Why the Devil Stalks Death Read online

  And they were back to Ethan. Was he why Dumay brought up the JSL?

  Dumay nodded approvingly. “So you would have heard the name Eve Garrote before?”

  Jack gaped. Not Ethan, then. On one hand, good. On the other, what fresh hell was this? Jack struggled to remember the latest rankings.

  Taking pity on him, Dumay said, “She’s currently sitting at five.”

  On the brink of becoming one of the big ones. If she was ambitious enough, she’d probably be after the next big target, to give her a boost into the very top levels. No one on the strike force would do that for her, so she was an unlikely option for the killer.

  “What’s she have to do with all this?” The lack of information was beginning to morph back into anger.

  “Tell us something first, Mr. Reardon. You weren’t in Bangkok for pleasure, were you. You were on a job.”

  With the introduction of a new, heretofore unsuspected player, Jack was officially out of his depth. Too much shit he didn’t know, too many hostiles in his territory. It was time to get out of here.

  There was no way the Office didn’t know where he was or what the cops had accused him of. They should have been here by now. Still, he decided to give them a little nudge.

  “I’d like to call my supervisor, Officer in Charge John Axworthy. He’s at the ISO HQ in Canberra.”

  “I’m well aware of the ISO’s location,” Dumay said. “Mr. Axworthy has been contacted and has yet to get back to us to either confirm or deny whether you were working for the ISO in Bangkok. It would really help us, and yourself, if you were just honest with us, Mr. Reardon. What were you doing in Bangkok?”

  His last tether getting thinner and weaker, Jack couldn’t help but grin. “You really want to know? It’s simple. Fucking with a man.”

  Unlike the entrance, the room they came into was more familiar to Jack’s gay club sensibilities. Not that he’d ever bothered with the places much. More often when he was younger and his main criteria for a random pickup was young, hot, and wild.

  The room was big, with a bar along one wall, a stage along a second, and a third was mirrored, reflecting back the images of blatant sensuality on display. The stage was currently curtained with thick red velvet, but there were scattered daises with dancers in scanty costumes to suit just about every taste. Cowboys, leather, police, soldiers, right up to corporate suits and bewigged judges, as well as all the way down to dummy-sucking boys in nappies. Tables and chairs were clustered around each dais, occupied by the men who were drawn to whatever fetish was on display.

  The music was a pleasant thrum against Jack’s senses, not too loud but definitely there as the dancers gyrated in perfect rhythm. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of musk and the oil rubbed into the gleaming, male bodies on display, along with an underlying tang of sweat, alcohol, and overworked cologne. Soft light haloed the dancers but left the rest of the place in a shroud of shadows that gave the illusion of privacy.

  “Right,” Lewis whispered to Jack, “this is more like it.” He watched a leggy young woman sashay past, a tray of drinks balanced on one hand. Masses of black curls framed an exquisitely beautiful face, large, almond-shaped eyes outlined in incredibly long lashes, mouth painted a luscious red. She saw Lewis watching her and winked, throwing an extra swing into her hips, which were barely covered by a French maid outfit, the line of her fishnets precisely set down the back of her toned legs.

  Jack smirked at Lewis and indicated a table on the far side of the room. Unlike those around the daises, this table was a dance platform, complete with pole in the middle. Entranced by the vision of the waitresses, Lewis didn’t protest the choice, sinking into a chair at the table and waving over another of the unbelievably gorgeous girls.

  Settling back, Jack eyed the dancer contemplatively. The youth was, at most, twenty and all long limbs and lean torso shown off perfectly by an outfit that was, basically, a leather harness to hang a series of thin chains off and a considerately generous thong of black satin. There was strength in his slender body, lifting him effortlessly off the table to twirl around the pole in tight formation. His legs curled in a suggestive manner as he spiralled down and landed on the table, legs on either side of Jack, back arched. He looked at him with half-lidded, challenging eyes.

