after she retrieved her luggage from baggage claim. It was the way he'd have done it.

Why would they be interested in her, though?

Drug mule?

No. Doesn't fit.

Prostitute?

Maybe, but why four guys?

Eyewitness?

Definite possibility. But she should have had some sort of law enforcement escort.

The last possible option was one he didn't want to consider.

Human Trafficking.

Matt sighed heavily. Yeah. She fit the profile. Single woman, attractive, traveling alone. Landing in a big city, busy airport, close to the border with Mexico.

Fuck!

That had to be it. Bottom line? They wanted her alive—alive at first, anyway. Who the hell knew what would be in her future if the four men snatched her. Having attended military and law enforcement briefings, Matt had heard the ugly and brutal stories about victims of human trafficking. He wished he could erase them from his memory.

Human trafficking organizations (HTOs) were a growing global menace. They recognized no borders, feared few law enforcement agencies, and operated with impunity in many countries. Drugs. Weapons. Organized Crime. HTOs were involved with anything and everything. Violence was their currency and they never hesitated to use it. If Matt was right, this lady was in some pretty deep shit. If he was wrong, she still had four seriously creepy dudes shadowing her.

They'd sent four guys.

So she was important ... a high-value target. An HTO sent four guys to make sure the snatch went perfectly. No screw-ups. Likely the predators were independent contractors who would hand her over to another organization later and who probably had little information other than a picture and a flight plan. Well, a picture, a flight plan, and instructions not to fuck up, or they'd be the ones disappearing.

Carefully, Matt moved his eyes back to the woman who was now sitting alone in the bar reading a magazine on her iPad. She was facing him at an angle, so Matt didn't have a direct line of sight to her face. Something about her kept picking at his brain. He couldn't place her, but she looked familiar.

Using flash recognition, Matt tried looking away and then looking suddenly back. No luck.

Actress? sports star? politician? politician's mistress?

Matt started over. If she looks familiar, go with actress.

Actress ... actress ... actress ...

Gotcha! Adult actress! Matt recognized her now.

Brooklyn Chase!

At thirty-three, Matt was still single. He ran his own business with a partner and was extremely successful. And as a single guy living in San Diego, he had seen his share of porn.

Southern California was home, and it was also the home of the porn industry. Matt didn't live in the San Fernando Valley, which was porn central, but it was a booming industry all over Southern California. Occasionally, an adult actress caught his eye.

Matt smiled. Brooklyn Chase was one of those actresses. Matt profiled her in his head.

The girl next door, only her beauty multiplied by 100. Gorgeous, shiny, cascading brown hair. Amazing brown eyes—a horrible description because her eyes were absolutely captivating. Way beyond captivating. They were almond shaped, a light milk chocolate, and supremely expressive. Brooklyn's smile? It captured a person's attention so completely they lost their train of thought. A smile so perfect, the world stopped spinning just for a moment. A smile so beautiful, it made a person warm and happy just being in its presence. Brooklyn Chase was the epitome of beauty, grace, and style. Throughout history entire nations had gone to war over women like Brooklyn.

Matt snorted. Easy, now.

He wasn't obsessed with her. Everyone appreciates beauty. Simply acknowledging someone as beautiful was a far cry from being creepy and mentally unstable. Matt wasn't either one of those. Brooklyn Chase was amazing, beautiful, and genuine, but he wasn't remotely interested in stalking the woman.

That's my story, dammit, and I'm sticking to it.

Living in Southern California provided the opportunity to see celebrities every day, so Matt had seen his share. Celebrities didn't do anything for him. He wasn't star struck or a groupie. The lack of privacy most celebrities had to endure was unbelievable, and he didn't think money or fame were acceptable trade-offs.

Business, Matt. Focus.

Matt's eyes slowly returned to the predators. Three were still sitting against the wall, but the fourth had moved to a table in the corner and now had a good view of Brooklyn. Fortunately, Matt was out of his line of sight. The glass divider next to Matt's table and its reflection gave him a clear, unobstructed view of the fourth predator.

The cute waitress finally made it to Matt's table, interrupting his surveillance. They exchanged a few words and he ordered a drink and some appetizers. She rewarded him with a smile and then hurried to Brooklyn's table. Brooklyn ordered water with a slice of lime. Matt was relieved she wasn't drinking. He wondered briefly if she sensed the presence of Creepy Dude and his pals. It's more likely she doesn't want to be impaired when she's by herself.

A few minutes later, Matt's bourbon arrived and he slowly sipped his Booker's on the rocks. One was the limit though. At over 100 proof, Booker's was intended to be sipped.

The PA system came to life just then and passengers were asked to see the attendant for their new seat assignments. Matt pitied the person behind the counter because that had to be the worst job in the airline business. Sure enough, the first person in line started waving his hands around and pointing his finger at the attendant.

What a dick! What is it about airports that brings the worst out in people?

Matt shook his head and turned back to the fourth predator, the Head Creepy Dude, who had ordered a Dos Equis. Feeling more confident that the predator was from south of the border, Matt turned his attention back to Brooklyn. Her drink and a vegetable tray were on the table, but she was gone.

Matt managed to avoid whiplash when he realized Brooklyn had been called to the counter to be re-seated. He didn't recognize, or remember, the name the airline had used to call her up. It didn't matter and wasn't important. Brooklyn stood quietly in line facing forward. Matt cursed under his breath at the sight of one of the predators in line behind her. He'd apparently been called up as well.

Uh oh. Shit just got real.

Brooklyn was given a new boarding pass. The creepy dude behind her grabbed his new boarding pass, looked over at Head Creepy Dude, and nodded meaningfully. An ugly smile crossed his face as he walked back over to the creepy dude ensemble.

Assumptions were normally unwise in Matt's business and typically the result of bad planning or just plain laziness. In this case, however, Matt was willing to bet serious money that at least one of the creepy dudes was seated close to or next to Brooklyn Chase on the plane. If he was correct, then whichever creepy dude was closest would be in a great position to slip something into Brooklyn's drink while the plane was airborne. In an airport as busy as the San Diego airport, it wouldn't even be noticed. He'd simply be a boyfriend or husband helping his wife to baggage claim.

My girlfriend drank too much, Officer. Just lost her mom, you see. Don't worry. I'll take care of her, and our car is right outside.

The waitress returned with Matt's appetizers and put the plate down with a smile. "Here you go," she said, slipping the check under the plate.

Matt smiled. "Thank you. Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"I need to go talk to the airline. Will you watch this table for me? I'm definitely coming back. I just need five minutes."

"Of course!" the waitress replied. "We do it all the time."

"Great. Thanks."

Whatever appetite Matt had was gone, replaced by a sinking and slightly nauseous feeling. Drugging Brooklyn wouldn't be hard. Fear, laced with resigned certainty, surged through him. He couldn't risk it, couldn't live with being a bystander. The situation developing didn't involve him. It wasn't his business and it damn sure wasn't his problem, but he couldn't sit by and let something happen to Brooklyn. His conscience wouldn't let this situation develop for any woman, actress or not.

I really hope I'm not going to regret this later.

Matt slid out of his chair and walked over to the counter, taking his laptop with him. The woman behind the airline counter looked stressed and ready for battle. Matt smiled widely as he approached, trying hard to convey humor and an I'm-not-an-ugly-customer appearance.

"Hi. How's it going?" Matt asked.

She smiled briefly. "Ugh. Good. What can I do for you?"

"Listen, I think you handled the first jerk really well. Situations like these can't be easy, but you're doing great." Matt finished by giving the attendant a high-five. His comment was cheesy, but kindness cost nothing, and sometimes it really paid off. He was rewarded with a genuine smile and a friendly eye roll.

"Thank you." She sighed. "I appreciate it. Now, how can I help you?"

"You served a passenger a second ago. A young lady ... brown hair, brown eyes," Matt started carefully. The lady behind the counter narrowed her eyes, suspicion breaking out over her face.

Matt quickly held up his hand.

"Please. Just listen to me." He lowered his voice and leaned forward. "I'm not asking for her name, and I don't want any information about her. Truthfully, I'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't mention my involvement."

The attendant nodded slowly. "Okay."

"I want to upgrade her to first class. Are there any available seats left?"

She hesitated, but after giving Matt the once-over, she looked down at her terminal and typed away for a moment before nodding. "We have one seat left."

"I'll take it," Matt said, taking out his credit card.

"You just doing this out of the kindness of your heart?" she asked with a smile.

He nodded. "Sort of. Please just tell her there was an extra seat or something."

The attendant nodded and swiped Matt's card. "Well, she's just been upgraded. I'm not going to call her up here again, but I'll walk over in a few minutes and give her the new boarding pass."

Matt nodded. "Fine. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome." She paused and then winked at Matt. "Good luck."

The attendant wouldn't have understood or bought any other explanation, so Matt just smiled and walked back to the bar. It was highly unlikely the creepy dudes had first-class seats, so moving Brooklyn to first class would keep her out of their reach during the flight.

Matt couldn't shake the feeling that something about this situation felt ugly, and that a really shitty situation was brewing. He glanced at Brooklyn as he slid back into his seat. She looked lost in her iPad. Now that she was marginally safer, Matt picked at his appetizer.

He thought of San Diego. Do I do anything when we land? It was likely Brooklyn had a boyfriend or relative who would pick her up, so she probably wouldn't be alone.

That's why there's four of them ... enough guys to deal with Brooklyn's significant other. Boyfriend or husband. Either way, they needed enough muscle to handle him.

Finally, the plane arrived and the boarding process started. Matt deposited a hefty tip for the waitress and got in line with the other first-class passengers. A few minutes later he slid into his seat with a sigh and retrieved his Kindle. He had just started an amazing new Brandon Sanderson book, the second in a new epic fantasy series. A few minutes later, Brooklyn boarded, a confused, but happy look on her face, and took her seat in First Class.

