Colton Showdown. Marie Ferrarella

been finding the website. The one that had advertised “a cleaning service that will leave you swearing that you’ve never been serviced so well in your life.” It had fairly screamed sex trafficking. Tate was almost certain that the voice he’d heard when he dialed the number had belonged to the man in charge. And that that man wasn’t just some ingenious nobody off the street. Rumors and suspicions pointed to the head man being someone high up, not just on this food chain, but on the social food chain as well.

      Someone with dark secrets and a darker soul, who satisfied perversions that made anything Tate had previously come up against seem almost docile and childlike by comparison.

      Tate looked down into Hannah’s face. Right now, she was the closest he’d gotten to this sex trafficking ring. She might even unknowingly hold the key to taking it down. He needed to find out what she knew. The only way to do that was to talk to her. But he needed to make certain that he wasn’t overheard; otherwise, the op fell apart and the whole ring could just disappear into the night, taking the girls with it—or, if that was too much trouble, leaving behind their lifeless bodies. He had a feeling that it could go either way, and that was a risk he wasn’t about to take.

      Debating what to do, after a beat Tate took her hand in his and led her over to the sofa. It was obvious that she followed him reluctantly, but he could work with that, he told himself.

      When he turned to look at her, the apprehensive expression he saw on Hannah’s face almost tore him apart. He’d always thought of himself as a protector, a man women felt safe with. To see himself reflected as a potential monster in Hannah’s eyes was a startling revelation. But there was no other way he could interpret what he saw. Hannah looked as if she was holding her breath, waiting for something terrible to happen to her.

      Tate forced himself to continue. He was her only chance at survival—he had to remember that. Sitting down, Tate tugged lightly on her hand. When she looked at him quizzically, he coaxed, “Come sit on my lap.”

      Her mouth went completely dry.

      Was this how it was to begin? The destruction of her virginity—was it going to start with a softly spoken invitation, only to escalate to unspeakable behavior?

      She wanted to run.

      And yet, she knew she had no choice. Nathan and the other man were just outside the door. She wouldn’t make it past the threshold. And she didn’t want to die the way her friends had. She wanted to live. To live and someday find a way to escape.

      So, when the man who had paid for her tugged on her hand again, Hannah willed her knees to bend and did what he bade her to.

      She sat down on his lap.

      She was trembling, Tate realized the moment she made contact with his lap. He could feel her trembling and hated the fact that she was afraid of him.

      Hated this whole charade.

      But he knew it was the only way to save Hannah and all the other girls who had been so viciously snatched away from their families, not to mention everything they knew. And their only sin was that they were all so innocent in a world where innocence had ceased to be a common thing and was now a rarity, something to be elevated and observed, like a perfectly cut diamond.

      He had no choice but to continue playing this role he had swiftly come to despise.

      Tate slipped one arm around her waist, holding Hannah against him. Inclining his head, he began to slowly kiss the nape of her neck.

      He struggled to keep from immersing himself in the scent, the feel, the taste, of her.

      It’s a part—you’re just playing a part, he silently insisted as he lectured himself over and over again not to get caught up in what he was doing.

      Despite everything, despite his desperate attempt to keep a tight rein on himself, Tate could feel his body responding to Hannah. Responding to the intoxicating, sweet taste of her skin against his lips.

       Dammit, get a grip, Colton. You’re supposed to be here to rescue her, not ravage her or scare the poor girl to death. She’s not your private playground.

      Satisfied that he had performed as expected for whatever camera or cameras hidden in the room for the sole purpose of observing his every move, Tate whispered the same message into Hannah’s ear that he’d told her yesterday.

      Except that he embellished on it.

      “My name is Tate. Caleb sent me. He was the one who told me to call you Blue Bird so that you’d know I was telling you the truth. I’m here to rescue you,” he told her, his arms tightening just a touch around her waist to prevent any sudden moves on her part, motivated by surprise.

      He couldn’t let his guard down, not even for a moment. “You and the others,” he added. His breath feathered along the side of her neck as he spoke. “But this isn’t going to be easy and I’m going to need your help to pull it off.”

      Hannah turned her head slowly to look at him. He could tell by the look in her eyes that he’d made a breakthrough.

      She was finally beginning to believe him.