  Admitting the artfulness of the display, Jack leaned forwards and tucked a baht note into the dancer’s harness. With a wink, the dancer spun around and rolled so he ended on his back in front of Lewis, head dangling off the table and all but in the man’s lap. He smiled up at Lewis invitingly.

  “Jesus,” Lewis hissed.

  Jack handed over a note. “Just tuck it somewhere safe and he’ll leave you alone.”

  Wincing, Lewis shoved the money under a strap of leather and sat back hastily. The dancer’s smile widened, and he blew him a kiss. Then, with a sinuous little wiggle, he was back on his feet, dancing around the pole and dispensing some well-paid-for attention on the couple of other men at the table.

  “I swear,” Lewis said when they were alone. “Last time you ever organise something like this.”

  Jack shrugged as the waitress came over. “Can I get you gentlemen something?”

  “Scotch, straight up.” Lewis stared fixedly at her as if he could banish every other man in the room.

  “Bourbon,” Jack said when she turned to him.

  “I won’t be long, gentlemen.” Then she walked away, with Lewis’s gaze glued to her back.

  When their drinks arrived, both made a show of sipping the liquor, but neither let more than a discreet trickle pass their lips.

  As the dancer sashayed past them with a hip thrust and welcoming smile, Lewis leaned in close. “How long?”

  “As long as it takes,” Jack murmured back. “Just try to look not so uncomfortable.”

  “I’m not uncomfortable.” Lewis sounded about as convincing as Jack had when claiming there was no boyfriend.

  “For what it’s worth, I didn’t pick it. Is it my fault Theta Subject likes these sorts of places?”

  Lewis grumbled but let it go.

  Their dancer was tireless, slinking and spinning for their entertainment, always with a smile and wink for the men ogling him. By the time Jack caught sight of Theta Subject entering the club, he’d tucked a thousand baht into the young man’s outfit while Lewis silently objected to each tip.

  With a small nod, Jack indicated their prey to Lewis. Between them, they kept an eye on Theta Subject as he made his way across the room and to a table like their own. He immediately tucked money into the thong of the dancer and sat down, waving for a drink without having to tell the waitress what he wanted. Clearly a popular regular, Theta Subject became the object of the dancer’s attention. The young man in a barely there police uniform all but ignored the other patrons at his table and gyrated for Theta Subject alone. A drink was delivered with a lingering caress along the man’s shoulders from the waitress.

  It had to be the tips, Jack reasoned as he watched Theta Subject absorb all the attention from the staff on that side of the room. There wasn’t a lot else to recommend him, on the surface at least. Middle-aged, portly around the middle, stick thin legs, balding, sweaty-pale. It was conceivable he had a winning personality, but considering who he was and what he’d done to get on the Office’s hit list, Jack doubted it.

  “Got to be the money, right?” Lewis whispered, mimicking Jack’s thoughts.

  Jack snorted and feigned another sip of bourbon.

  Theta Subject held out longer than Jack guessed he would, downing three drinks before producing one of the black cards. It was scarcely clear of his pocket before the dancer was off the table and hauling Theta Subject towards the back of the room. There, a bouncer took the card and opened a door for them. The amorous couple disappeared through it post-haste.

  “Now?” Lewis asked.

  Jack shook his head. “Give the man some time.”

  Lewis groused but kept his mouth shut. Jack waited nearly ten minutes, then, c
atching the eye of their dancer, produced his own card.

  Eyes lighting up, the dancer slid off the table and right into Jack’s lap. He kept dancing, rocking on Jack in time to the music. If Jack hadn’t been working, it probably would have been enticing. As it was, Jack gently pushed the young man to his feet, standing as well.

  “Won’t be long,” he said to Lewis with a leer.

  The dancer, snuggling into Jack’s side with a determined wiggle, pouted. “I’ll treat you good, sir.”

  “Or maybe longer.” Jack winked as he turned away. “Behave yourself.”

