THE DECEPTION.

The Munro Family Series.

Chris Taylor.

Ambitious newspaper journalist Savannah O'Neill will do anything for a story, even if it means pretending to be a prost.i.tute in Sydney's most exclusive brothel. She's there on a tip-off that underage girls are being held illegally and kept compliant with illicit drugs. What's more, unidentified bodies of young women have turned up in Sydney Harbour and at least one of them is linked to the brothel.

Detective Will Rutledge has vowed to destroy the man he holds responsible for his brother's suicide. Vince Maranoa is the kingpin of Sydney's illegal drug industry: He's also the owner of the city's most exclusive brothel. Working undercover with the New South Wales Drug Enforcement Agency, Will is determined to put Maranoa behind bars.

When Savannah and Will cross paths at the brothel, there's an instant attraction, despite the fact she presumes he's a cohort of the crime boss and Will a.s.sumes she's a prost.i.tute under Maranoa's employ.

With both of them determined to pursue their personal agendas to infiltrate the covert life of Maranoa, they will both be left gasping when the brothel's secrets are finally revealed...

This book is dedicated to my children who have given up asking when dinner will be ready and as always, to the love of my life, my husband, Linden.

PROLOGUE.

Billy hefted the dead weight of the girl's slight body over his shoulder and strode toward the water. Her head lolled to one side. Her arms hung lifelessly down his back. He was glad it was too dark to see the mask of terror that had frozen on her face. He'd seen it earlier, of course, while Vince tortured her. He'd seen it again, right before he'd killed her.

She'd stared at him through eyes that had been almost swollen shut from Vince's beating. Her breath had rattled through broken teeth and even more broken insides. It was probably a relief when Billy snuffed out what was left of her life with a pillow jammed hard against her face. She'd barely even struggled...

"Hurry up, Kid. We don't have all f.u.c.kin' night."

The impatient command was issued from somewhere behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. The glow from a cigarette briefly illuminated the narrow-eyed features of his boss.

Vince Maranoa blew out a mouthful of smoke and then hawked up a glob of phlegm. The sound of it turned Billy's stomach, but he knew better than to complain.

Turning away, he plowed through the low, coa.r.s.e bushes clinging to the cliff top that surrounded part of Sydney's eastern sh.o.r.eline. His boots sunk into valleys of soft sand and sc.r.a.ped across the rocks. Slight she might be, but the dead woman was a cement pylon across his shoulders.

"You could give me a hand here, you know," he grunted half heartedly.

"You're weak as p.i.s.s, Billy. I knew I should have let Georgie do the job. Just f.u.c.kin' throw her over and stop your f.u.c.kin' whingin'."

Billy bit back an angry retort. If he didn't want to be the next corpse tossed into Sydney Harbour, he'd best watch his mouth. Just like the girl in his arms, Mia had learned the hard way: You didn't f.u.c.k with Vince Maranoa.

Getting as close to the cliff's edge as he dared, Billy swung the body off his shoulders. With a soft thud she landed on the ground at his feet in a tangle of arms and legs. Rigor mortis had yet to set in.

Taking a few moments to catch his breath, he stood back with his hands on his hips. His chest heaved. He sure as h.e.l.l now knew why they called it a dead weight.

"What are you waitin' for? Someone could drive by any minute. Throw her over the f.u.c.kin' edge and let's get out of here."

Without even a twinge of guilt or another thought for the girl on the sand at his feet, Billy bent forward and toed her with his boot. Leaning over, he rolled her to the edge. He glanced over his shoulder and met Vince's hard stare. Turning back, he gave one last heave and let her go...

CHAPTER 1.

Sat.u.r.day night.

Detective Will Rutledge took care to conceal the anger that burned just below the surface. Plastering a pleasant smile on his face, he adjusted his tie and sauntered into the subtly lit, inner-Sydney brothel. The sweet, pungent aroma of incense, cigars and expensive cologne thickened the air. Smoke curled around the crowd of designer-suited men. Most were seated at round tables set close to a sunken stage that dominated the center of the room.

Will strode over to the bar, his black-on-black Armani blending in with ease. Sliding onto a red velvet-covered stool, he glanced at his watch.

Eleven-thirty. Half an hour to go.

Facing the stage, he scanned the scene, noting everything. Patrons. Bouncers. Exits. A door on the other side of the bar was marked with a sign that read: Staff Only.

Restless antic.i.p.ation hovered over the men. Laughter and conversation grew louder, in line with the increased frequency of orders from the bar.

"What'll it be?"

Will swung around and eyed the tuxedo-clad bartender.

"I'll have a scotch, thanks."

Within moments, a drink was placed in front of him. He fished a few bills from his wallet and placed them on the bar. "So, what's on tonight?"

