Hey guys. I know this isn't much, and I've been gone for quite a while, but school was killin' me! I promise to try and be more diligent over the summer!!! Much love to my fans, thanks so much for the support guys- enjoy!

Across the room, Sam watched as one by one, the girls shed clothing until they were down to bras and thongs- Ricky worked the camera and the poses like a Playboy photographer, and someone might have been fooled walking in- that it was for Playboy, and totally legal- were it not for the creepily ordinary backdrop, shady location, and the sleazy, icky vibe Ricky gave off. Oh this was going to suck. Really, really suck. All she could hope for was that Ricky's boss was less of a creeper. Woah, dream big.

"Tara, you're our last one," Ricky called, after taking the last five shots of the only other blonde with a Polaroid- something he hadn't one for the brunettes and the redhead and stashing them in the desk drawer. "We're ready for you."

Who the hell "we" was became apparent as the guy who had led her back here stepped into the room, settling quietly in the corner, his bare shoulder resting against the door. He had more piercings than she could count…As for Ricky he was…okay-looking. Good-looking actually. His muscles bulged underneath the shirt tucked neatly into a silver Armani belt. His hair was messy in just the right way, his features chiseled and near perfection. If Sam could have ignored the way he eyeballed all of them like they were something to eat- or worse- she might have been attracted to him. As it were…

She took a deep breath. Let's do this. Tara.

Smirking, she tore off her shirt- none of that coy bullshit the other girls were pulling and just before she slid onto the desk, slid her hand across Ricky's chest, making him grin.

Ew. Focus, Sam. Tara.

He started taking pictures immediately as she ran her hands through her hair, unbuttoned her black jeans, and pushed them own. Scary how good at this she was. And how did she know she was good? Ricky was drooling.

As with the other blonde, he finished off with five or six Polaroid pics, but hers he stuck in a manila envelope, and tucked neatly under his arm.

Sam grinned. "What, those for your personal stash?"

"They're for my boss. He's interested in a personal…more permanent…escort."

"Oh?" Just as her resources had told her. These girls were here thinking they were auditioning for a high-end escort service- the ones that paid big bucks, near 20K for a weekend- but really, they got taken to the "all-expenses-paid" brothel to get shipped off to the Golden Triangle to be sold into slavery. Sex slavery. And it was easy to keep it hush-hush because the prostitution was illegal enough. These women were desperate, and looking for a break… in exactly the wrong place.

"Yes, and I think you're…just his speed."

She pouted, and touched the collar of his shirt. "Is that all I am?"

The corner of his mouth twitched up. "We've got to get going, Ms. Hawkings. Why don't you follow Oliver to the truck."

**********

Danny tossed Martin a sub from the hole-in-the-wall deli across the street as they slumped back into the FBI-issue car. Natasha Greene had been a complete bust. According to her, with a flick of her fake nails and a swish of her fake hair, she had been with one "Antoine" on Sunday night. When Danny had enquired as to who exactly he was, she replied, "The reason me and Derek split." What a charmer. The six other women in the salon Greene worked in agreed that she had served her last client around 8 and waited until Antoine Killiks had arrived to pick her up.

"You know," Danny said after swallowing a particularly large mouthful of bread and meat, "I just don't like the feel of the Killiks guy."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Martin agreed.

"It's just Greene was way too reluctant to give up a name, and the others were way too eager to back her up."

Martin nodded. Nobody ever wanted to snitch, but an even more interesting phenomenon was after someone did, what happened. Killiks obviously wasn't up for the Man of the Year Award.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

"What? Oh."

He hadn't even unwrapped his sandwich.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Call Vivian and ask her to run his name through the system."

Antoine Leroy Killiks, 34, and on probation, had been in and out of juvy and jail since his mother kicked him out of the house at age 14. His track record ranged from aggravated assault of an employer to armed robbery. His last crime had been in '07, and he got off light because-

"He got his ass beat like he should have," Vivian finished flatly. "This guy is bad news all around."

'Toine "The King" Killiks made number three on the list of inquiries.