A wry smile crossed Matt's face when he noticed that Brooklyn wasn't sitting anywhere near him. So much for being a Good Samaritan. Well, you're not helping her for recognition. That's never been your style, bud.

Matt returned to his Kindle.

The creepy dude ensemble came through eventually, each marking Brooklyn's seat on the plane. Head Creepy Dude looked supremely pissed, a scowl painting his face as he trudged back to Coach.


Jax and the Brown Eyed Girl



Good. Brooklyn may get lucky and get her bags before those guys even get off the plane.

Matt shook his head, and his seatmate gave him a strange look. Matt ignored him.

I'll check the sky for pigs while I'm at it.

When the plane arrived in San Diego, Matt kept a respectful distance from Brooklyn. She walked in front of him while he trailed about twenty feet behind. His position allowed him to keep an eye on her and to also keep an eye on the terminal as the first-class passengers made their way to baggage claim.

He walked out of the terminal and caught an escalator down to baggage claim. A huge smile crossed his face when he saw Jake. Jake was holding a sign above his head that read: Dumbass! Matt burst out laughing, as did the other passengers as they passed by.

Jake was his best friend and business partner, which was like saying the ocean was wet. Jake and Matt had served together in the military and they'd been there for each other through almost every type of situation. Combat, PTSD, family, friends, deaths ...

Jake also turned heads. He would have attracted attention even if he hadn't been holding a ridiculous sign. He stood 6'4" and carried enough muscle for four guys and was also quicker and more agile than anyone Matt had ever seen. Dark brown hair and light blue eyes ensured he got a lot of attention from women. Over the years, Matt had seen women almost snap their necks to get a better look at Jake, and he accepted the fact Jake was better than average looking.

"It's about time," Jake said as Matt stepped off the escalator. "My grandma is slow, but she's old. You don't have that excuse."

"Screw you," Matt replied, barely concealing his laughter. "I'm still faster than you."

Jake stepped in beside his best friend and threw the sign into the trash. He gave Matt a crooked smile. "I can see you're still drinking heavily. You're obviously hallucinating. You need to lay off the Booker's." He paused dramatically. "I know! You should try drinking cosmopolitans!"

Matt punched his best friend in the shoulder. Snide comments and light physical violence were an integral part of their friendship. Jake recovered and rubbed his shoulder theatrically as they walked over to get the luggage and Jake caught Matt up on business. Fortunately, things were good, really good.

Matt caught a reflection of himself and Jake in a window near baggage claim. They didn't look like brothers but no two brothers had ever been closer. Jake was two inches taller than Matt, which he pointed out as often as possible. While Jake was taller, Matt didn't surrender anything to him in terms of muscle. They both hit the gym regularly. Where Jake had dark hair, Matt's was sandy blonde. Matt's eyes were green, Jake's were blue.

"Bring the Hummer?" Matt asked.

"Nope," Jake said. "The Ferrari."

Matt glared at him. "Are you kidding me? Where the fuck am I going to put my bags?"

"Damn, dude. I'm only kidding." Jake shook his head. "You need another drink. Yes, I brought the Hummer."

Matt exhaled softly. "Good."

The creepy dudes were on the escalator making their way down to baggage claim when Matt caught sight of them again. Jake caught his look. They'd served in some tight spots and knew each other's game faces. To his credit, Jake didn't move, didn't flinch, and definitely didn't crane his head around.

"Who?" was all he asked.

"Four Tangos," Matt said softly. Tango was the military term for target that was used for unsecure communications. If a bad guy was monitoring a specific frequency, the last thing the good guys wanted him to hear was the word target. Matt's gaze stayed fixed on the baggage carousel. "They're tracking the brunette. Blue shirt, blue jeans. Hourglass figure. In your two o'clock."

Jake did his own covert surveillance of the baggage claim area. A few minutes later he said, "Tallyho" indicating he had identified everyone, had them in sight, and he'd watch them as well. "Who's the mark?"

"Brooklyn Chase."

Jake did a small double-take. A smile broke over his face. "The Brooklyn Chase?"

"Yep." Matt glanced at Jake, a quirky smile pasted on his face. "How do you know who she is?"

Jake laughed. "The same way you know who she is, dumbass." He paused briefly and then asked softly. "Why are they following her?"

"No idea."

"What's our play?"

"Let's just watch and see what happens. Could be nothing."

Jake didn't respond immediately. A few moments later, he looked at Matt. "Could be something. Recognize the big one?"

"No."

"Former cartel member. Enforcer, I believe. Low level. Into violence."

"Shit."

"Yeah, shit. Here." Jake passed Matt a collapsible baton.

"Good thinking, buddy."

"I'm going tactical."

Matt nodded. "Good idea."

Jake made a show of shaking Matt's hand and patting Matt on the back before walking away. It was bullshit. Tactical meant he and Matt were separating so they couldn't be taken together. Jake would stay within sight of Matt, but he'd make his own decisions about where and how to follow the developing situation.

Matt's bags finally appeared. He used the motion of grabbing his suitcases to check out the creepy dudes again. They had separated as well. Two were waiting by the carousel, a few steps away from Brooklyn Chase, and two had apparently gone outside.

Brooklyn was still waiting for her bags. She was on her phone, likely arranging for a ride, but she didn't look happy.

Matt headed for the nearest exit. He saw two of the creepy dudes standing outside, smoking cigarettes and looking suspicious.

Definitely foreigners. Anyone with any sense wouldn't light up on the job. First, it's a bad habit. Second, it's a distraction. Finally, it marks you as a smoker and you stand out, especially in health-conscious San Diego. Americans don't smoke anymore, at least not like those two chimneys, and there were laws about that shit now.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Matt stepped off to the side, away from the doors, and checked his phone.

Jake: "Got Hummer. 20 seconds away. Stay mobile, I'll park at curb."

Matt: "10-4 good buddy!"

Jake: "Watch ur ass. I'll have u in sight in 10 seconds. 10-4 good buddy? U are such a geek."

Matt pulled out his Blackberry, dialed a fictitious number, and held the Blackberry next to his ear. Jake pulled the black Hummer up to the curb. He was 30 feet away waiting and watching for his play.

Game time.

"Fuck you!" he yelled loudly into his phone. "We're fucking done, you bitch!"

Surprised faces turned towards Matt as he shook his head angrily. He stashed his phone in his bag, cursing under his breath. He then reached down, snatched his bags, sighed theatrically, and walked over to the two creepy dudes.

Stopping an arm's length away, he slid his bags to one side and nodded at their cigarettes. Stressed-out guy needs a cigarette to calm down. Woman troubles. It was a universal situation in just about any country.

"Can I bum a cigarette off you?" His voice was light and friendly.

The first creepy dude was small and lean and built like a boxer. He moved like a boxer, too, weight evenly distributed over his hips as he looked at Matt suspiciously.

Matt held his hand out and smiled wider. "Name's Gilligan."

The creepy boxer stopped suddenly and smiled. "Gilligan! Like the TV show," he said excitedly.

Definitely foreign, and a moron. Matt nodded and laughed. "That's it."

Boxer creepy dude spoke heavily accented English, his smile revealing generously stained teeth, and his handshake was a dead fish handshake. His large buddy gave Matt an unfriendly smile and lit another cigarette. Boxer dude turned to his friend and chattered quickly in Spanish. Matt spoke the language fluently but acted as though he didn't understand a word. The little boxer ended his conversation with "Maricone," so the gist of what he was saying was obvious.

Matt's ruse worked. The boxer grabbed his pack of smokes and fished one out. Matt let go of his bags with a thankful smile. As the boxer held the cigarette out, Matt purposely let it slip through his fingers. When the cigarette hit the ground, boxer dude bent over to grab it. That's when Matt struck.

Matt's left hand materialized from behind his back, flicking the baton open in the same movement. He swung hard and fast with the business end of the baton. It hit the boxer perfectly, right behind the ear. The boxer dropped hard and didn't move after he hit the pavement.

Good night, peaches.

The other creepy dude, his mouth open and slack, stared stupidly at Matt.

Idiot.

Sidestepping quickly, Matt came at him at an angle, shifting the baton to his right hand. The big dude's hands were already half-raised from lighting a cigarette. Crushing the pack of cigarettes in one hand he started towards Matt, but he was late getting into motion, which cost him dearly. The big dude took a wide swing at Matt. It never connected. It never came close.

As the big dude's fist swung at Matt's head, he dropped into a kneeling position and took out all his frustration on the big guy's knee. The baton vibrated strongly in his hand when it exploded against the guy's knee. A garbled scream, mixed with a colorful Spanish curse filled the air. The big guy automatically clutched his busted kneecap, and Matt used his downward momentum to finish him off.

His opponent fell forward grasping his knee and shuddering with pain, leaving his face exposed. Matt twisted his hips and let the baton get up close and personal with his descending jaw.

The second creepy dude hit the pavement as unconscious as his friend. Matt looked up to see Jake jogging over.

"Holy cow, man, are you ok?" he said loudly.

Jake came up and pretended he was checking Matt out. He slipped the baton out of Matt's hand and made a big show of the situation, loudly pointing out how Matt had been attacked. Pedestrians and passengers filed quickly by, not wanting to get involved.

Jake and Matt moved the two guys up against the wall. Law enforcement would be along sooner or later and they hoped they'd be gone before airport security or police came to investigate. Worst case, they could handle it. Matt was conscious, Jake was a witness, and the two would-be kidnappers were unconscious. The situation was in their favor.

Jake checked the terminal, made a quick circle motion with his hand, and walked over to the other side of the door. Matt remained next to the two unconscious kidnappers.

Head Creepy Dude came through the doors first, his eyes scanning the area in front of him. An angry expression spread quickly over his face when he didn't see his friends.

Finally, his eyes found Matt.