The man offered a leering smile. "If you're into tight-a.s.sed, dark-haired girls with nice t.i.ts, you won't be disappointed."

Will eyed him calmly over the rim of his gla.s.s. "And if you're not?"

The man bristled. "Then you're in the wrong place, mate. This is a brothel, not a gay bar."

Will narrowed his eyes, but his voice remained mild. "You've got me all wrong, mate. I'm not adverse to a nice piece of a.s.s, but I like a little something else with it, a bit of extra fizz. You get my drift?"

The man's expression relaxed. He leaned over the bar. Thick muscles bunched beneath his black suit coat. "You should have said so. I'm sure we have something you might be interested in."

"What are you offering?"

The bartender bent closer and lowered his voice. "We call it the Room of Dreams. We stock whatever turns you on: Gra.s.s, c.o.ke, pills, ice... You name it, we've got it. Everyone knows Vince has the best gear in town and you can enjoy all of it from the privacy and comfort of your own cubicle."

Will's expression remained indifferent. "Keep talking."

"I'll need to get the okay from Vince, first. He has to approve anyone who wants to buy extras like that. What's your name?"

"Rutledge. William Rutledge."

The bartender's face creased into a smile. "Rutledge? You're not Robert's son?"

Will tensed and then forced himself to relax. He was used to people recognizing his surname. His father was a big player in the advertising world. He'd expected his oldest son to follow in his footsteps. The fact that Will had chosen to go into law enforcement was still a source of aggravation between them. There was no way his father would breathe a word about his career choice-to anyone-let alone an employee of a brothel. Besides, it was ludicrous to consider his father would fraternize in the Black Opal, no matter how exclusive.

Aware that the barman still eyed him with frank interest, Will eased out his breath and nodded. "Yeah, that would be me."

"Well, what do you know? I'll run it by Vince, but I'm sure he'll be more than willing to give the nod of approval to the son of Robert Rutledge."

"How long will it take? When can I sample the wares?"

"Vince is busy right now, but if you stop by in a day or so, I'm sure I'll be able to give you the nod. We can take it from there."

Taking care to hide his frustration, Will slid off the stool. "Hey, I'm here now and I have a wad of cash burning a hole in my pocket. Once Vince finds out who my father is, he'll bust his b.a.l.l.s putting me on his list of approved customers. You said so yourself. How about you just tell me where this dream room is?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized he'd blundered. All signs of friendliness left the bartender's face. He leaned over the bar, a menacing glint in his small, black eyes.

"Hey, you listen to me. n.o.body, and I mean n.o.body, gets access to the gear without Vince's approval. I don't care who you are; you'll wait like everybody else. If you don't like the rules, you take it up with Vince." With another hard look, the bartender moved away and turned his attention to a noisy group at the other end of the bar.

d.a.m.n! Will cursed under his breath. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. It'd been worth a shot, though. And at the worst, it had only put him back a day or so. This time Monday night, he'd be that much closer to blowing the lid on the dark secrets concealed behind the velvet-clad doors. From the intelligence they'd already gathered on Vince Maranoa, it was clear the brothel's notorious owner wouldn't give them up without a fight.

A commotion at the end of the bar snagged his attention. An argument had broken out between two men. The bartender stepped forward to intervene.

Seizing the moment, Will stepped away from the bar and pushed through the press of bodies. He headed toward the door marked with the sign. With a last glance over his shoulder, he opened it and slipped through.

Finding himself in a poorly lit corridor, he gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness. Shadows revealed closed doors on either side. Small lamps glowed dully above each one, casting just enough light so that the room numbers were visible.

Grateful for the thick carpet that swallowed the sound of his footsteps, he moved to the first door and listened. Silence greeted him. Alert to the slightest noise, he turned the door handle.

It opened smoothly.

He held his breath and inched inside. A pair of antique lamps set on low nightstands on either side of a king-sized bed emitted a soft glow, illuminating most of the room. It was empty. Relief soughed through him.

He scanned the room. A pile of condoms and tubes of lubricant sat on the nightstand nearest to him. d.i.l.d.os and other s.e.x toys were laid out on the opposite one. Bondage equipment was scattered throughout, some of it hanging from hooks on the walls. Fantasies limited only by imagination could be bought and had here, but it wasn't the room he was looking for.

Drawing the door closed, he moved to the next and put his ear to the wooden panel. Faint voices came from behind it. He prayed the hinges were as well-oiled as the previous ones and eased the door open.

Light poured through the crack. A half-filled suitcase lay open on an unmade bed and an Asian woman stood nearby with a pile of clothes in her arms. She spoke in heavily accented English.

"It will work, trust me. No one will know." Tossing the clothing into the suitcase, she moved out of his line of vision.

The reply was hesitant. "I don't know, Malee."

