Oh, he could take the gun from the little fucker in about two seconds. Denver tugged off his leather jacket, tossing it behind him. Somebody had better grab it—he’d had it for years. His pants and boots followed. Then the shirt and bulletproof vest.
The kid lifted a pierced eyebrow. He had short brown hair, dead brown eyes, and another piercing in his lip. “Nice vest.”
Without a word, Denver tossed it over his shoulder. No way was the kid getting the vest. Finally, he stood there in his boxer briefs and socks. “You can’t want to see more, kid.”
“Show me the money.”
Denver lifted the case and partially opened it, hoping the kid didn’t want to rifle through. The bottom was paper. But he kept his hands steady when they wanted to tremble. Time to disengage and just work. Emotion would harm him. So he banished it.
The kid texted something on his phone. “Get in.”
Denver slid into the truck, setting the case on the floor. They drove off immediately. Maybe the gang wasn’t planning on violating the auction rules. “Where’s the baby?”
The kid scratched what looked like a new tattoo across his neck. “No clue. I have orders.”
That wasn’t helpful. “Where are we going?”
“Why you want a baby, anyway?” The kid cut him a sideways look. “You a pervert?”
“Nope.” Denver watched snow-laden trees fly by outside the truck. “I’m just the middle man. My clients want to adopt a baby. Nothing creepy about them.”
“Right,” the kid drawled. “If you say so.” He managed to drive with one hand while controlling the rifle with the other.
“You can put down the gun. I’m not going anywhere,” Denver said easily. Or he could just take it from him. But then he wouldn’t be cooperating, so maybe he’d let the kid keep the gun for a while.
“No.” The gang member drove toward town, and store lights started to show sporadically. Finally, they pulled into the far reaches of a parking lot of a twenty-four-hour market.
“We’re shopping at the mini-mart?” Denver asked quietly, letting his team know his location.
“We took out the security cameras, so don’t worry.” The kid stopped the truck next to a black van. “Get out.”
Denver opened his door just as the side door of the van slid open. Two more gang members pointed guns at him, one with a Glock, the other with a Sig. The kid with the Glock hadRichietattooed across his neck. He’d tattooed his own name? “I take it you’re Richie?” Denver asked, shutting the door of the truck behind him. Great. A moron with a gun. They were the most dangerous types.
Richie nodded. “You with the cops?”
“No. I’m for hire—by the parents wanting this kid.” That would explain the vest in case there was any question. If Richie even knew about the vest. “I’m in my underwear, man.”
Richie pushed from the van, standing to about six feet tall. He had blue eyes and dark hair with several tattoos down one side of his jaw.
Denver tried to keep from punching him in the face for putting his own kid up for sale. For torturing Noni into not being able to sleep because she was so worried about the baby. Her baby. “We doing this or what?”
Richie smiled, showing what looked like a ruby glued to his right incisor. “So you’re a professional.”
“Of sorts.” The cold was beginning to creep into his bones, and his damn socks were sliding on the ice. Where the hell was the baby? “I’m about done playing. Where’s the kid?” He didn’t need to try to make his voice hoarse. The cold was doing it for him.
“In time.” Richie moved in. “Take out the earbud.”
Denver lifted an eyebrow. As a professional, he would have an earbud. The kid wasn’t that stupid. So he easily took out the earbud and handed it over.
Richie threw it high and wide before turning back to the van. “Get in.”
Denver followed, set the case down, and sat on it. “My clients are going to get impatient and fly right off. We need the exchange.”
The driver, a thirty-something gang member wearing all the colors, ignited the engine, and they started to drive. Denver kept a bored expression on his face. Hopefully his brothers had traced them to the store from his description when he’d first arrived. It had to be almost five in the morning, and meager traffic had started to fill the road with folks on their way to early shifts.
Good. Where was the baby? Was she warm enough? “I had wondered if you guys would adhere to the rules of the auction,” he said.
The kid with the Sig didn’t twitch.