  As with Theta Subject, the bouncer took Jack’s black card and let them through. Beyond the door was a spiral staircase, which the dancer dragged him up rapidly. On the next floor they emerged into a long, dimly lit corridor. There were doors along it, each marked with a Thai word and a small sliding panel.

  Jack’s dancer directed him to a room halfway along, pulling him in and closing the door behind them.

  “Can we lock the door?” Jack asked as the dancer wound his strong arms around his neck and rubbed against him.

  “No need, sir. My room. No one else will come in.”

  Feigning annoyance, Jack shoved the youth away. “Fine. I don’t like being interrupted, though.”

  “Oh no, sir, no one will come but us.” He plastered himself on Jack once more. Head tilting, he aimed for a kiss.

  Jack got a hand over the boy’s mouth before it could connect with any part of his skin. “No kissing.”

  Under his fingers, the dancer pouted.

  Putting space between them, Jack looked him over and gave a satisfied nod. “Get undressed.”

  Disappointment seemingly forgotten, the boy began a sexy striptease, which would have been better served by starting with more clothing.

  Jack surveyed the room. It had just enough space for the decently sized bed, a dancing pole in one corner, and a shelf holding an impressive collection of toys. The boy used the available space well, and Jack pretended interest in the show, leaning back against the door. One eye on the dancer, he listened to traffic in the corridor. In the time it took the dancer to divest himself of his harness and thong, there was no traffic in the corridor and no opening or closing doors.

  “You like?” The dancer sprawled back on the bed, naked and perfectly on display.

  Jack schooled his expression into something appropriate and unbuttoned the front of his dinner jacket. The young man on the bed smiled and wiggled in anticipation.

  It was, objectively, an enticing view and yet nothing. It wasn’t just that this was work. He was in a four-month dry spell. Any willing, naked male form—within respectable reason—should have held some sort of appeal. However, all he felt right now was a faint frustration that this subterfuge was required at all.

  Jacket open, Jack undid his pants, but instead of pushing them down, simply slid a hand in. Retrieving the slender tube from its hiding place, Jack concealed it in his hand as he removed it from his pants. He rubbed that hand up over his belly, in slow circles and approached the bed. The dancer’s gaze locked on that motion, lower lip caught between his teeth as he watched Jack caress himself. Jack’s other hand went into his hair, raking it out of his eyes and finding a small, plastic cartridge, matt black to match his colouring. He snapped the thin tether of hair tied around it, masking the wince of pain as a moan of pleasure.

  “Roll over,” he said, and the young man complied without hesitation. “Keep your head down.”

  Thanking management for instilling obedience in their prostitutes, Jack quickly assembled the mini-injector. The cartridge from his hair slid into the narrow tube and clicked into place. He knelt one knee on the bed next to the dancer and gently coaxed his thighs apart. Obeying, the dancer moaned and gyrated his hips invitingly. Sliding the injector up the inside of his leg, Jack distracted the dancer with a slow caress down his spine. Just as the young man was arching up into the touch, groaning wantonly, Jack jabbed in with the injector.

  At the sting of the needle, the dancer gasped and rocked forwards. Jack pressed the plunger fast, leaning on the young man’s lower back with his other hand, holding him down.

  A startled string of Thai erupted from the dancer as he struggled, but the drug was fast acting. The words faded away into a soft sigh, and his body relaxed under Jack’s restraining hold. The placement of the injection would hide it from suspicious minds long enough for Jack to be well away.

  Letting the dancer go, Jack fixed his clothes. He removed the spent cartridge from the injector, put it in a pocket, and replaced it with a different one. Ready, he leaned against the door, listening for movement in the corridor. Hearing none, he opened the door and slid out.

  Moving swiftly and quietly, Jack checked each door along the corridor. He’d only seen Theta Subject enter this section, but he wasn’t the first. Peering through the peep-slots, Jack caught a few sights he’d rather do without before finding the room he wanted.

