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dividing two narrower aisles from the main part of the room. Raw red bricks formed the walls and scuffed, heavy-duty vinyl covered the floor and the lower half of the columns. Racks of spotlights made a grid pattern overhead, and a bar ran along the far side of the room, the chrome top reflecting the light. Tables and benches took up the aisle to Jack’s left. The dance floor occupied the center. Emergency exit doors were to his right, between the kitchen entrance and the DJ booth.
    The club was just starting to get busy. About half the tables were taken, and a few couples busied themselves on the dance floor while the DJ warmed up. Jack turned left and followed the line of columns, intent to confirm the layout of the place while he could still move unimpeded.
    On the far left-hand side of the room, next to the bar, Jack marked a second emergency exit. And another door which, given the fact that it was guarded, could be an escape route or a way to private rooms deeper in the building. With the pimp’s paranoia and Baxter’s information that the man liked to sample the merchandise before he put it on display, either option was feasible.
    The guard didn’t look as if he stood there just for decoration, and though Jack would have liked to take a closer look to confirm where the door led, he kept moving, heading in the direction of the brightly lit bar. He felt the man’s eyes on his back and resisted the urge to check his weapons. There was no need. The knives, wires, CS gas, and Taser were exactly where he’d stowed them before leaving home. Besides, it was just a nervous habit he’d picked up after Gareth got shot. A habit he’d been too stubborn to do anything about.
    Gareth was already in position when Jack finally drew level with the bar. He held a bottle of Stella in one hand and juggled a scrunched-up colored cellophane wrapper with the other while he watched the dancers.
    With their emergency exit taken care of and their target not yet in sight, Jack relaxed enough to settle into his role. Leaning on the far end of the bar, he ordered bottled water and surreptitiously popped a couple of pills. They were just painkillers, needed to help with the headache caused by the flashing lights aggravating his belladonna-enhanced eyes, but people saw what they wanted to see, and Jack didn’t mind the covert looks he attracted. It all helped him blend.
    He hit the dance floor a few minutes later, trying to ignore the knowledge that the man he’d fallen for when he was just seventeen was watching him. Thoughts like that would get him precisely nowhere. Much safer if he didn’t consider Gareth Flynn at all and concentrated on the kids swaying and bopping around him. Some were there for the music and a good time, some—wide-eyed and hesitant—were clearly there on a dare.
    Two teenage boys, one blond, one dark, huddling at the far end of the bar, caught Jack’s eye. They clung together in a way teenagers never do, and both had their arms hidden in long sleeves despite the heat in the club. Dark-circled eyes darted around the room without pause or consideration, and when Gareth, alerted by a couple of quick hand signs and a look, brushed close past the two on his way to the men’s room, both flinched and shrank back farther into their corner.
    Likely candidates, those two. Underfed, scared as all get-out, and probably hooked too. At least the two had the sense to stick together. Another body close by to combat loneliness, a voice to chase away the nightmares…. Jack knew how little comfort this was, but it was better than no comfort at all. The fine line between giving in and keeping going, between a sliver of hope and total despair.
    Jack wanted to hit something… somebody, but he kept his face calm and his body moving to the music. He pushed the memories down, put the rage back in its box, and buried it under layers of purpose and discipline. He thought he’d masked his fury well enough, but when he looked up, there