He motioned to him with his thumb, "These your guys?"

Loud curses in Spanish erupted from Head Creepy Dude. His eyes locked on his men on the ground. He completely dismissed Matt as he walked over. Matt thought the men must be drunks, drug users, or both, because Head Creepy Dude didn't seem surprised to see them on the ground.

What the fuck was in those cigarettes?

Head Creepy Dude strode over to his guys, checked their pulses, flicked open their eyes, and then straightened. He looked suspiciously at Matt. "What happened?"

Matt shrugged. "I think they slipped. I found them this way."

Stalling for time, Matt needed to account for creepy dude number four and Brooklyn Chase. He needed more time. Meanwhile, Jake stood on the other side of the door and kept an eye out for the two missing people.

Head Creepy Dude looked down at his men again and then back at Matt. "I don't think so." He paused. "Do you know who we are? Who we work for?"

"Nope." Matt smacked his lips carelessly as he uttered his response.

"My name is Chico and believe me, amigo, you don't want to learn anything more. Walk away now." Chico smiled at Matt. His teeth were perfect. "Walk away now and you may live, for a little while longer."

Matt looked at Chico, then laughed and motioned to the two stiffs. "I could make you the same offer, amigo. Two of your guys are down, out cold. It took less than 60 seconds. You should forget your plans for Brooklyn Chase."

Chico was obviously the brains of the outfit. Matt's response appeared to register in his brain, and he could see the squirrels running around in his head. Chico grew still. When someone was competent and unafraid, it signaled trouble in Matt's business. Chico had tried bluffing. He'd tried bravado. Neither had worked. Now he was doubting whether he had the skill or the muscle to finish the job. That Matt knew who his target was made him worry even more.

"Holy cow! It's Brooklyn Chase!" Jake's voice was high and excited, completely out of character for him. Jake's response broke Matt and Chico's staring contest.

"Miss Chase! Miss Chase! Can I have your autograph? Maybe a picture?" Jake's voice was loud enough that other people turned to look. Chico did as well. Matt waited until Chico's attention was focused on Jake before moving a few steps away. "I just love your work. Are you single?"

The last of the creepy dudes had his arm around Brooklyn's shoulders, gripping her tightly. It was the big one. The former cartel enforcer. The one guy Matt and Jake knew was into violence. His other hand was inside his jacket. Matt suspected he held a knife against Brooklyn's side, possibly a gun.

A knife. My money is on a knife.

Terror shone in Brooklyn's eyes and they latched on to Jake, clearly communicating she needed help. Jake walked quickly up to them, his eyes focused on Brooklyn. By design, he completely ignored her partner.

Matt would have smiled if this had been a training exercise and would have laughed if they had been watching this on tape. Unfortunately, this was real and a civilian was in the middle.

At Jake's approach, the big creepy dude's hand came out of his pocket and away from Brooklyn's body. As Matt suspected, he'd been holding a knife, a big one. He attempted to keep Jake away from Brooklyn, but he seriously underestimated his opponent and Jake didn't hesitate. He rushed forward, trapped the enforcer's knife hand and viciously disarmed him. The knife clattered to the pavement several feet away, while shock, pain, and surprise crossed the cartel enforcer's face.

Jake wasn't done. The cartel enforcer was disarmed and off-balance and Jake made the most of it.

First order of business, separate the civilian from the threat.

Jake pushed Brooklyn out of the way in the opposite direction of Matt and Chico. Brooklyn tripped and fell on the concrete. Hard. It looked as if she might have sprained an ankle from where Matt stood. It didn't matter however, she was away from the bad guy and safe.

Second order of business? Turn out the lights.

The enforcer was better trained. Not well trained; just better trained than his friends. He didn't make any wide swings or try to box his way out of the situation. He executed several controlled, well-balanced strikes at Jake, none landed. The Cartel Enforcer was outclassed.

Not by a little. By a lot.

Jake blocked each strike effortlessly. He smiled at the big man in front of him and counter attacked, feinting quickly and rushing forward. Inside the cartel enforcer's guard in a heartbeat, Jake slammed a knife-hand strike into his solar-plexus. Potentially a killing blow, Jake didn't hit him as hard as he could have.

Pain erupted across the enforcer's face as his chest and diaphragm seized up, breathing now impossible for him. The enforcer started to crumple. Jake put out his opponent's lights with a solid, perfectly timed uppercut to the chin. The big guy's back hit the ground first. He was unconscious before his body came to rest.

Jake nodded at Matt before stepping over to help Brooklyn.

Chico narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Matt.

"Walk away, Chico. Walk away now and you'll be able to live for a little while longer."

Chico was pissed. Using his own words against him only made it worse. Matt guessed it was a machismo thing. He also detected a slight tinge of fear in Chico's eyes.

"This is not over," Chico said quietly. "We have to deliver her. Our client will not accept failure and they will not accept a substitute."

"You've lost, amigo," Matt replied. "The police will be involved soon and you will not get another chance at her. Walk away."

Chico sighed heavily. "This I cannot do. We have taken money. If we don't return with her, we die. If we don't bring her back, they will send another team to get her. Sooner or later, we'll have Miss Chase."

Matt stepped closer to him and lowered his voice. "Why Brooklyn Chase?"

Chico looked at Matt. "I don't know for certain. We were told little when we accepted the contract." His gaze slipped over to Jake and Brooklyn. He started to continue, but then closed his mouth.

"What?" Matt pressed.

"I heard she is wanted by someone powerful in southern Mexico," he continued. "She is beautiful, no?"

"More than beautiful."

"You have won this round, senor, but there are more rounds to go." Chico's face didn't hold pleasure or excitement. It simply held resolve.

Matt replied. "I'll win those as well."

"Part of me hopes you will, Senor. You and your friend are skilled. Also, I do not like this business. Drugs are OK. Buying and selling women though, it is not for me. The things I heard about the man who has paid for her, well, they are not good."

Jake walked a little closer, holding Brooklyn who limped slightly and appeared to be in shock.

Matt motioned with his head. "Leave, Chico. Forget this contract."

"I cannot. Soon, I will take her back." He started to move away and stopped. "I have never failed, senor. Not once."

"Neither have I, amigo," Matt responded.

Matt and Chico stared at each other for a moment longer. Chico finally turned and checked on his men. They were still unconscious, but the first guy who hit the concrete started to stir.

"Let's go, Matt." Jake's voice broke through his thoughts. "Security will be here soon. I'm surprised they're not here already."

"I've got her," Matt replied, gently taking Brooklyn from Jake.

Jake smiled. "Good, because you can't drive for shit."

Gently, Matt put his arms around Brooklyn's shoulders and guided her over to the Hummer while Jake got into the driver's seat. When Brooklyn was in a seat belt, he drove off. As they were driving out of the airport, they saw several security guards gathered around several men. A fight had broken out.

"Decoy?" Jake asked.

Matt nodded. "Definitely."

Jake drove through the parking gates. Once they were clear, he looked over at Matt. "I'm surprised that dude didn't have back up."

"I worried about that was well." Matt replied. He glanced at Brooklyn in the back seat. "When we talked, I got the sense it was a rush job."

"Good for us," Jake said after a minute. He kept his eyes moving as he carefully merged with traffic, but he also kept an eye on their six o'clock position.

Brooklyn's eyes looked clearer, and Matt expected she'd snap out of her funk soon. No one appeared to be following them, so he looked back at Jake. "Think he got the license plate?"

Jake gave him a sly smile. "I hope he did."

"Seriously. You had time for that?"

Jake nodded. "Damn straight. It probably saved our asses."

"True."

"You calling?" Jake asked.

"Who do we call first?"

"Ummm. Why don't you start with our attorney and then the local PD."

Matt sighed. "There goes our weekend."

"Yeah. That sucks big time."

Matt pulled out his phone. They had contacts in the local San Diego PD that were important to their private investigative agency, which also doubled as a security consulting firm focusing on corporate clients. They'd worked in conjunction with several law enforcement agencies in the past. Matt and Jake's professionalism and skill had resulted in solid relationships with the local police department. It also didn't hurt that they hired ex-law enforcement personnel whenever they had an opening.




Jax and the Brown Eyed Girl



Matt made the phone calls. Now their weekend was ruined. Jake and Matt had reserved a yacht for the weekend and had planned on lots of sun and fishing. That's what they had told the owner of the yacht. It was possible they might do some fishing, in between all the drinking. He and Jake needed a break after working six days a week for a while. Matt also needed to quit thinking of Jackie all the time and he hoped a weekend of heavy drinking would help him forget her.

That plan just went to shit, Matt thought sourly as their San Diego PD contact picked up the phone.

Their friends enforcement assured him they'd take it from there. The police department needed a formal statement, of course. Matt indicated that they'd be down at the station as soon as possible. The likelihood of charges being filed against them was between zero and "no fucking way."

"Thank you," a soft voice said from the back seat.

Jake cocked his head to the side and Matt turned to look at their passenger.

Brooklyn looked first at Matt and then at Jake. "Thank you for helping me, for saving me, back there."

"You're welcome, ma'am," Matt replied.

Jake looked at his best friend and mouthed "ma'am?" He made an L on his forehead.

The military had drilled the 'sir' and 'ma'am' thing into Matt's head permanently. It always came out, especially if he didn't know someone well. Matt wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse, but whatever it was, Jake didn't share the same burden.

"Our pleasure." Jake laughed. "Hell, it was fun. Although Matt got to have more fun than me."

Brooklyn looked over at Matt and cocked her head. "What did you do?"

"Nothing." He shrugged and motioned at Jake. "This guy was hallucinating."

"What's your name?" Matt asked before Jake could object.

"Brook. Please call me Brook."

"It's nice to meet you, Brook," Matt said. "I'm Matt and this idiot is my best friend, Jake."

