by Siobhan Muir
“So, if Coop’s right, Eisenburg was getting paid by the FBI to infiltrate our club, he skimmed from us to set himself up, and he sent a little somethin’-somethin’ to Backlog to…what? Keep up his membership dues?” I shook my head. “It’s a good thing he got the karma coming to him.”
“Somethin’-somethin’.” Neo’s eyes narrowed. “Let me check something.”
We waited as his hands flew over the keyboard and the trackball that looked like a glowing crystal ball with swirling liquid inside that changed colors. It was mesmerizing and I kept my gaze on his screens.
“Yup. Bingo. Look at this.” He displayed two documents with lines of information. A few lines were highlighted in pale rose and they blinked together to show coordinating info. “You said to look for places where FBI Agent Hopkins and Eisenburg had other connections beyond the FBI. Turns out they were both big fans of paid sex, but they were cheap bastards. They didn’t go to the high-end brothels or escorts. They visited this place.”
He put up images of a warehouse in the industrial side of Fort Collins, near the railroad tracks where freight could be easily offloaded without anyone noticing. Freight like human cargo and trafficking. Anger kindled in my chest.
“What the hell is that?” Michael’s growl surprised me, though it shouldn’t. His intolerance for injustice eclipsed my own.
“That is a warehouse being used as a whorehouse for women and girls someone has stolen. They’re deposited there for crooked cops and agents to get their rocks off.” Neo’s voice held a banked fury. I’d never seen the man angry and given that voice, I really didn’t want to. “Hold up, I think there are boys there, too. From what I can tell from the records and Hopkins’ financials, he got a discount. That could be because he had a membership with this Backlog group.”
The Concrete Angels weren’t saints by any stretch of the imagination, but we drew the line at women and kids. Anyone weaker than us needed to be defended, not harmed, and those who preyed on them were fair game to anything we decided to pull on them.
“So we find this place and rescue the people inside. What do we do with them once we take down the brothel?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“I know a few shelters that can help them.” Numbers raised her chin. “I’ll make a few calls. When are we doing to do this?”
“Tomorrow.” Loki’s voice filled with finality. “That’ll give us time to determine who runs that place and make sure they’re there to be dealt with.”
“And if they’re not there?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Then we’ll hunt them down.”
A chill ran down my back. Loki wasn’t kidding and he could be ruthless when eradicating problems.
“Mr. DeVille has Eisenburg’s list and I suspect he’ll be running down the names on it.” Numbers pushed her hair behind her ear. “It looks like most of them are FBI agents and cops from Denver and Fort Collins PD. But there are a few other names who didn’t have designations and I don’t recognize them from the Denver office of the FBI.”
“I’ll look into them and see what I can dig up.” Neo took the copy Numbers held out. “We’ll figure out who runs the whorehouse and find them. Can you get me a list of shelters where we can take the victims?”
“Yeah, I’ll do some research to find out which ones are still in operation. I used to know them a little better before I left the FBI.” Numbers grimaced. “I’ll refresh my knowledge base.”
“Good. Let’s talk more tonight, ja? Then we make a plan for tomorrow.” Loki nodded to everyone and strode out the door, the conversation over.
I checked my phone to see if Coop had responded to my last text, but no notifications lit up the little device. I shoved it back in my pocket as I headed out of Neo’s lair, but Numbers called my name before I’d gone very far.
“Wait up, Karma. I want to talk to you.” She hurried after me.
“Come to the buffet with me. I want some coffee. You want anything?”
“I’ll get some tea.” She followed me to the sideboard and we doctored our drinks.
Once we had what we wanted, she led me over to the fluffy chairs set closer to the front window set in an intimate arrangement for privacy. She sat down, setting the file beside her as she cradled her tea mug in her hands.
“Did Mr. DeVille talk to you yet?”
I raised my eyebrows. “No, I haven’t seen him since breakfast. Why?”
She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You were in the meeting with Loki when I came in.” She sighed and sipped her tea. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything until after he talked to you, but he has something important he needs to tell you.”
