It had surprised him at first, how a hardened, take-no-prisoners man like Dylan could wax poetic like some sixteenth-century bard. Once he got to know him and the other members of LCR, he came to understand one thing—family was everything to LCR.
McCall set the tone for the organization. Though totally devoted to Last Chance Rescue and the work they did, McCall made it clear that family was the most important thing in his life.
“Listen up, boys and girls. John Wheeler just notified the house that more guests will join the party. Three more than expected.”
“The head asshole?” Thorne asked.
“Not sure yet. Doubt we’ll be that lucky this soon. Probably just more muscle. Likely in prep for the big kahuna coming later on. Either way, keep on your toes. Gonna be a helluva party once everyone arrives.”
The calm tone of Sabrina Fox’s voice made Raphael smile. She had been with a covert government agency before coming to LCR and had nerves of steel. Not only was she in charge of this op, but she and Olivia had been able to infiltrate the group, pulling out information with the precision of skilled surgeons extracting a bullet. The operation was a delicate one, but Sabrina had the chops for the job.
The plan was to lie low until the main man, referred to only as “the boss,” arrived. Their intel indicated that he inspected each shipment himself at what was apparently called the “processing plant.”
The evil that one person could do to others didn’t surprise him…hadn’t for a long time. He’d been in the midst of evil too many times. What he did know, what he knew to his soul, was that there was goodness that counteracted that evil. Sometimes it didn’t seem that way. Sometimes it looked like evil would win. That all the shit in the world would take over and nothing good could survive. And that was the reason he wanted to work for Last Chance Rescue. Good did exist. It occasionally took everything you had and then some to fight for it, but it damn well existed.
Like this op. They would grab the main asshole and his scumbag employees. One more human trafficking ring shut down, dozens of innocents saved. One more win on the side of good.
“Okay, listen up.” Fox’s voice was as calm as before but now held a new tone of seriousness. “Looks like the boss is riding along with the shipment after all. Stay alert. Execute on my command.”
Raphael shared a look of affirmation with Sinclair. Yeah, they were more than ready.
The plan was to wait until everyone was within the compound walls. Saving innocents was always their number one priority. As much as they wanted the leader and his people, they were secondary to the mission. Each operative had an assignment. His and Sinclair’s was the same—over the wall, go in from the back, neutralize the threat.
They listened as trucks drove through the gate. Voices shouted, demanded. More shouting. Waiting was hard, the hardest part of the job. He wanted to run into the melee and take these bastards down. That would accomplish nothing and likely get him and maybe his teammates killed.
He waited, adrenaline spiked with determination, tempered by experience and skill.
“And we are a go,” Fox said softly.
Raphael took off. Sinclair ran alongside him.
Ten yards in front of them stood a whitewashed brick wall. The alarm system had complicated things. The only time the alarm could be disarmed was by the person who controlled the system at an unknown location. Until security was shut down, no one could enter or exit without setting the thing off. However, as soon as the caravan of vehicles approached, the system would be disarmed. That gave them a window of about forty-two seconds. Raphael and Sinclair made the most of it.
Another good thing—the wall was about twelve feet high, so it was an easy up and over. Raphael threw his rappel cord over the top. Once hooked, he tugged hard, ensuring himself a good hold. He climbed quickly. Sinclair, only a few feet away, was one step ahead of him. They reached the top, secured more rope, and went down the other side just as quickly.
The stark emptiness of the backyard told them this place wasn’t used for anything other than business. All trees and bushes had been ruthlessly cut down, leaving absolutely no cover. They’d need to move fast to avoid detection. They both hit the ground running.
Raphael went east, Sinclair headed west. The plan was to keep everyone outside, taking them before they could rabbit into the mansion. With thirty or so rooms, there were way too many places to hide.
Staying low, he stopped at the edge of the structure and peered around the corner. The area was large, flat, and open. An old fountain sat in the middle of the courtyard. The mother and child statue, crumbling and decayed, was the perfect imagery for what took place here. Lives were destroyed, innocence lost.
Other than the fountain, there was nothing else in the courtyard where anyone could hide. The area was designed to load and unload cargo, with no options for hiding or escaping. He didn’t have to imagine the despair one would feel stepping down from the truck and seeing no hope for escape anywhere in sight. He had lived with that hopelessness.
Three SUVs and two transport trucks had rolled through the gate. The smaller vehicles parked on one side, and the large trucks carrying their human cargo parked on the other side.
Men, at least eight of them, piled out of the vehicles. One or two laughed and joked, but most of them wore the solemn look of business on their faces. They were human traffickers, and this was just another day for them.