"What happened?" she asked. "Why did those men try and take me?"

Jake and Matt exchanged a look, but it was Matt who responded. "Brook, it sounds like they wanted to take you to Mexico. Do you know anyone in Mexico?"

"No." She shrugged. "Occasionally, I'll do some work, advertising for clients in Mexico. I just finished a campaign for someone there. I've never been to Mexico, though, and I don't know anyone from that country."

Matt and Jake's eyes met. Who ever paid for that custom "advertising campaign" (video), probably wanted Brooklyn as his personal pet. It was a clue at least. A place to start.

"Um. Where are you taking me?" Brook asked, her voice more curious than scared.

"Good question," Matt said. "Brook, it's likely the men who tried to take you tonight already know where you live. They may even have people watching your place." Her face grew pale. "I'd rather not take you back to your place, only to have you abducted again."

She stared at Matt blankly for several seconds before motioning for him to continue.

"If you insist, however, we will take you home. We just don't think it's a good idea."

Brook looked out the window, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.

Jake decided to voice his opinion. "It's a horrible, shitty idea."

"Brook ..." Matt waited until their eyes met. "Jake and I are private investigators. We know some safe places in the city where you can stay free of charge and you'll be safe. We've already contacted the police. They may also provide you protection for a while."

The situation was clearly overwhelming for her. She'd been a normal person when she boarded the plane. Now her life was in danger. In the last forty-five minutes, she'd been attacked, saved, pushed into an SUV with strangers, and then driven around San Diego. It was a lot for anyone to absorb.

"Is there anyone we can call for you? Husband? Boyfriend?" Matt asked. "They could come stay with you, or you could stay with them."

Brook shook her head. "My parents moved several years ago. They live in Montana now. I have a boyfriend, but he's out of town for several months." She looked down for a moment, but perked up a second later, grinning. "I have a dog."

Jake snorted. "Really? I figured you for a cat person."

Classic Jake.

"You are not funny," Brook countered. "I'm a dog person, not a complete loser."

It looked like Brook's personality was reasserting itself. A good sign. She'd been shocked and shaken tonight, but not broken. It spoke well of her. Matt started to envy her boyfriend. Ok, it's not a date, Matt. Time to get the conversation back on track. "How is your dog around strangers?" he asked.

"Ummmm," she began, "he's fine, once he's been introduced. I wouldn't recommend trying to break into my house. He's a little territorial."

"A little?" Jake asked.

"OK, he's territorial. But he's really a sweetheart."

"Yeah. A 'sweetheart,'" Jake mimicked. "He'll only take a little chunk out of your ass. He's a sweetheart."

"Jake," Matt warned. "I'll get the dog."

"Damn right you will. I still have scars from the last little sweetheart we dealt with. Remember?"

"Yeah. You squealed like a girl."

"Fuck you!" Jake shook his head. "I yelled like a man when that Rottweiler clamped onto my calf." He laughed. "It fucking hurt."

"Yeah, yeah." Matt looked back at Brook. "Okay, how's this sound? We'll get your dog and then get you to someplace safe. Then we'll call the police again. You can give them your statement when they arrive. When you're done with the police, you can decide what happens next."

Brook nodded. "Okay. Sounds fair." Matt faced forward again. "Thanks again," she said quietly.

The trio rode in silence for a few minutes before Brooklyn gave directions to her house.

***

Guadalajara, Mexico

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

Curses, low, hard, and guttural filled the air, followed quickly by a groan of pain.

The fat man rolled over onto his back, breathing heavily, as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He wasn't sure if the ringing was just in his head or if it was the phone. Either way it made his headache worse.

He cursed fluently in Spanish again before sitting up slowly to avoid puking. The party had lasted long into the night. It had been a good party. Lots of tequila, cocaine, and women. The lavish surroundings came into focus, and he realized he was in his own master suite. There were women in the bed with him. Naked.

It was a good party. And the boss gets to fucking party whenever he fucking wants.

Don Pedro Aragon. That's what his men called him. That's how he thought of himself. It wasn't his given name. It sure as hell wasn't what he was called in the ghetto where he grew up. The stinking sewer where his whore of a mother gave birth to him. The crowded, smelly streets where he learned to steal, cheat, and kill. It was also where he learned the rules of the game.

The strong win. The ruthless get rich. Power comes only to those willing to be both strong and ruthless.

Don Pedro Aragon. The name he'd picked when he'd taken over the drug operations in this part of Mexico. Taken over? He'd fucking killed the arrogant bastard who controlled the territory before him. Killed him, his family, his children, and his dogs.

Don Pedro Aragon was strong and ruthless.

It was regrettable killing his family, but important. It was important because it sent a clear message.

Don't fuck with Don Pedro Aragon.

Since then his organization had grown rapidly, becoming richer and more powerful than almost anyone in Mexico or Central America. His kingdom was Southern Mexico. His rule there was absolute. Southern Mexico was perfect because it kept him off the radar of the U.S. law enforcement agencies.

Fucking Norte Americanos. They're soft. The only thing they produce is drug addicts and porn stars. Fortunately, they produce both in large numbers.

Don Pedro was in his middle 50s. He was overweight and balding and sported a well-trimmed mustache. He didn't look like a powerful drug lord. He didn't look like a cold-blooded killer, or a fugitive wanted in over twenty countries. He looked like a banker, a barber, or a lawyer.

Don Pedro Aragon was a king in Southern Mexico. No one stepped out of line, no one questioned his orders, and no one stood in his way. He had true power. The power over life and death in this part of Mexico.

Life and death.

His gaze fell on the three naked women in his bed. They were beautiful and boring. Sensual and plain. They looked like any other women in this part of Mexico. He could end their lives with a gesture, but it would require that he care about them. He didn't. They weren't valuable enough, or important enough, to kill. What would be the point? It would be like destroying luggage or furniture.

Don Pedro hadn't met an interesting woman in years. Until recently. One of his men, a long-time employee, showed him a movie with a woman so beautiful, he couldn't get her out of his head. She consumed his thoughts and filled him with desire. She haunted his dreams every night, and his desire grew stronger.

The fat drug lord slipped a robe on, tightening the belt as he walked out onto his patio. He motioned to his butler for coffee. He surveyed his backyard. It was lavish, beautiful, and all of it belonged to him.

Brooklyn Chase.

A woman of rare beauty. He had to have her. Not just on film. That was for losers like his employee who had to rely on videos for his enjoyment. Don Pedro Aragon was a better man. His appetites could never be satisfied by moving pictures. Brooklyn Chase. Her name filled his mouth, slipping off his tongue deliciously. He needed to possess her completely.

The beautiful American brunette would belong to him. A part of his life. A fixture at his estate. Don Pedro needed to see her lounging around his pool. Needed her on his arm when he attended parties. He needed to see the jealousy in other men's eyes as they looked at Don Pedro, the better man. Brooklyn Chase also needed to grace his bed every night, happy to give him pleasure, and satisfy his needs.

One day after seeing a video clip of her, he had placed a call to his attorney in the U.S. He demanded a custom video. He instructed the attorney to pay whatever was necessary to make it happen. Money didn't matter. Brooklyn Chase mattered.

Don Pedro also instructed his attorney to extend an invitation to visit his estate. Ideally, Don Pedro wanted the video to be shot at his estate in Cabo San Lucas. He also extended an invitation to Brooklyn Chase to visit him in Southern Mexico after the video was completed. Women were stupid creatures. They were attracted to money and power. Don Pedro had expected Brooklyn to immediately accept his offer. Money and power were items he had in abundance.

She will come to me willingly.

The possibility of Brooklyn refusing him was unthinkable. Unfortunately, his attorney told him Brooklyn Chase stubbornly refused to leave the country. More money would not change her mind, his attorney told him, and it would only make her more suspicious. The video would have to be done in Phoenix, Arizona.

Fury gripped Don Pedro Aragon after he ended the phone call. It took several hours for him to calm down. The idea someone would refuse him, especially a woman, was infuriating. Rage and humiliation burned within him.

Brooklyn Chase.

Her name mocked him now. She'd refused him. She'd defied him. Refused Don Pedro Aragon!

Don Pedro muttered another curse. He grabbed his phone and called another employee. A different employee. This employee was definitely not an attorney, but he solved more problems than any ten attorneys combined. Several hours later, the employee visited his estate and explained to Don Pedro that everything had been arranged.

Brooklyn Chase would be at his estate within a month, possibly sooner, but no longer than a month.

We will make another video when she arrives. We will make many videos of Brooklyn Chase.

The fat drug lord opened his humidor and selected a Cuban Cohiba. He lit it, enjoying the aromatic smoke billowing up from the end.

She will learn never to refuse Don Pedro Aragon.

***

"Fuck me!" Matt hissed, frustration coloring his voice as he looked at Brooklyn. "I thought you said he was friendly!"

The brown and white canine in question was growling menacingly, and staring at Matt as though he were a tasty item on the menu.

Nice doggy. Yeah, right! The nice doggy's about to munch on my nuts!

Matt backed up against the wall and looked for something to throw at the growling hunk of fur and teeth.

Big, white, nut-munching teeth.

Jax wasn't all that large, maybe forty or fifty pounds, but he had an intensity that projected strength.

If he sinks his teeth into me, I'll probably have to shoot the little fucker to get him to stop.

Brooklyn giggled. "I said he was a sweetheart. I never said friendly."

She was obviously enjoying Matt's discomfort. He glared at Brooklyn. Finally, she took pity on him and called to her dog.

"Jax!" Her voice was firm. "Out!"

Jax, the sweetheart boxer, gave Matt one last warning look before padding over to Brooklyn. He circled her once before sitting next to her and looking up hopefully. A wide, loving smile broke over Brooklyn's face as she looked at Jax. She reached down and rubbed and petted her sweetheart.