“And you can’t tell me?”
She shook her head. “You need to hear it from him. And I promised. I try not to break my promises because then I end up feeling like shit. But if he doesn’t talk to you by tomorrow, I’ll tell you what I know.”
My gut sank and my blood chilled. “Is it that bad a thing?”
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It could be if he doesn’t talk to you about it. It comes down to trust and if he’s being intimate with you, you have to be able to trust him.” She rose with a troubled look. “I don’t want to say more. Just let me know if he doesn’t talk to you.”
“Oriana.” She stopped and met my gaze. “Are you sure you can’t tell me?”
She nodded. “Just let me know. Give him a chance to explain it himself. Then come to me if he doesn’t.”
With that, she headed back to her office, leaving me with that insecure, scared feeling coiling in my gut. What the hell could be so important about Coop that Numbers felt the need to ensure I knew?
****
Cooper
I grinned as I shoved my phone into my pocket and headed for my bedroom. Karma wanted me to wear boots and my Stetson? Damn, if it made her smile, I’d wear those and nothing else. In private. No point in showing off the goods to anyone but her. But I didn’t have a pair of boots or clean clothes. Part of the reason I left the Concrete Angels’ compound after talking to Oriana Hunter was to do laundry.
And to figure out how to tell Karma I’m a damn Marshal.
The list of names mocked me from my pocket, calling me to take a look and see who I recognized. I suspected most of the names would be FBI agents since Eisenburg would’ve had the most interaction with his own agency. But he wouldn’t have been much of an investigator if he hadn’t found other members of Backlog in other agencies.
I considered what his reasons for compiling the list might have been while I did laundry. Blackmail? Insurance? A way to recognize his fellow crooked cops? Whatever his motivation, I was glad he’d kept the list. It would help me find out who might be part of the group in the Marshal Service.
And then what? What would I do when I figured out who they were? I scowled as I yanked my clothes out of the dryer. I couldn’t exactly bring those assholes down by myself. Hell, even with my boss, we wouldn’t be enough to disrupt a nation-wide organization. Especially if they had members in every law enforcement department and agency. They might have even secured crooked judges on their payroll.
Fuck.
I carried my clothes back to my apartment and took a shower, trying to relax enough for my mind to come up with some answers. No such luck, but the warm water felt good. I hurried to finish and dressed with the intent to get my chores done before I returned to the compound that night. I packed up a few things, grabbed my black Stetson, and headed out to my car. I felt my pocket for my phone and the list Oriana had given me, relieved they hadn’t disappeared while I did my chores. I refused to leave it anywhere. I hadn’t bothered to scan my apartment for bugs, but I wasn’t prone to talking to myself so my secrets remained my own.
But when I settled behind Rosé’s wheel, I noticed a silver Chevy Cruze parked on the road outside the apartment complex. Normally it wouldn’t be a big deal. The only cars that ended up on that side of the road were junkers or vehicles for purchase
. But this car looked like it was in pretty good condition and it didn’t sport a for-sale sign in the window. I tried to get a good look at the tag, but it was too far away. It could be nothing
Right, and I could be a faery princess.
I put Rosé in gear and headed for the road, playing the unconcerned driver. Fortunately, the car in question happened to be on the way toward I-25. I drove past it and memorized the Colorado tag. The vehicle looked empty but I grabbed my phone and had it out when I hit the first red light, tapping out the plate numbers. I’ll be keepin’ an eye out for you, buddy.
I headed up the freeway to Cheyenne, Wyoming, to visit their big western store in downtown. I’d always liked the small-town feel to one of the biggest cities in the state. Granted, it paled beside Denver or even Fort Collins, but at 65,000 people it had one of the largest populations in Wyoming. I decided to park Rosé in the depot plaza and walked to the big store on the corner. Along the way I noticed a silver Chevy Cruze parked on the main drag on the opposite side of the street. The tag number matched the one I’d seen across from my apartment.
