1 Chapter 1

1

My name is Brant Colton. I’m a blackmailer and sometimes a thief. It is what it is and I make no excusesfor my chosen professions. It keeps me on my toes, and in wine and caviar, should I want some.

* * * *

“Give it to me or the cops and your boss will be getting a packet of information about your, shall we say, ‘prurient interest’ in children. One I doubt you or your associates want them to have.”

Morgan glared at me. “If you live to deliver it.”

I shrugged. “If I don’t, a friend of mine will pick up the packet from the very secure location where I’ve got it stashed and pass it on to the police.” Not true, but…

“You’re a damned bastard!”

I knew that, so I didn’t bother to argue the point.

He stared morosely at the pad of paper in front of him, then picked up a pen and wrote down what I’d asked for. When he finished, he tore off the top sheet and handed it to me.

“When I know they all work, and I get in and out with no problems—” I stared hard at him, “—then you’ll get the packet. If I even think you’re playing games you’ll be facing jail time so fast your head will spin. Got it?”

“Got it,” he replied, barely above a whisper. Then he looked up at me. “This isn’t over.”

“Yeah, it is. Because, Mr. Morgan, I have copies of every bit of the evidence, also stashed away in a very safe place. So if you, or the others involved, have any thoughts about retaliating after the fact, forget it.”

I walked out of his office, tipped my hat to his secretary, and two minutes later was on the sidewalk outside the jewelry store. I hadn’t asked Morgan for much—just the security codes to get back into the store again later tonight, and the combination to the safe where they kept the good stuff.

I turned the corner then walked down the alley behind the store. By the time I got to the far end I’d lost the mustache, the overcoat, the fedora, and the thin latex gloves I’d been wearing. The blue contact lenses were back into their case in the pocket of my suit jacket. When I left the alley, I lookedlike your everyday businessman, heading back to the office after lunch.

How did I get the goods on Morgan and his cohorts? In a different time and place, I might have been a cop, or at least a private investigator, because I’m very good at digging up info on my targets. But that’s not me. I never was the kind of guy who wanted to be tied down to a job. Not when there are easierways to make money. Ones that pay a hell of a lot better than anything legal.

By the time I graduated high school I’d learned how to watch and listen—and then to use what I’d learned to make someone do what I wanted. It paid off well in college. The guy in one of my classes who worked part time at an electronics store? I found out he was screwing the wife of one of our professors on the sly, so I convinced him it would be in his best interests to pick me up a top of the line laptop. Then I convinced her, the professor’s wife, to get me a copy of the final exam. I passed his class with flying colors.

With Morgan? Everyone has secrets they’d prefer no one else knew. There are two managers at the jewelry store—responsible for opening and closing. I checked out both of them and got lucky. No, I take that back. It wasn’t luck. It was knowing how to hack into their personal computers, and what to look for that might give me a chokehold on one of them. That was a skill I learned from another guy in college, in exchange for not letting the powers-that-be find out he was dealing on the side to pay his tuition.

Once I learned that Morgan was into kiddy porn, I expanded my horizons and discovered he was involved inmore than just looking at pictures online. He had connections with a group of pedophiles. I got names and details, and when I faced him down with the evidence, he folded.

Now there are some things I find out about people that—hell, I figure live and let live after I’ve used the info for my own good, so that’s the end of it. Morgan won’t be one of those. Yeah, once I get what I’m going after, I’ll keep my end of the bargain and hand the packet of info I have over to him. But I wasn’t kidding when I said I had copies. Those will go—anonymously—to the police. There are some things even I won’t tolerate.