"Good boy! That's my boy, Jax. Way to scare the big man."

"Easy," Matt said. "I wasn't scared, just cautious."

Brooklyn rolled her eyes. "Whatever. God, you men have such fragile egos. Ugh."

"Yeah, Yeah." He looked at her meaningfully. "Hey, remember. Bad men. Attempted kidnapping? Maybe we should get your little mutt and leave?"

"OK. OK. Let me throw a bag together and we'll get out of here."

Jesus, we're probably going to be here all night. Women take forever to pack.

Matt didn't follow her back to her bedroom.

He didn't offer to help her.

And he didn't start checking out her place.

Brooklyn was a client in Matt's mind now, not an actress. Definitely not an adult actress. This was a job. Matt was dispassionate, calm, and professional, now that the sweetheart was out of the room.

It was hard to look at Brooklyn Chase and not see a beautiful, smart, sexy woman. At the same time, however, Matt's training and experience had taken over. She was truly more of a client now in his mind.

Matt stepped over to her patio and looked out the window. They'd entered through the back. So far, their exit looked clear. No obvious surveillance. No sign of more bad guys. Jake was waiting a block away. Matt would text him when they were ready to leave. The plan was to go out the back again, walk down the alley, and meet Jake at the end of the block.

Fortunately, Matt was now armed. Jake was as well. Things were better—not good—but better.

Brooklyn appeared a few minutes later with a large gym bag over her shoulder. She was dressed in yoga pants, a tank top, and a zip-up hoody. Sensible. Comfortable.

Wow. She looks good.

He must have looked shocked because she glared at him and put her bag down.

"What?" she asked. "Oh. I'm a woman, right? We can't pack anything in less than an hour? Jerk."

"Uh ..." Matt's super-fast, razor sharp wit was on display.

Brooklyn walked over and attached a leash to Jax and then glared at Matt. "Can we go now?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Yeah, some superhero you are. "Does your dog bark?"

"No. He'll stay quiet."

"Excellent." He paused and explained carefully. "Same way we came in. I'll lead off. You stay directly behind me, about three feet, and just do as I say." She nodded. Matt gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Jake's ready for us, so we just have to walk down the alley."

Brooklyn took a deep breath and adjusted her gym bag.

The sliding glass door opened smoothly and quietly. Matt and Brooklyn stepped out into the night. It was a typical Southern California summer night. Cool, light breeze and no humidity. Perfect.

Matt moved forward carefully and fluidly, his firearm in the ready position, and they moved silently down the alley. A quick check behind him showed Brooklyn was following his directions. He walked quickly down the alley. Only silence greeted them, and even Jax seemed calm.

No unusual noises, no voices, no gunning engines or screeching tires, nothing.

They reached the end of the alley. The Hummer pulled up and the passenger doors sprang open. Jake kept the motor running and gave Matt a thumbs-up. The last few feet were tense for everyone. It was the place where most experienced individuals hit a security detail. The transition from walking in a prepared position to moving the client into a vehicle safely was a challenge.

Fortunately, it went off without a hitch and they were on the highway a few minutes later.

"No one," Jake said a minute later. "I guess it was just one team."

Matt holstered his firearm and nodded. "Yeah. They probably expected to take her at the airport with no problems and whisk her to Mexico."

Jake gave Matt a weird look. "Whisk?"

"Fuck you." Matt laughed. "Drive, leave, abscond, snatch and grab, extract, whatever."

"You da man!" Jake said sarcastically. "A one person thesaurus."

"Um, where are we going?" Brooklyn asked from the back.

Jax had taken over her lap and was panting happily as she stroked his fur. He looked cute sitting in her lap.

He's cute all right. Now that he isn't trying to make a meal of my testicles.

"We have a condo ready. It's a few miles away, so sit back and relax. We should be there within thirty minutes."

"OK. Are the police going to be there?"

"That depends on you," Matt replied. "It's late. If the police come, it will be several hours before they're done questioning you. We could wait until morning. It would give you a chance to rest and recover a little."

Truthfully, once the police arrived, they didn't know for certain what would happen next. They could take everyone down to the station for questioning. It was even possible that Jake or Matt could be arrested for their actions at the airport. It was highly unlikely, but it was possible.

Brooklyn sighed and looked out the window.

"You will be safe," Matt said quietly. "It's a big condo. You'll have your own room, your own bathroom, and privacy. I promise."

Brooklyn continued to look out the window for a moment longer. "I'll be safe? You promise?"

"Yes," Matt replied.

"Absolutely," Jake added a second later.

"OK. We can call the police in the morning then." Brooklyn said, closing her eyes.

They arrived at a brand new building twenty minutes later. The building had been built along the beach in an upscale neighborhood. Matt and Jake had recently purchased it through a shell corporation they'd set up in the Cayman Islands. It didn't show up on any of their tax forms or records. It was as "off the books" as they could make it.

The condo was amazing. The windows all faced the beach. Nearly all the rooms had a wonderful view of the coastline for several miles. They'd bought it for exactly this purpose. Occasionally, they needed a safe place to stash a client or potential customer. The condo was perfect.

The building had a guarded entrance, and the security company took its job seriously. The gate guard was armed and experienced in using firearms. Their weapons weren't just for show. Additional armed security was inside the lobby.

Jake and Matt took Brooklyn and Jax up to the condo. Brooklyn had kept her gym bag and Jake and Matt were happy to let her carry it. They didn't want their hands full of crap, in case they needed to use their firearms.




Jax and the Brown Eyed Girl



Brooklyn gasped when she stepped inside the condo.

Jake's ex-wife, who ran her own interior decorating businesses, had decorated it and done a fantastic job. Despite doing the job for her ex-husband, she had charged the full rate. No ex-husband discounts. They were lucky she hadn't charged them extra. Brooklyn dropped her bag, then slowly walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows to take it all in.

Jake cleared the condo while Matt waited next to the door and kept an eye on Brooklyn. A few seconds later, Jake returned. "Clear," he said quietly.

Matt picked up Brooklyn's bag and took it to the master bedroom, which had its own private bath. It also had its own fantastic view. The gym bag was dropped on the bed. Jake was speaking quietly into the phone as Matt came back into the room.

Matt looked over at Brooklyn. "The master bedroom is that way." Matt motioned over his shoulder. "It has its own bathroom. Jake and I will stay in the other rooms, at least for tonight. The refrigerator is fully stocked, as well as the pantry. We even have some beer, wine, and liquor. Help yourself and don't be shy." Matt paused. "We won't bother you."

Brooklyn gave Matt a thankful smile before walking to the master bedroom, Jax following right behind her pausing to give Matt a wary look.

"Rookie is on his way." Jake's voice broke into Matt's thoughts. "He'll spell us after a few hours."

"Great," Matt replied. "I'm going to shower and change. You taking first shift?"

Jake nodded. "Yeah. I'm rested." He walked over to the coffee maker.

"Thanks man. Thanks for helping me out today."

Jake filled the coffee pot all the way before dumping some coffee grounds into the coffee-maker. "No problem. It was fun." He turned to Matt. "Any idea who wants her?"

"No." Matt shook his head. "Whoever it is wants her pretty bad. That was pretty ballsy to try and snatch her at the airport." Jake nodded and continued making caffeinated goodness.

"Rush job," Matt added after a minute. "I wonder if her "ad campaign"—he made quotation marks in the air—"for her Mexican client had anything to do with it."

Sarcasm colored Jake's response. "Gee boss. You think?"

Jake had sarcasm on tap for anyone within earshot. Despite being one of the best operators in the business and the best friend anyone could ever ask for, Jake never took life too seriously. Personally, Matt thought it was because he'd never met anyone who was an actual threat to him. Matt wasn't exaggerating. Jake simply never met anyone who could beat him. Not hand-to-hand, and not with any kind of bladed weapon short of an actual sword. Jake's physical abilities made him confident. They also imparted a level of sarcasm that was maddening to most people.

Matt on the other hand?

Well, he'd been on the receiving end of a few ass-kickings. Most of them when he was starting out, but they'd been certified ass-kicking and he remembered each one. Valued each one. They grounded Matt, kept him humble. Most importantly, his ass-kickings made him careful.

Life hadn't handed Matt many easy lessons, so he didn't resent the hard ones.

Careful was good.

***

The phone vibrated on the coffee table. Once. Twice.

Finally, a well-dressed man reached over and picked up the phone. "Do you have her?" No greeting.

"No. There were complications at the airport."

"Excuses. You were paid to do a job. Do it."

"I will. It will just take more time than I anticipated."

"You agreed to deliver her within a month. A week has passed. You have three weeks left. There will be no extensions. Either you deliver the girl as you agreed or—"

"Yes, I understand," Chico interrupted. "We will deliver her. Just tell Don Pedro it will be a little longer."

The well-dressed man laughed. "If you do not deliver her, it will not be Don Pedro you need to worry about, Chico." He paused. "I will personally hunt you down like an animal. You will not be the first to die, my friend. I will kill your team and your family first. Then you will die. Slowly."

Silence.

Chico finally responded. "She will go to the police. Do you have any contacts in the police department? It will help us find her and fulfill our contract."

The well-dressed man sighed. "Yes. I will make some calls."

"Thank you."

"Do not thank me. Finish the job. Finish it early and I will pay you a 20% bonus. You, Chico. No one else." He paused. "I will call you with further details."

The phone call terminated.

***

Matt's alarm went off and he was instantly awake. It was a gift. He'd always been able to go from a dead sleep to wide awake in seconds. He rubbed his face a few times, then slid out of bed. As he walked to the bathroom, Matt took a moment to admire the view out the windows. The night sky was getting lighter. The sun would be up soon.

Fuck, this is a nice condo.