Ah ha, so you are watching out for me. Much obliged. The question was, why were they keeping an eye on me? Had Backlog gotten wind of what I was doing? Or were the Concrete Angels checking up on my movements?
I shook my head as I stepped in the doors of the Wrangler. The motorcycle club would have someone on two wheels following me, not in four. So, who was my shadow?
I headed for the boot section of the store and a pretty, young sales lady helped me find the right pair of black boots for my date that night. She helped me try different brands to find the one that fit my feet best, and even then, she suggested I put on the socks I was likely to wear with them and soak the leather boots in the bathtub.
“What? Why would I do that to good boots?”
“Because if you do that and let ’em dry on you, they perfectly mold to the shape of your feet and you don’t get blisters.” She gave me an amused smile. “Beats waitin’ for them to mold the regular way, and uses far fewer Bandaids.”
I still thought she was crazy to put such expensive leather boots in the tub, but I thanked her and left the store with my new Ariat boots. I scanned the street before I stepped outside, but the Cruze with the Colorado tags had moved from its spot across from the store. I didn’t see it on the cross streets or in the plaza, but didn’t think they’d given up. I checked my phone as I sat in the front seat of my car. No texts or messages, and still plenty of time to get back to Longmont before heading to the Concrete Angels’ compound.
I pulled out the list of names Oriana had given me, keeping my peripheral eyes aware of any movement around me. I caught sight of a silver Chevy Cruze, but it had Wyoming tags and I let it slide out of my awareness.
Most of the names on the list didn’t mean anything to me. From what I’d been able to gather from Eisenburg’s symbol key, the names showed their association with the Denver office of the FBI. A couple others showed Denver PD, Fort Collins PD, some county sheriffs, and one ATF agent. But the last three names made me grit my teeth.
Three fuckin’ U.S. Marshals in the Denver office. Sonuvaprick.
One guy was my level, part of the rank-and-file Marshals, but the other two were supervisors, and one was my boss’s boss. Fuck-a-duck. No wonder Battlebourne has been nervous. The names had no symbols beside them, which probably meat Eisenburg hadn’t known which agencies these names had worked for. But I knew them.
The only good news was my partner, Anna Fitzsimmons, wasn’t on Eisenburg’s list. That doesn’t mean she isn’t part of Backlog, just that he didn’t know her. But Anna had always struck me as down-to-earth and honorable. I couldn’t imagine her being on the take. But then, I couldn’t imagine the Assistant Director of the U.S. Marshals’ Denver office being crooked either.
I took a picture of the list with my phone and emailed it to my personal email account so I’d have a backup should anything happen to the list or phone. I stuffed both items into my pockets and started the big Caddy’s engine. Rosé rumbled to life with a throaty purr and satisfaction rolled through me. I loved this car and her power, but I didn’t need a tail. As I headed for I-80, I noticed another silver Chevy Cruze. This one also had a Wyoming tag and I cursed as I realized two more cars around me were the same. Dammit, what is it with Wyoming residents and the damn Chevy Cruze?
My trip back down to Longmont was uneventful, but I picked up my tail again when I closed in on my exit. Ah, there you are. Shoulda stayed in Cheyenne where you blend, buddy. But that made me think. Talk about blending. Rosé stood out like an ostrich in a flock of flamingos. She wasn’t likely to hide anywhere. I’d have to leave her at home and take my less visible and more fuel-efficient Toyota. I sighed and patted the dashboard.
“Sorry, honey, but you’re just too gorgeous this time.”
I drove back to my apartment and parked in my front parking spot. I gathered my bag, my Stetson, and my purchases and returned to my apartment just in case the silver Cruze followed me home. Then I left out the back entrance where I parked my other car. It was black, sleek, but otherwise unremarkable in the Colorado motor-scape. I checked my phone. I still had two hours to get up to the compound, but I’d need all that time if there was any traffic or I had to lose another tail. I grinned at myself in the rearview mirror. Let the games begin.
Chapter Thirteen
Karma
“Hey, Karma. Get a load of this.” Dollhouse’s voice brought me to the front windows of the clubhouse. “Is that your man coming in driving a boring car?”