  All he could make out through the slot was a naked, white arse and a pair of slender, brown legs waving about on either side of it. The sounds coming from the pair of them were more than enough to cover Jack’s entrance. Placement was not vital on Theta Subject, and Jack shoved the needle into the most prominent exposed body part.

  By the time Theta Subject noticed the sting amongst the pleasure, Jack was out of the room and walking away.

  Making a show of adjusting himself as he left the private section, Jack nodded to the bouncer and made his way back to Lewis. A new dancer had taken over the table, a nubile young thing in a cowboy get-up who kept tipping his hat at Lewis.

  “Have fun?” Lewis asked as Jack sat back down beside him.

  “Tolerably.”

  Lewis snorted. “Then pay this kid. He keeps bugging me.”

  Jack peeled off several notes and tucked them into a pocket on the dancer’s vest.

  “How much longer?” Lewis asked quietly as they were left alone.

  Checking his watch, Jack said, “Any second—”

  Nicely belligerent, sweetly ambiguous, and totally honest, Jack was proud of his answer. Theta Subject certainly was fucked after that. All the symptoms of a major cardiac event, carted away by an ambulance, who took him to a small secluded airfield instead of a hospital.

  Theta Subject, known as the Messiah, a digital terrorist with a God complex, was currently cooling his heels in the basement of the Office’s Sydney branch.

  Dumay eyed Jack steadily. “You aren’t helping yourself.”

  “You’re not giving me much reason to.” Jack flicked a glance at Connors. His nonchalant pose had tensed, ready to defend his superior. That raging pain was back in his eyes, as well. The longer Jack dissembled, the longer the detective felt his work associate’s murderer was on the loose—or at least, not confessing.

  Dumay was silent for several minutes, then she tried a different approach.

  “Jack, you know something that could help us find the Judge before he can kill again. I’ve already lost one of my people. If I lose another one because you wouldn’t talk, then I won’t care who you work for. You will never see the light of day again.”

  Jack had been threatened quite a few times in his life. Had believed a couple of times that it would actually happen, and Dumay’s quiet, deliberate words sent a shiver down his spine. Not because he feared her threat would ever come true, but because she believed she would do it if necessary.

  Jack could respect her conviction, but that didn’t mean he had to give in to it. “I’d like to talk to my supervisor, OIC John—”

  “Fuck you!” Connors leaped forwards, fists slamming down on the table. “This isn’t some pathetic little game, Reardon. That sick bastard walked right into this building and killed one of ours. It’s on record that you circumvented our security. You did it again, didn’t you. You got in without anyone knowing, and you went up there and you slaughtered—”

  “Connors!” Dumay surged out of her chair and threw her shoulder into the
taller man’s chest, shoving him bodily backwards. “That’s enough. Get out!”

  Wild-eyed and trembling violently, Connors kept up his tirade. “It’s him, ma’am. I know it is. He fits the profile. He’s on record as being discharged from the army because of questionable mental health. He flipped and now he’s taking it out on—”

  The door slammed open and two uniforms raced in.

  “Get him out of here,” Dumay ordered as they wrestled the raging man off their senior sergeant. “Calm him down. Send him home with someone to watch him.”

  With a final, token lunge at Jack, Connors was dragged out of the interview room. Only when the door was closed, leaving him alone with Dumay, did Jack realise he’d knocked his chair over and was standing as tall as he could with his hands shackled to the table.

  “I’m sorry about Detective Connors,” Dumay said when she’d caught her breath. “He’s a very passionate man. The death has upset him terribly.”

  Jack shook his head. “Then he should never have been in here.”

  Dumay gave him a direct look. “We would be hard-pressed to find anyone in this building who isn’t upset by this turn of events.”

  “You seem to be doing okay.”

  “Yes, well. I am older than Connors.” She came around the table and straightened his chair.

  Once they were both seated again, Jack said, “You think I’m the Judge?”

  “We suspected. Connors is right. You do fit the profile. Ex-military. Disgruntled. An expert in circumventing security measures. You have the capability.”