“If they’re both killed, Connie will blame us.”

“Act surprised … show concern … deny, deny, deny. It was an unfortunate coincidence that we broke off surveillance.”

“She won’t believe that for a second.”

“I know, but she won’t be able to prove anything.”

Minutes later, Jack and Laura returned and parked where they could watch the front of Rodine’s house with binoculars.

The hours slowly ticked by. Once, Venice, wearing a pink tank top and skin-tight blue jeans over her thin figure, strolled outside and picked some flowers growing near the house and went back inside.

Late in the afternoon a black SUV arrived and three prospects from Satans Wrath got out and approached the house.

“Showtime,” said Jack. He was unable to see who answered the door, but he did see one of the bikers deliver a fist to the person’s face before all three disappeared inside.

“Ouch,” said Laura, watching through her own set of binoculars. “No hello, how are you, nothing …”

Twenty-five minutes passed before the three bikers left the house and drove away.

“They left Rodine and Venice in the house,” noted Laura. “Maybe a good sign.”

“That and they didn’t light the house on fire. I’m betting things went according to plan.”

Minutes later, the front door opened and Rodine limped out onto the porch landing.

“Broken nose,” commented Jack, looking at the blood streaming down the front of Rodine’s shirt. “Holding his side … maybe broken or cracked ribs.”

“Heading for his car,” said Laura.

“Oh, crap,” interjected Jack sadly, more to himself than Laura.

“What?”

“Check the porch … Venice came out … she wants him to stay.”

Laura focused back on the porch. She saw why Jack was distressed. Venice clutched a bathrobe to her naked body. She had received more than a beating.

Jack and Laura followed Rodine as he drove back to his lab.

“Rush order, I bet,” said Laura.

“Will take a couple of days,” replied Jack. “Starting Sunday we’ll check every night.”

“We’re taking tomorrow off? I won’t know what to do,” teased Laura.

“Do you remember Ngoc Bích?”

“Of course. Your Vietnamese friend. Isn’t the trial coming up soon on the two brothers who owned the brothels?”

“It got moved to June 15. The same day I’m scheduled to testify in Victoria against Cory McCall.”

“It will be good to put McCall away. Sounds like you and Ngoc Bích will have something to celebrate that day, as well.”

“Hope there are no more adjournments with Ngoc Bích.”

“How has she been doing?”

“She’s a bit like a wounded bird, but is slowly getting it together. Good days and bad. She’s been enrolled in music lessons since we rescued her. She plays a flute.”

“Probably therapeutic,” said Laura.

“Tomorrow she is giving a free performance in Stanley Park at noon.”

“Elvis and I will be there,” said Laura.

“Natasha and I were going to bring a picnic lunch.”

“Sounds good. I’ll give Natasha a call after and we can figure out what to bring.”

The following morning, Jack walked out of the shower and saw Natasha lying naked in bed with a sheet pulled up to the bottom of her navel. She was performing her monthly ritual of doing a self-examination of her breasts as she carefully checked for any lumps.

“Wish you would teach me how to help you with that,” said Jack, marvelling at how beautiful she looked.

Natasha looked up at him and said, “I did try to teach you once. As I recall, you became sidetracked.”

“Sometimes I have a hard time with concentration.”

Natasha continued her exam, but quit a moment later and said, “Quit staring at me! I can’t concentrate.”

“I bet you’re remembering the last time I tried to help you,” said Jack, teasingly.

Natasha paused, furrowing her forehead as if trying to remember, before saying, “That was a long time ago.” She smiled and said seductively, “My memory could use refreshing.”

Jack felt the blood pulse to his groin. No further invitation was needed.

Later that afternoon, Jack and Natasha and Laura and Elvis sat on a blanket in Stanley Park and listened to Ngoc Bích play her flute.

“She plays beautifully,” commented Natasha, sitting with her back pressed up against Jack’s chest.

Jack wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the back of her neck. The day was captured in his memory as one of the most beautiful he’d ever had.

When Ngoc Bích was finished, she joined them for the picnic and received a bouquet of red roses as a gift from Jack and Natasha. The afternoon was warm, sunny, and peaceful. Jack was glad that Ngoc Bích did not discuss the upcoming trial scheduled for the following month. Everyone needed the break.

Sunday morning came and Jack read the newspaper. He wished he hadn’t. An article reported a young man being randomly attacked outside a grocery store by four guys who slashed his face with a knife. The attackers were alleged to be high on meth.

“Something wrong?” asked Natasha. “You’re frowning.”

Jack sighed and said, “Laura and I hope to turn an informant this week. The guy runs a meth lab. If he co-operates, I’m going to have to allow him to continue running his lab. At least for a while.”

“For the greater good, I presume. The big picture.”

Jack smiled, despite how he felt. “You sound like Laura.”

“Maybe we sound like you.”

“Maybe,” said Jack, tossing the paper aside.

“Yesterday was really a perfect day,” said Natasha. “Romantic.”

Jack smiled. It had been good to see how far Ngoc Bích had recovered from her months of torture. The delay in the trial only gave her time to get stronger. He knew she was looking forward to her day in court and confronting the monsters responsible.

His thoughts turned to Faith and he knew there was another monster to catch.

Chapter Thirteen

Kent Rodine’s next batch of methamphetamine was on the drying racks Tuesday night. At seven o’clock Wednesday morning he returned to his lab and used the privacy of the garage to load the kilos of meth into the trunk of his car. As he raised the garage door to leave, a man with a gun shoved him violently against his chest, knocking him back onto the trunk of the car. At the same time, another car pulled in and parked in the driveway.

Seconds later, Rodine was handcuffed and sprawled over the hood of his car. He watched sullenly as Jack opened the trunk and retrieved one of the kilos. Laura, standing with her pistol pointed at the base of Rodine’s neck, quietly stepped back as Jack approached.

“Got some good news and some bad news for you, Kent,” said Jack. “Bad news is we’re seizing all the dope from your car. Good news is we’re not going to arrest you. You might want to start thinking of an excuse to your friends to explain how you lost the dope.”

“What? You can’t do that! You have to arrest me!”

“Why? It isn’t like you would get any real time and it means a bunch of paperwork for us. Kind of a nuisance, really.”

“No, you don’t understand,” said Rodine. “These people … they’re not my … they wouldn’t understand or believe … they … last week … Christ, man, you gotta bust me.”

“We are not going to arrest you, that I can promise,” said Jack.

“They’ll kill me,” he pleaded.

“I know. I simply don’t care.”

“Why? Why me? This ain’t right!” he cried.

“Jack, it really isn’t right that we don’t give him a chance first,” said Laura. “He doesn’t seem like that bad or stupid of a person. Maybe he would want to co-operate with us. Tell us stuff so we could catch enough people to make it worthwhile.”