I raised my eyebrows as I peered out the windows. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen that car before.”
The black Toyota sedan pulled into the spot Coop’s Caddy had occupied earlier that morning and parked. I left the clubhouse at a fast walk, wondering who it was. Logically, I understood it was someone we knew if he’d come in the gates, but I couldn’t reconcile the car with the man.
I almost took a step back when a tall man wearing a black Stetson, Navy blue button-down shirt, and black leather cowboy boots under faded blue jeans got out of the car. Coop had been sexy and handsome before, but holy shit. He damn near melted my panties off my ass right there.
“Well, howdy stranger.”
“Ma’am.” He tipped that hat and my heart fluttered. Seriously, it fluttered. I didn’t think that was a real thing, but I was fluttering. “Sorry for the confusion with the vehicle. I was gettin’ followed around town and Rosé is kinda noticeable. So I switched her out for my old reliable here and went out the back way.”
My gut cramped and my eyes narrowed. “You were followed?”
“Yup.” He nodded as he pulled his bag out of the trunk. “All the way up to Cheyenne and back.”
“Why would anyone follow you?”
He shrugged as he locked the car. “I think it probably has to do with my investigation. Speakin’ of which, I need to talk to you about that. You got some spare time before things get rockin’ around here?”
“Yeah. We can talk in my cabin. Grab your stuff and we’ll talk there.” I gestured for him to precede me so I could watch his sexy ass in those butt-hugger jeans. I’m all for serious conversations and things that need to be fixed, but I wasn’t about to give up on ass-watching for it.
He smirked as he sauntered past me, leading the way to my cabin. I caught Loki’s and Dollhouse’s speculative gazes as I followed Coop, but I ignored them. Whatever was coming I’d weather it like I had the rest of my human existence. I got to the cabin behind him, slid my hand over his ass, and unlocked the door.
“Come on in, cowboy.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
He sauntered, just like a damn cowboy, in the door and I followed after him like a horny bitch. He set his bag down on the chair, rather than in the bedroom, and waited for me to close the door as he removed his hat and held it in his hands. He looked so uncomfortable, I wanted to wrap him in my arms and tell him it would be okay. But something abou
t his energy suggested he didn’t want to be comforted at the moment so I settled into my favorite fluffy arm chair to wait him out. I probably looked like a queen on her throne, but it gave me comfort when my own unease ramped up.
“All right. What did you need to talk to me about?” I tried to keep my voice level and my expression calm while my heart rate increased with every moment he stood silent.
Coop cleared his throat and slid the hat between his fingers, turning around and around as he organized his thoughts. “So, you know I talked to Ms. Hunter, Numbers, this morning and I’m sure she filled you in on who stole your money.”
I nodded. “She said you identified some of the symbols in Eisenburg’s ledger. She said you knew the name of the group he was working for while undercover for the FBI.”
Coop nodded with a grimace. “Did she tell you why I knew their name?”
“No. I figured it had to do with your investigation into our missing money.”
He sighed and glanced down, still turning his hat. “Yes, and no.” He chewed on his bottom lip, a habit I’d learned meant he was nervous about something. “I knew the group from my investigation, but not from this one. Not from trying to recover the money stolen from the Concrete Angels.”
“Okay...” I still didn’t understand why this was a big deal.
“I’ve been investigating Backlog for around two years because their membership is made up of people within all branches of U.S. law enforcement. I suspect many judges and possibly some law enforcement groups outside of the U.S. are involved, too.”
“That makes sense. What does it have to do with me or the Concrete Angels?”
He set the hat upside down on the table and rubbed the back of his neck, another nervous gesture. “Backlog has been known to either hire or use groups like the Concrete Angels to do their dirty work so it can’t be traced back to them. They hide in plain sight and don’t want to lose their position to allegations.” He paused to see if I’d figured out what he was trying to say, but I just nodded to let him continue. “If they can’t get the groups to work directly for them, they insert a mole.”