The view of the San Diego coastline was something he never grew tired of seeing. The beach would fill quickly because summertime had arrived. Tourists and locals mixed excitedly on the Southern California sand. The beach was lighter than the ocean water at this time of night and the waves created a white foam along the beach.

Beautiful. Home.

A few minutes later, Matt emerged from his room, walking softly down the hallway to the living room. Jake was gone, but their new guy had taken his place.

Rookie was the new guy. He'd joined the firm right out of the military. Matt and Jake were working hard at turning him into something resembling a civilian. Their new guy was enormously skilled, but stiff and socially awkward. He didn't blend in well. Truthfully, Rookie stuck out in any group like a sore thumb. Everything, from the way he spoke, to the way he carried himself, screamed military.

Rookie was a nickname. It was also an oxymoron. They called him Rookie because he was new to their firm, not because he was unskilled or inexperienced. Rookie had "been there, done that and got the t-shirt" on several different continents. He also had several specific skills that made him invaluable to Matt and Jake.

Languages. Languages were Rookie's first skill and he was fluent in four of them. Not four years of high school fluent. Rookie was Defense Language Institute (DLI) in Monterrey, California, fluent. A graduate of DLI spoke a language so fluently, they would be indistinguishable from a native speaker.

Spanish. Rookie got that from his mom, but he could switch his accent easily. He could sound like a native Spanish speaker in Spain, the Caribbean, and most Central and South American countries.

German. He learned that at grandma's knee. His grandma on his dad's side. She'd helped raise him, and to this day, she only spoke to him in German.

Arabic. It was the language du jour. Arabic was the language Rookie attended DLI to learn initially.

Mandarin. Matt didn't understand why Rookie studied that language, so he asked him.

Rookie looked at Matt as if he didn't understand the question. Finally, he shrugged. "Because I was bored with Arabic and I had extra time on my hands in Monterrey."

That was Rookie's answer. Once Matt thought about it, he realized it gave him a good insight into Rookie's personality.

Rookie spoke English, but no one counted English. Rookie had other talents, but those were mostly classified or unconfirmed. Matt and Jake knew about them, of course, but never mentioned it to anyone.

Matt nodded at Rookie, who motioned to the coffee pot. It was full. Rookie was good people.

"It's quiet, boss," he said after Matt got a cup. "I checked with security and they haven't seen anything unusual. I also did a quick scan of the two floors below us, walked the hallways, looking for anything out of the ordinary. We're clear."

Matt nodded and took a sip of coffee. He added coffee-making to the list of talents Rookie possessed. "Good work. You need a break?"

"No. I'd like some more Intel though, Jake didn't tell me much."

It was a good response. In their business, you could never know too much about your situation. If Rookie would loosen his vocabulary a little and relax his military bearing, he'd be downright dangerous as a private investigator.

"Our client is Brooklyn Chase—"

Rookie interrupted before Matt could continue. "The Brooklyn Chase?"

Matt shook his head. "Yes. The Brooklyn Chase. Although she prefers Brook, apparently. She didn't mention her profession, by the way. We're going to continue acting as though we don't know what she does for a living."

"No problem."

"Well, Brook is apparently wanted by someone in Mexico pretty badly. A team of four guys tried to snatch her at the airport. Jake and I intervened, prevented the bad guys from taking her, then we brought her back here. We're going to call the police in the morning. Once our attorney gets here, she can make her statement."

"How good was the team?"

"Hard to say," Matt replied, taking another sip of coffee. "Jake and I caught them unprepared. We made the most of it. If they had been prepared, it would have been a lot harder."

"If they were any good, they would have been prepared."

Matt didn't argue. Rookie was right.

"What happens after she gives her statement?"

"That's up to her," Matt replied. "We're not getting paid. Brook hasn't asked us for help beyond last night. We took control of the situation last night, but that was temporary. Once she gives her statement, my sense is Brook will want to assert herself." He smiled at Rookie. "I don't blame her."

Rookie checked his watch. "I'm going to check with security again. Be back in twenty minutes."

"Watch your ass," Matt cautioned, then checked his watch. "Twenty minutes. Let's use that as our new time limit for check-in."

"Sounds good, boss."

The door shut quietly. Matt walked over to the windows and stood quietly for several moments, enjoying the view and the coffee.

The ocean is beautiful. I don't care what your vantage point is, the ocean is beautiful.

The sky was getting lighter and the stars were making way for the sun. Daylight was preparing to reclaim this part of the earth. The ocean waves rolled softly over the beach while boats crisscrossed out in the distance. Seagulls competed for whatever nuggets the tourists dropped, and relentlessly stalked the occasional jogger, hoping for a snack.

Not bad, for a kid from the trailer park.

Footsteps. Light, tentative footsteps from behind. He pulled his focus from the ocean to the windows in front of him. The reflection in the window revealed Brooklyn walking slowly into the kitchen, her eyes bleary from too little sleep. Matt was happy to see that Jax wasn't with her. She pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

Matt looked over his shoulder as she approached.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" she asked.

"What's that?" Matt was thinking Brooklyn looked beautiful, but he knew she was talking about something else.

"The ocean. Duh."

"Yes, it is," he replied. "I never get tired of it, even though I've lived in San Diego for five years."

"Not a native Californian?"

"Nope. Not even close. I grew up in Montana."

"Really? That's where my parents are right now."

Matt nodded. "I remember you mentioned that earlier. Small world."

She gave him a wide smile. "Sure is."

Matt took another sip of his coffee and moved away from the windows, finding a seat on the couch. Brooklyn joined him, but she sat on the loveseat. They weren't close to one another and that was fine, neither of them were looking for anything romantic to happen. Matt and Brooklyn enjoyed the silence and the view together for several minutes.

"What happens in the morning?" she asked.

"Well, we're going to call our attorney first. Then we're going to call San Diego's finest and you're going to give them your statement."

Her face looked worried. "Am I in trouble?"

"No." Matt almost laughed. "Not at all. You're the proverbial victim in this situation."

"Oh." She laughed. "I guess you're right. What happens after I give my statement?"

"I'm not sure," Matt replied carefully. "I guess that's up to you."

"Can I go home?"

"Of course. Jake and I will take you home as soon as you're done."

Brooklyn kept her eyes on him. "You don't think that's a good idea, do you?"

"Do you?" Matt countered.

"I guess not. I mean those guys could come back at any time."

"Yes, they could. And they will. I spoke to one of them last night and they've already been paid to abduct you."

"Why?" she asked fearfully. "I'm nobody."

"I think it has something to do with your ad campaign for your Mexican client. The guys last night were South American, probably Mexican."

Brooklyn looked down at her hands and sighed softly and then took a long drink of water before looking back at Matt. "I knew I should have refused the job, but they paid so well." She laughed. "Three times the normal rate. That was the first clue. The second clue? The very insistent offer for an all-expense-paid vacation in Mexico after the campaign. Cabo San Lucas."

Matt finished his coffee. "Cup of coffee?" Brook shook her head and he went to refill his cup. "Honestly, I don't think it would have mattered if you took the job or not," Matt said when he sat down again. "The people who want you just used the campaign as an excuse. They wanted you to come to Mexico willingly." Matt leaned forward and met Brook's eyes. "Willing victims are the best."

"I don't understand."

Matt shook his head. "Unfortunately, I do understand and I really wish I didn't."

Brooklyn still looked confused, so Matt explained further.

"You arrive in Cabo San Lucas. They pick you up at the airport, probably in a limousine, so you don't think anything's wrong when they take your luggage. Once you're at the estate, your passport disappears so you can't leave the country. Suddenly, you find yourself in a foreign country, no passport, you don't speak the language, and you're helpless. Your captors throw in some alcohol and drugs and before long, you're another victim of a human trafficking organization."

Brooklyn's face grew pale. "That's horrible."

Matt nodded. "The team at the airport was their second option. It's a risky option, but I think it's the only one they had left."

"Risky? How's it risky?" Brooklyn asked.

"Well, it's obvious San Diego, or Arizona for that matter, isn't their normal territory. If it were, they'd have brought a lot more men last night. Jake and I would have been unable to help you if we'd been facing more than four men. You'd have been taken, Brook. By now, you'd probably be deep inside Mexico." Matt shrugged. "So that means they're not local. When a team like the one we encountered last night starts operating in someone else's territory, it raises eyebrows. If more than one team starts operating in another territory, it starts to make people nervous. That's when people start to disappear, other people get upset, and turf wars begin."

Brooklyn stared at Matt for several seconds, her face pale.

Matt sipped more of the coffee, before continuing. "No. Most cartel members will tolerate a small team on a specific job. They don't tolerate multiple teams from somewhere else hanging out in their territory. That's bad for business, and it's really bad security."

"You seem to know a lot about this stuff."

Matt's reply was deliberately vague. "Yeah, well, in our business, you learn a few things."

Rookie returned to the apartment fifteen minutes later. He introduced himself to Brooklyn, no indication on his face that he knew her profession, then he excused himself.

"Get some sleep, dude," Matt ordered as he walked out of the room.

"Sure thing, boss."

Brooklyn looked at Matt. "You're in charge?"

"Not really," he replied. "Jake and I are partners."

"Yeah, I get that, but he followed your lead last night."

"No, he didn't. Jake and I operate as a team. We both know what the other is thinking most of the time. Last night, he was my backup. I've been his backup plenty of times. We're partners."

"Ahh. I see." She smiled at Matt. "Kind of testy, aren't you?"

"No. It's just that I didn't want you to get the impression I'm in charge. I'm not. Now, in Rookie's case, he recently joined our organization, so Jake and I are his employers."

"He's kind of frightening," she said softly.

Matt laughed. "He can be, certainly. But like most people, once you get to know him, he's a great guy."

Matt and Brooklyn talked until the sun came up. It was a beautiful morning. They spent a lot of time just watching the beach come to life. Their conversation covered a lot of territory, but nothing important and nothing personal. Brooklyn didn't mention what she did for a living. It wasn't important.