Another woman came into view. His gut clenched. A mane of red hair fell across her shoulders in long, messy waves. Green eyes, full lips and pert b.r.e.a.s.t.s barely concealed beneath a black lace bodysuit crowded his mind. He cursed under his breath and redirected his attention to their conversation.

"What if he suspects something? What if we're caught? Are you sure there isn't an easier way?"

"No." The woman identified as Malee walked back into his range of vision and dumped toiletries into the suitcase. She spun around to face the redhead, gesticulating with her finger. "Listen to me. I got you in here. I gave you what you wanted. Now, it's my turn."

The redheaded woman remained silent. Some of the bravado left the woman called Malee and her shoulders slumped. Her voice dropped lower and Will had to strain to hear her.

"Mia managed to escape a couple of nights ago. We were close. Like sisters. Vince knows that. I'm the first one he's going to question when he discovers she's gone. If I don't get out of here, I'm dead. I'm dead! Don't you understand anything?"

The reply was quick and full of contrition. "Malee, I'm sorry. I know I promised to help you any way I could, I just didn't expect... I mean, that I'd have to go out there and-"

"Put a wig on. There's one in the cupboard. No one will notice. Vince won't notice. Billy won't notice. They're busy tonight. That's why we have to do it now."

"Who's Billy? What do you mean, busy?"

"I mean-"

A noise from somewhere behind him m.u.f.fled the reply and drew a silent curse from Will. Belatedly, he realized the sound was coming closer and cast around for somewhere to hide.

Darting back to the empty room, he wrestled with the door handle.

Come on!

He lunged through the doorway just as the burly bartender came into view. With no time to pull the door shut behind him, he prayed silently the man wouldn't notice anything amiss. The bartender's movements slowed. Plastered against the wall, Will held his breath.

Just walk on by, mate. Just walk on by. The thought echoed in Will's head. To his relief, the man continued down the corridor and disappeared. Across the hall, the women had also fallen silent. A p.r.i.c.kle of curiosity tingled down his spine.

What were they trying to hide?

With his close shave uppermost in his mind, he drew in a breath, straightened his clothing and ducked out into the corridor. With a cautious glance left and right, he strode back the way he'd come. The search for the Room of Dreams would have to wait.

The crowd in the main reception room had swelled and the noise and laughter had taken on a harsher edge. Will blended into the throng lining the bar. What the h.e.l.l had the woman meant-busy? Was Maranoa meeting with his suppliers tonight? Were the women involved? Who the h.e.l.l was Billy?

Without warning, loud music pulsed from the stage's sound system. A roar of approval went up from the crowd. Will shouldered his way through the horde of men until he'd reached the front, ignoring the mutters of displeasure his actions provoked. If the women he'd overheard were dancing, he was sure he'd recognize them. Then he'd get them alone again and this time, he'd be the one asking the questions.

The throbbing house music increased to almost deafening levels, and all eyes were drawn to the stage. At least half a dozen dark-haired, scantily clad women entered from a set of stairs at one end of the platform. As far as Will could tell, they were all Asian.

Dressed in similar attire to the redhead-with the addition of brightly colored feather boas and black fishnet stockings-their painted faces held a look of dazed sensuality. Their lithe bodies began to gyrate to the s.e.xual beat. Fixed smiles failed to reach their gla.s.sy-eyed stares.

The girls were high. No big surprises there. As they danced before him, he scanned their faces closely. He recognized the redhead and his gut tightened. She now wore a long black wig, but there was no mistaking her green-eyed gaze. He turned and tried to catch the eye of one of the bouncers. Antic.i.p.ation coiled inside him.

The music swelled. Hips ground to the beat. The men surged forward, jostling each other in an effort to get closer. A solid whumph almost knocked the wind out of him as he took a shoulder to the kidneys. Stumbling forward, his boot caught on the wooden edge of the stage and he lost his balance.

"f.u.c.k!" He toppled down toward the sunken platform and braced himself for a fall. He came down hard upon one of the dancers, pinning her to the floor beneath him. She shrieked in alarm and then struggled against him.

"Just hold still, d.a.m.n it, so I can get up." Will raised himself on one elbow and stared into a pair of angry green eyes.

"Get off me, you clumsy jerk." The woman tried to move again.

With a curse, he rolled away and got to his feet. He mumbled an apology and his hand came out automatically to a.s.sist her.

Pointedly ignoring his outstretched hand, the woman got to her feet unaided and shakily resumed the dance. The other girls remained oblivious and continued to move their bodies to the beat.

Will climbed out and shouldered himself back into a spot at the front. He pinned the woman with his gaze. Watching her dance to the music, he tamped down his body's instinctive reaction. She twisted and turned and her lace-clad b.r.e.a.s.t.s dipped and swayed. Any minute, he expected them to fall out of their flimsy covering. Despite his best efforts to remain aloof, his c.o.c.k hardened.