* * *

In the back room of the clubhouse, the private area where club business was discussed, meetings were held, and only club members were allowed, Ruger waited for Gizmo to enter then closed and locked the door. Once the room was secure, he pulled out the bag. “I need you to print this and run it.” Ruger passed the bag to the other man, went to another wall, and triggered the hidden lock. A camouflaged door swung open soundlessly, revealing a small room filled with computers, weapons, and specialized equipment.

“What is it?” Gizmo carried the bag into the room, set it down, and put on a pair of blue nitrile gloves.

“A shot glass. I used it to get prints from one of the girls that Crash and the others brought in.”

Gizmo looked up and frowned but went back to work without a word. He used a long-bristled brush and fine graphite powder to dust for fingerprints.

“The ones on the rim are mine.”

Gizmo nodded and bit his lip as he focused on the task at hand. He used clear strips of tape to lift the prints off the sides of the glass then smoothed them onto white pieces of paperboard. Once he had the prints lifted, he took them to a computer, scanned them, and with a few strokes on the keyboard, had them on the screen, comparing them to the hundreds of prints that flashed across the screen too fast to see any detail. Leaning back in his chair, Gizmo turned and looked at Ruger.

“Why this one? Why not all of them?”

“We’ll probably get to all of them in time, but this is the one that looks like she’s about twelve. I think Tuck wants to make sure she hasn’t been kidnapped and isn’t missing from somewhere.”

“You think the Devils kidnapped her and made her work the streets?” A scowl appeared on Gizmo’s face. Not the frown of concentration he’d worn a few minutes ago, but one filled with anger and menace at the idea of forcing a teenager into prostitution.

“I wouldn’t put it past them. We won’t know for sure until we get something back on her prints, though. If anything comes back at all.”

“You know anything else about her?”

“Not really.” Ruger lifted one corner of his mouth. “She says her name’s Holly. That could be true, or it could be bullshit. We’ve no way to know.”

“Well, if she’s in the system, she’ll pop here. We just have to cross our fi—” The computer behind Gizmo chimed, and something had popped up. He spun his chair around to look at it. “I’ll be damned.”

“What is it? Missing or runaway?” Ruger held his breath.

“Neither.” Gismo fell silent while he read the screen. “She’s twenty-one, grew up in Seattle, changed her address and license to Arizona a couple years ago. She’s got a couple joy riding charges, and underage drinking, but that’s about it. It appears that not only is she in Tucson of her own free will, but she’s legal, too.”

Ruger let his breath out in a rush. “Well, legal age is good. She won’t endanger us for serving her. Now we can question her like the rest of the girls.” He took a couple deep breaths and let go of the tension he’d been holding. “Let’s get this place closed up so I can go tell Tuck.” He glanced around, wondering how long that would take. Gizmo moved quickly, and less than three minutes later, they’d put everything away and closed the hidden room.

Ruger waited until everything was in place, and Gizmo was beside him, beer in hand, before unlocking the door leading back into the main clubhouse. Gizmo went back to the girl he’d left when Ruger called him. She was now sitting on Wally’s lap. Ruger saw the relief in her eyes when she spotted Gizmo again. Ruger scanned the room and found Crash had moved away from the bar and now sat at a table, Holly on his lap, as he tried to inspect her tonsils with his tongue. Ruger shook his head and wondered if Crash would ever have a lick of sense. He stopped at the bar and got two fresh bottles of Bud before going to the table where Tuck sat, eyeing Gizmo with a scowl. Ruger sat down and waited until the president looked at him to make his report.

“We’re in the clear if he screws her. She’s legal.”

Tuck’s eyes widened, and he turned back to look at the girl in question then back to Ruger.

“You’re sure she’s not jailbait?”

“Not according to her prints. Her name is Holly Reynolds, she grew up in Seattle, and she’s twenty-one.”

“She been reported missing?”

“Not so far. She’s got a record, though. Mostly petty shit. Underage drinking, joy riding, that kind of thing. She’s been in Tucson about three years.”

Tuck turned back to the girl and Crash. He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “At least he won’t have to worry about statutory charges. At the rate they’re going, they’ll fuck right there.”

“You want to pull her away and question her before they get that far?”

“No.” Tuck scanned the room before looking back at Ruger. “Let’s talk to that one first.” Ruger’s gaze skipped to the woman he’d noticed before. She was with Wally but looked uncomfortable.

“Sure. Where you want to do this?”

“Grab one of the bedrooms. One that doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“Sure thing. I’ll take her up, maybe give her a drink if she’s not already shitfaced, then we can see what she knows.” Ruger pushed himself out of the chair. “You want to help or should I get Sadist?”

“You two get started. We’ll talk about what you find out later.” Tuck met Ruger’s gaze then scanned the room again. “I want to keep an eye on things down here for a while.”

“No problem. I’ll get Sadist and get started.” Ruger looked around and spotted the V.P. sitting at a table near the corner, his back to the wall and a bottle of Jack on the table in front of him. Shit. Ruger shook his head and hoped the other man hadn’t already had too much as he made his way across the semi-crowded room. “What’s up with you?” Ruger asked, hooking a chair with one foot and dragging it away from the table. He sat, still waiting for a response.

“Not much. Just sitting here, watching the show.”

Sadist wasn’t slurring his words. A good sign. Ruger stared out at the room, taking in the view. Most of the girls they’d picked up tonight were with the guy who’d brought them in, either sitting on their laps or hanging on their necks. Linda, one of the club whores who’d been around for years, was dancing around a pole, topless. It’s a good thing their liquor license said private club, he thought, but that was nothing new.

“You up for an assignment or you had too much to be clear headed?” Ruger motioned to the bottle with his chin.

Sadist glared at Ruger a second then rolled his eyes. “I’ve had one shot. What’s Tuck want done?”

At least Sadist was with it enough to notice who Ruger had been talking to. “He wants us to question some of the girls. Find out what they know about what the Devils are up to.”

“They’re not going to know shit.”

“Not likely, or at least not directly, but we might be able to learn enough to piece things together or at least work out motivations.”

“We gonna start with that little girl Crash is molesting?” Sadist narrowed his eyes in Crash’s direction.

“Actually, no. She looks like jailbait, but she’s legal. We’ll start with that one.” He nodded toward the girl Tuck had said to take first. She still looked just as uncomfortable and unhappy as before.

Sadist’s gaze never left Crash and the girl but one corner of his mouth lifted. “Jailbait, huh? You sure she’s legal?”

“Free, white, and twenty-one according to her prints, but we’ll talk to her later to be sure. Come on. Tuck said to use one of the rooms upstairs—an empty one.”

Sadist glanced at him then pushed himself upright. “Third one on the railing is empty. You bring her up, I’ll go up first and wait.”

“Here.” Ruger picked up the bottle of Jack and handed it to him. “Take this up with you, just in case.”

Sadist stared at him a second, grunted, took the bottle, and left. Ruger watched him as he stalked across the room, scowling. No one was willing to risk Sadist’s wrath by stopping him or getting in his way. Ruger shook his head, wondering what was bothering his friend. He knew eventually Sadist would share, but he didn’t have time to push for it now. Ruger took a deep breath and went to do what had to be done.