Jake finally appeared and smiled widely at Matt and Brooklyn. "Don't get attached to him, Brook," he whispered loudly. "He'll break your heart."

"That's not true," Matt said.

Brooklyn laughed at their back and forth. "Don't worry, Jake. My heart's already spoken for."

"Where is he?" Matt asked.

"He's a Marine. He's serving in Afghanistan right now, but he should be home in a few months. I can't wait. I miss him."

Jake sensed the mood getting heavy and his sarcasm went into action. "Wow. I knew your critical thinking skills were pretty weak, Brook, but I didn't realize they were non-existent."

Brooklyn turned suddenly on the couch, anger flushing her cheeks. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Are you kidding me?" Jake feigned surprise. "You're dating a Marine. You clearly have a sickness or mental illness. I'm sure there's a medication you can take that will make you all better. Hopefully, it's not a permanent condition."

As Jake went through his spiel, Brooklyn's anger dissipated. By the time he was finished, she was glaring at him playfully.

"You, sir, are a jerk," she said.

Jake shook his head. "No. I'm an Army Ranger. Former Army Ranger anyway, and I am smarter and better looking than any Marine alive."

"I'll bet you recite that into the mirror every morning," Brooklyn shot back.

"And before I go to bed each night," Jake countered.

Brooklyn wasn't finished. She walked over to Jake, hands on her hips. "Brainwashed. Typical of an Army puke."

"Unlike the Marine Corps, the Army issues you brains and insists you wash them regularly."

It was getting serious between these two. Matt's money was on Brooklyn because Jake had never fought a smile like hers before. It was deadly.

"Ding, Ding!" Matt said loudly. "Neutral corners, you two."

They both stopped talking but continued to stare at each other. Finally, Jake crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at her. Not to be outdone, Brooklyn made her own face. It was definitely cuter than Jake's.

Ahhh, bonding moments. Aren't they sweet? Matt thought.

Jake finally turned to Matt. "I like her."

"Good to know." Matt's voice was dry as the desert.

"You're OK, too, for an Army puke," Brooklyn replied with a smile on her face.

Matt decided to leave them alone for a moment to call his attorney. He agreed to meet them at the condo. Thirty minutes later, he arrived and indicated he'd stay while the police took statements from everyone. Matt made the introductions, and then called his contact at the San Diego police department. His contact was less than thrilled that Matt had waited so long to contact him.

The police arrived forty-five minutes later: two patrolmen and a detective. Jake and Matt were finished quickly because there wasn't much to say. The guys they'd taken out hadn't been seen since the incident at the airport and they definitely weren't pressing charges against Matt and Jake. Aside from Matt's suspicions, there wasn't anything to indicate an ongoing threat to Brooklyn Chase.




Jax and the Brown Eyed Girl



The detective took a while with Brooklyn. He was a total creep and he was more interested in getting a date with Brooklyn than taking her statement. Matt's attorney had to step in a few times to sternly remind him why he was there in the first place. The detective tried to intimidate everyone, he puffed up his chest, and implied Matt and Jake were in a lot of trouble. Their attorney stopped him cold.

Truthfully, their attorney verbally beat the shit out of him. Everyone was impressed.

By the time Matt's attorney was finished with the detective, he looked as if he were about to wet his pants, or cry, or both. The two patrolmen exchanged covert smiles. Apparently the detective wasn't a popular fellow. A few minutes later, they left the condo, and security called Matt when they left the premises altogether.

Everyone gathered in the living room. Brooklyn sighed and looked over at Matt and Jake. "What happens next?"

***

"What a fucking asshole!" the detective muttered as he left the building. He walked towards his car, the patrolmen in tow. "Fuck, she was hot. She looked familiar, right?"

The detective wouldn't shut up about her. "Marc," the lead patrolman said tiredly. "Enough."

"What? A man can't appreciate a beautiful woman?"

"Detective." The patrolman reverted to rank. "We're leaving now. We'll file our report when we get back to the station. As far as we're concerned, we're done here."

"Whatever." The detective slid into his unmarked car. "Fuckin' assholes," he muttered under his breath.

Detective Marc Davidson turned on the car and switched the air conditioning on full blast. He sat back, letting the cold air wash over his face.

San Diego in the summer time. God, I love this fucking place.

Marc was a native Californian who'd grown up in Orange County. He loved Southern California and he knew he'd stay there the rest of his life. It had to be the most beautiful piece of real estate God ever put together. San Diego was the best part of Southern California. It didn't have all the problems of LA and Orange County, but it had all the benefits. Marc loved the beaches. The nightlife was fucking awesome. The women. Well, the women were top of the line.

First Class Ass. Like that little honey upstairs. Whew, she is smoking hot.

San Diego was awesome, but it was also expensive, especially the First Class Ass. Even on a detective's salary, Marc was struggling to make ends meet. That he tried to live a champagne lifestyle on a beer budget was his biggest problem. Unfortunately, he didn't see it that way. As far as Marc was concerned, the city should pay him more because of all the good he did for society. He deserved more.

Fuckin' right I do. I solve murders for God's sake.

Marc had decided long ago, if the city of San Diego wouldn't cough up more money, he'd go into business for himself. He passed on information to certain clients and they paid him handsomely for it. It worked perfectly.

So a few snitches die or a material witness disappears. So what? It's their own fucking fault for getting mixed up with bad people.

Marc checked his note pad. The little honey upstairs had given him her phone number. Now all he had to do was come up with a bullshit excuse to call her and invite her to lunch.

"Sorry, ma'am," he mimicked out loud, "I just need to clear up a few details. Did you say you prefer thong underwear or no underwear? Exactly how do I get you naked? What position do I get to fuck you in first?"

Marc laughed coarsely at his own jokes and shook his head slightly. She looked familiar to Marc, but he couldn't place her. The name she'd given him didn't ring any bells, but he'd damn sure check her out more thoroughly when he got back to the station. The car had cooled down and he slid the shifter into reverse, when his phone rang. He recognized the ringtone and slammed the shifter back into park. "Yeah."

"We need information," the voice said quietly.

"That's what you hired me for. What do you need?"

The well-dressed man clenched his fist. Arrogant fucking gringo! "We need you to locate a woman." He paused. "Her name is Brooklyn Chase."

Marc couldn't believe his ears. "What was her name again?" No way I heard this dude right. That's her! Holy Shit! That's the woman upstairs! She's Brooklyn Chase!

"Brooklyn Chase," the voice replied slowly.

"I see," Marc said. "How much?"

"Your usual fee," the voice said curtly.

"Uhh ... Hey, listen, man, I appreciate your business and all, but when an actress goes missing there's always shitloads of attention. Brooklyn Chase is famous. If she suddenly disappears, there will be a lot of questions. Know what I mean, amigo?"

The response was immediate. "You know this woman?"

Marc laughed. "Hell, yes. Every red-blooded American male has seen her work. She's fucking incredible." And I know exactly where she is, right this second.

"Find her quickly and I will double your normal fee."

"Y'know, friend, I'm thinking you're going to triple my normal fee," Marc said carelessly.

Silence broke into the phone call. Seconds passed. Then minutes. Finally the voice spoke. "Let me ask you something, Marc Davidson, who lives at 2416 Avenue B, San Diego, California..." The voice continued. "When a detective goes missing, how many questions are asked?"

Marc's heartbeat spiked and sweat broke out instantly, all over his body. He loosened his tie and took a deep, silent breath. A few seconds later, when he could trust himself to speak normally, he replied. "Double my normal fee is fine."

"Good." The voice paused. "Do not attempt to negotiate again. You are not that important to us."

"Okay." It was all Marc could manage.

"Call me when you have found her."

"Wait!" Marc blurted out. He worried the voice would terminate the call. "I know where she is, right now!"

"Give me the address."

Marc recited it quickly, then repeated it. This phone call needed to end. Marc already had a plan for the money this call would generate. He had his eye on a brand new Corvette. The fucking thing was awesome. Truthfully, he really wanted the new Porsche or Acura's new sports car, but those cars would draw too much attention. Cops couldn't afford shit like that, no matter how much overtime they worked.

"Stay by your phone," the voice said, terminating the phone call.

Marc realized he was sweating profusely. He'd sweated through his t-shirt and dress shirt. Both were sticking to his chest. He turned up the air conditioning. A few deep breaths later and he started to feel in control again.

I could use some meth though. That shit's awesome.

An idea, a plan for the rest of his day, started to percolate in his head. The more it evolved, the more he liked it. Finally, he got the car moving and headed toward his dealer's house.

I'll get a little meth, then swing by and pick up my sexy Mexican honey. Fuckin A'. Time to party!

Marc called into the station and let them know he was going to be working leads all day. He'd have his radio with him, but he may need to leave it in the car when he talked with his confidential informants. A complete fabrication, but it kept him from having to take personal time.

I can't wait to see Maria.

Maria Gonzalez was a young—probably too young—extremely attractive, illegal immigrant from Central America. Marc had met her when he was working a case. He got her out of an ugly sweatshop that was run by some dangerous people. Once Maria was safe, Marc put her up in a cheap apartment and convinced her he was working on getting her a green card. It was bullshit, but as long as Maria thought he was going to make her a citizen, she didn't mind fucking his brains out whenever he wanted.

Maria would learn the truth eventually, or simply give up on him, but when that happened he'd notify Immigration. Maria would cease to be a problem. If she looked like she was going to cause a shitstorm, he'd drug her and drive her across the border himself.

Simple. She goes away and I find another one. Life is fucking good!

***

Everyone had gathered in the living room.

"What happens next depends on you, Brook," Matt's attorney explained. "Right now, the situation at the airport is done. The police probably won't follow up on it because the men have disappeared and no one is pressing charges." He shrugged. "As far as they're concerned, you're safe and the criminals are gone. Case closed."

