Free Sold into Slavery by Claire Thompson Page B

wallet. Opening it, he rummaged for a few moments. “Aha. Here it is. I have his card. He did some surveillance work for me in a couple of my stores where some employee theft was going on.”
    Devin took the business card and read it: George Siriratsivawong: Investigations. Discretion Assured. “I won’t even try to pronounce that,” Devin said.
    “We just call him George S.”
    “I recognize that as a Thai surname, but George?”
    Reggie shrugged. “His mother’s British, father is Thai. I’m afraid he’s more Thai than British when it comes to having his palm crossed with silver for information. I know he got pretty heavily involved in the investigation for a while there. No doubt the money, and hence his interest, dried up before anything came of it. Still, it’s a place to start. Just make sure you bring plenty of cash.”
    Devin looked at the card again. “There’s a phone number but no address.”
    Reggie nodded. “Yeah, he does a lot of bar girl checks. Discretion is the name of his game. He vets anyone before letting them get too close.”
    “Forgive my ignorance, but what are bar girl checks?”
    “A lot of guys who fly in regularly from abroad meet girls in the go-go bars. Most of these dancers are hookers on the side, which is where the real money is. Some of these blokes like to have one special girl when they come to town. They will pay for the girl’s rent and other stuff in exchange for a promise that she doesn’t step out with other guys for money while he’s away. But you know,” Reggie gave a broad wink, “once the cat’s away, the mice will play, especially when there are mouths to feed. These losers get suspicious and hire George to check out their bar girl’s story. They want to make sure they’re keeping their legs closed.”
    “That sounds pretty sleazy to me,” Devin said.
    Reggie shrugged. “Hey, this is Pattaya, not London. You want to find Leah, you’re gonna have to get down into the trenches with people who have connections and know the local scene.”
    Devin already had his mobile out, more than ready to get down into the trenches if it meant finding Leah.
    ~*~
    The room was elegant but austere, with a dark, shiny hardwood floor and pale gray walls with white trim molding. The space was windowless, lit by tall brass floor lamps. The only furniture in the room was a single chair made of black, shiny teakwood, and a circular raised dais covered with a black mat set directly in front of it.
    Sitting in the chair was a tall, angular man with a shaved head and a black goatee and mustache. He wore a single, large diamond stud in one earlobe. His fingers, long and slender, were tented just below his chin, lending him a contemplative air. He was staring at Leah as she was brought into the room, his eyes dark and glittering, his expression inscrutable.
    The guards lifted her onto the dais and stepped back a respectful distance. Leah stood on what she would have described as an auction block in front of the steward, feeling both frightened and ridiculous.
    “Drop the robe and lift your hands behind your head.” He spoke in the same cultured, British accent as the man they referred to as Master, though there was more of a hint of what Leah guessed was his native Arabic in the guttural turn of his vowels and the way he rolled his r’s.
    While Leah’s rational brain, which was highly sensitive to linguistic nuance, was busy identifying the man’s accent, it took a moment longer to process what he had just ordered her to do. Aware she had no choice in the matter, Leah let the silky robe fall from her shoulders. Lifting her arms, she clasped her fingers together behind her neck.
    The man’s eyes moved slowly over her bare body, resting a while on her breasts before moving in a sweep over every inch. Leah felt thoroughly violated by his relentless gaze. “Turn to the right,” he ordered, and then, “Now to the left.”
    Leah’s stomach burbled audibly and she felt suddenly