In Colin’s five years as an undercover agent he’d helped incriminate hundreds of underworld criminals, but it wasn’t enough. For each thug arrested a new one would rise up in their place. There was a never-ending line of evil men feeding off innocents—taking what wasn’t theirs—ruining lives for the sake of their personal gain.
Being submersed in that world was wearing against the structure of Colin’s mind. Too often he found the lines blurred between them and himself. Too often he felt like one of them. He came home to his small, sparse apartment at odd hours, and lost himself in canvases. Colin painted shadowy people in black, grays, navy blue, and deep purple. He couldn’t bring himself to use bright colors when the world was so dark.
The art world was fascinated by his dark collection, and began calling him “Shadow Man” and “The Dark Artist.” He didn’t give a flying fuck about any of that. He painted to release his demons. He painted to lose himself, close his mind off to the shit he saw and heard every day.
Now and then he met women at bars and took them to hotel rooms. In a life where everything around him was hardened, he enjoyed the softness of a woman—the way they gave themselves to be overpowered by him. But the women he’d met always wanted more from him. His worst mistake had been leaving with a stunning brunette from a gallery showing. She now showed at every function with hopeful eyes. He ignored her, because he could never be what she needed.
At twenty-eight Colin was already considering retirement. He had more money piled away than he knew what to do with, even after splitting half the inheritance with Graham, who was swiftly pissing it away on drugs. Therapists and counselors had made little leeway with his brother, and Colin was at a loss. He had no idea how to talk to the boy who used to look up to him, but now looked through him with glassy, bloodshot eyes. Visiting him was fucking depressing.
It’d been awhile since Colin heard from Agent Abernathy, and he was getting restless, so when he got the text that morning he was out the door in five minutes. Outside in the pale Glasgow sunshine, he groaned. He’d forgotten it was fucking Maydaze. The May Day Rally and Parade was taking place in the city, bringing out hundreds of families. Colin kept his head down and shoved his hands in his pockets as he shouldered his way through the smiling faces. The happy folk music clashed with the dark soundtrack of his life, playing in his head on repeat.He had to remind himself that these were the very people he lived his life secretly protecting.
But damn. Sometimes the ignorance and cluelessness of people pissed him off.
He was a right grump this morning.
Colin slipped into a back alley and made his way to the door of their meeting place. With a backward glance to be sure he wasn’t being followed, he knocked three times, paused, then twice more. Abernathy let him in and locked the door behind them.
They met in a back office of an old steel mill, which was now used for lumber storage. Colin sat across the metal desk from Agent Abernathy and nodded.
“What’ve you got for me?”
Abernathy wasted no time. He pushed a newspaper and several pictures forward. Colin took the paper first, reading the headline where his boss tapped a finger. It was about the missing American girl, Angela Birch.
“Aye. Heard about this. Unlucky. They thought she was dead. I take it they’re wrong, as usual?”
Abernathy sighed, sitting back. He was looking ragged these days, really showing his age.
“Her parents don’t believe it, and I agree with them. Too much funny business with the Mexican police. The boy she went missing with, Fernando Ruiz? The FBI say he was spotted in Thailand. His father, Marco Ruiz, owns nightclubs in several Latin American cities and in Spain. We believe it’s a cover for a drug ring and sex slavery.”
Colin’s stomach soured as he picked up the three photos of Angela Birch and studied them. She looked sweet. All-American smile. Happy brown eyes. A girl with a bright future and loving family, stolen. Colin rubbed his face. He hated this shite. It never fucking ended.
“How long’s she been gone?”
“Seven months,” Abernathy said, sliding another picture forward. “Ruiz has a Spanish villa on the Mediterranean sea. We believe if he has her that’s where she’d be, but we can’t get near it. He’s got local authorities and even government officials in his pocket.”
A familiar buzz began inside Colin as he looked at the gorgeous seaside estate. It was the feeling he got when an especially tough case was presented.
“Think you can work your way into this place? Won’t be easy, that.”
Colin grinned. He loved a challenge. Taking risks was just about the only thing that got his blood pumping these days. And judging by the look of Marco Ruiz’s stronghold, this would be his largest and most dangerous undertaking yet.