"Oh." She looked at Matt. "What do you think?"

"I think those men are going to keep coming after you," he said. "The man I spoke to said he'd already been paid to deliver you. Unless you can go stay with your parents in Montana, or you have friends who can protect you, the chances are good those men will try again."

Jake and Rookie nodded seriously at her. Tears welled up in Brooklyn's eyes and she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. The men in the room waited patiently, and uneasily. The attorney was married, but Matt, Jake, and Rookie were all single. Crying women scared them.

Matt retrieved a box of tissues and put them on the table in front of her. She grabbed several and wiped her eyes.

"Thank you," Brooklyn finally said after the tears abated. "What do you think I should do?"

Suddenly all eyes turned to Matt. Rookie and Jake nodded at him. Matt looked over at their attorney. He nodded as well.

"Brook, why don't you let us help you?"

"I can pay you," she said, then looked around the luxurious condo. "Well, I have some money saved anyway."

"Don't worry about paying us. Trust me. You can't afford us." Matt moved to the end of the couch. "We can help you and we won't charge you a dime."

"Why?" she asked.

A good question. As a rule, they didn't do charity cases. They sponsored a little league baseball team and co-sponsored a girls' soccer team, but that was the extent of their charity. The cases Matt and Jake took for their clients were always risky, so they charged their clients appropriately.

"Brooklyn, we haven't known each other long, but Jake, Rookie, and I think you're a good person. You're just stuck in a really bad, really dangerous situation." Matt motioned to the guys in the room. "We can't walk away now. It wouldn't set right with any of us."

Brooklyn looked at Matt for a moment. "Brooklyn?" she asked softly. "You called me Brooklyn. Not Brook, but Brooklyn."

Dammit. Way to go. It's her fucking smile, dammit. It's disconcerting.

"You know who I am." She paused and then continued quietly. "You know what I do, don't you?"

Tension slid into the room, quietly building. "Yes," Matt replied softly. The truth being the best option in this kind of situation.

"How long have you known?"

"I recognized you in Phoenix," Matt replied evenly, then motioned around the room. "Jake recognized you at the airport. Rookie recognized you when he saw you this morning."

"I don't know what any of you are talking about, if it helps," the attorney offered.

Everyone ignored him. The tension continued to build in the room.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Matt knew his answer was critical. Brooklyn's actions, potentially her life, would be influenced by his answer.

"Brooklyn ..." he began slowly, "it simply wasn't a relevant factor for me or Jake or Rookie. We would have assisted any woman in your situation."

"I see."

Matt sensed her doubt and leaned forward on the couch. "We deal with a wide variety of people in our business."

Jake joined the conversation. "That's an understatement."

Always helpful, that's Jake.

Matt ignored him. "We stopped caring about what people did for a living a long time ago. In your case, what you do for a living is legal, it's highly regulated, and it's extremely popular. People who consume your product, do so willingly. Adult films are basically mainstream nowadays and several adult actresses have transitioned to mainstream films.

"Adult films are what you do for a living, but they don't define you. It's not who you are as a person. We didn't think it was important to disclose we knew you were an adult actress. In fact, it may have hampered our ability to protect you. That knowledge could also have driven you away from us, at the exact moment you needed our help." Matt sat back. "That's our explanation for not saying something sooner."

"I accept it. Thank you." Brooklyn looked around the room. "I'd appreciate your help."

The tension dissipated and everyone responded at the same time.

"Sure thing."

"Absolutely."

"Consider it done."

"I'll contact my firm and let them know ... I'm working with a new client."

As soon as the words were out of everyone's mouth, they started laughing. Once the laughter died down, Matt again took the lead. "OK. You asked what's next? Here's what I'm thinking." He paused. "You may be here for a little while and I doubt the gym bag you brought has enough stuff. Am I right?"

"Yes. Definitely."

"I thought so." Matt turned to Rookie. "Are you OK with going to her place and getting her some more stuff?"

"Sure, boss—"

Brooklyn interrupted. "Wait! Why don't I go myself?"

Matt shook his head as Jake immediately said, "It's too dangerous. It's safer if you stay here for the time being. We don't know enough about the situation to risk your leaving at this point."

"OK. It's just ... just that... well, it's awkward having a stranger rifle through my stuff."

Rookie nodded. "Miss Chase, I understand completely. You can trust me to be discreet, but if it really bothers you, we have a few female employees who can escort me."

"Good idea, Rookie," Matt added. "We need a female over here, anyway. Why don't you stop by the office and pick up Jackie? Both of you can go get Brooklyn's stuff, then come back here."

Rookie stood up. "I'm on it."

Once Rookie left, Matt turned to Jake.

With a crooked smile, Jake said, "Beats the sandbox, doesn't it?"

Matt agreed. "Damn straight."

Jake and Matt hated their time in the Middle East, which they referred to as the 'sandbox.' No matter what job they took, no matter how much of an asshole their client was to them, they always told each other it beat the sandbox.

"Listen, I'm thinking we use this as our primary location."

"I agree." Jake nodded. "Use the office as the secondary?"

"Well, I thought of that, but I think it's too obvious."

"Where then?"

"You're going to think ... I'm nuts," Matt said slowly.

Jake laughed. "Too late, buddy."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Anyway, I was thinking we could use the boat as our fallback location."

"Boat? What boat?" Matt looked at Jake steadily for a moment, then comprehension dawned on Jake's face. "Dude, seriously? First, it's a yacht, not a boat. Second, we don't own it."

"That makes it perfect," Matt replied. "First, it doesn't show up on our corporate records, so no one will connect it to us. Second, no one but you and I know we rented the damn thing. Finally, it's mobile. We can stow our stuff on board and be gone in minutes."

Jake sighed, shaking his head. "There goes our security deposit. I agree, though. Good thinking."

"Thanks, man. I'll call Fox and have her equip it."

"Hey, why don't I call Fox? Y'know, just to tell her she can stay on the yacht ... I mean, to keep an eye on it, make sure no one sneaks aboard," he added lamely.

Laughter bubbled up from Matt. "Dude, would you just tell Fox how you feel about her already? Or did you two break-up again?"

Jake's face revealed nothing. "No idea what you're talking about."

"Uh huh."

Bill, their attorney, was talking softly to Brooklyn. Jake and Matt joined them. Bill smiled as they approached. "Guys, I was just telling Miss Chase—"

"Please, call me Brooklyn."

Bill looked at her, nodding. "I was just telling Brooklyn I'll serve as her attorney." Bill handed her his card. "As of now, I'm representing you. I need you to follow my instructions, OK?"

She nodded.

"First, do not speak to the police again without me being present. I'm completely serious. I haven't met an attorney yet who would say, "I just wish my client talked more to the police."

"Okay."

"Second, if that creepy detective calls you for any reason, refer him to me. I'm serious. That guy has trouble written all over him."

Brooklyn laughed. "I agree. I can't believe he hit on me in front of everyone."

"I'd be happy to kick his ass for you," Jake said, helpful as always.

Bill's response shocked the entire room. "Jake, it's an option, but let's wait and see how things develop." Matt's mouth dropped open, and Jake cocked an eyebrow at Bill, who responded with a smile. "Hey. You'd be surprised how often a simple ass kicking solves problems."

Matt raised his hands carefully. "Whatever you say, Counselor."

"Finally, I'll run a check on the corporation that hired you for your video shoot in Phoenix. It will probably turn out to be nothing, but I'll check it out anyway."

Bill smiled at Matt and Jake, then walked to the door. Turning, he said, "Miss Chase, it was a pleasure." He looked at Matt and Jake. "Watch your ass. These guys won't be coming with attorneys and search warrants."

"10-4, good buddy," Jake drawled, saluting.

Bill shook his head and then left the condo.

"He's nice," Brooklyn said after Bill left.

Jake snorted. "You just don't know him yet."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he's absolutely lethal in a courtroom, or in a deposition, or in any legal capacity. He was a JAG officer for a few years before leaving the military and then went into private practice as a defense attorney. He's seen it all, done it all, and nothing ruffles his feathers. He's kind of scary, actually."

Brooklyn cocked her head at him. "The indestructible Army Ranger is afraid of someone? Say it ain't so," she said.

A second later, Brooklyn and Jake were back at it. Matt's money was still on Brooklyn, but it was touch and go because Jake had gotten used to her smile. Brooklyn was poking Jake's chest with her finger when he walked out the room.

***

The air conditioning didn't work.

The hotel room was hot and stifling. Four men in a room designed for two didn't help the air quality one bit.

Chico (Head Creepy Dude) sat near the door. The other three men, Chico's team, watched a pornographic movie on the small TV. The movie featured their target and Chico had to admit she was gorgeous and talented. The men traded coarse remarks as they watched Brooklyn Chase perform. When Chico's phone vibrated, he answered it immediately.

"I have her location."

"Excellent. Thank you," Chico breathed quietly.

The man on the other end of the line read off the address. "The target has two men guarding her and one old lawyer. I don't know anything about them, but you should be prepared for resistance."

"We are prepared," Chico assured him.

"Good. If you fail this time,,," the voice said, trailing off.

"We will not fail."

The call terminated.

Chico put the phone down, cursing fluently at his men, in rapid-fire Spanish. They reluctantly turned the TV off and then shuffled over to their leader. Chico brought up the address on Google Maps and they started planning.

***

Fox agreed to equip the boat and stay on it for the next few days. Truthfully, Matt didn't know the difference between a yacht and a boat. At what point does a boat become a yacht? Is that different than a ship?

The fucking boat—yacht—whatever, was big and luxurious. Fox wasn't going to be disappointed with her assignment. The crew had gotten it ready and were nearby. They weren't staying on the boat, but they were within fifteen minutes of the dock. The boat could be in international waters in thirty minutes.