A gleaming black Mercedes-Benz GLS came through the gate. Raphael held his breath, his eyes keenly focused on the passenger-side door. A luxurious ride like this would hold the boss man. The one who would inspect the “merchandise,” approve or disapprove. Decide on the value and ultimately the destination of the stolen women and children.
Three doors opened. A slightly rotund man of medium height, dressed in khaki pants and an eye-piercing lime-green shirt, climbed out on the front passenger side. Since the other men were well-built, mercenary types, dressed in faded jeans and work shirts, Raphael had no problem picking out the head honcho.
Two of the men headed to the back of one of the trucks. Before the door could be unlocked and raised, shrill voices sounded from inside the house. Seconds later, two women stomped out into the courtyard, yelling at each other. The distraction caused every eye to focus on the women.
“You bitch, I told you to stay out of my stuff.” The tall, auburn-haired woman lunged toward the slightly shorter, more delicate-looking blonde.
“I didn’t touch your stuff!” the blond woman screamed.
Blows were thrown with inelegant precision, landing as sloppy, haphazard slaps. Hair was pulled and half-thrown punches barely skimmed off each other. Neither woman acted as if she’d had the least bit of fighting skill. Since he’d gone up against both of these women in one-on-one training sessions, Raphael knew that was not true. However, the slapping, pinching, and hair-pulling had mesmerized the crowd of men. Just as they’d planned. Not one of them, including the boss man himself, was immune to a good old-fashioned catfight.
No one noticed that five armed strangers dashed inside the compound just before the gates swung closed.
As the two women tried to scratch each other’s eyes out, the rest of the team got into position. Thorne, Delvecchio, and Mallory stood between the two transport trucks. Justin Kelly and Riley Ingram crouched behind one of the smaller trucks, close to where the largest group of men and their boss stood. Staying low, Raphael and Sinclair ran to join them.
The two women were still pulling each other’s hair, screaming obscenities now. The men continued to stand, laughing, while some called out encouragement or crude suggestions.
As if choreographed by a professional dance instructor, the two women whirled away from each other. Pulling weapons hidden at the small of their backs, they turned in unison, pointing their guns directly at the main boss.
The rest of the LCR team moved in, surrounding all the men. It took a couple seconds before the men realized what was going on. As soon as they did, guns were
drawn.
Stepping out into the middle, Sabrina looked directly at the boss man. “You’re outnumbered.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Doesn’t matter. Only question you need to answer is, do you want to die today?”
“You stupid bitch. Do you know who I am? I can—”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. You can’t. Now tell your people to drop their weapons, or it’s going to get bloody.”
His body vibrating with insult, he snapped out an order to the man beside him. “Shoot her.”
Before the man could obey or refuse, Sabrina fired at the man’s feet, missing his toe by a half inch. The man jumped back, yelping.
“I missed on purpose,” Sabrina said coolly. “I won’t next time. Drop your weapons. All of you.”
His jaw clenched with fury, the man swept his eyes over the yard. Apparently noting that he was indeed surrounded and there was no way out, he gave a grim nod to his men. “Drop your weapons. We will live to fight another day.”
Soft growls and harsh curses came from the men, but they thankfully obeyed their boss and dropped their weapons. Raphael didn’t let down his guard. These people were the worst of humanity. To trust that they were giving up this easily would be stupid.
Proving his point, one of the men close to the gate took off running toward the back. Raphael called out, “I got him,” and loped after him.
Figuring the man would try to get inside the house from the back, Raphael kept his gun at the ready. He jerked to a stop when he spotted the man trying, unsuccessfully, to scramble up the wall.
The man made it two feet before sliding back down. With a vicious curse, the idiot went for it again. If he hadn’t needed to get back to the team, Raphael would have taken a few moments to enjoy the show.
Pulling a zip tie from his pocket, he waited until the man slid down the wall again. The instant he touched the ground, Raphael pushed him flat against the wall. “Stay still,” he snapped. He grabbed the man’s arms, pulled them behind his back, and secured his hands. Taking the man’s gun from his holster, he secured it at the small of his back and then pushed the guy forward.
“I did nothing wrong. I am a victim, too.”
“Oh yeah? Why’d you have a gun?”
“They…um…” Apparently not able to come up with a good reason for that, he struggled against Raphael’s hold.
They headed to the front of the house again. Just as they reached the corner, the shrill shriek of a child burst through the air.
Raphael eyed his prisoner and then mentally shrugged. Muttering a vague apology, he clipped the man’s chin, knocking him unconscious. Propping him against the side of the house, he secured his hands to a drainpipe.
Gun at the ready once more, he took off toward the front of the house. The sound of distress he’d heard could have been the cry of one of the already rescued victims, but he could take no chances.
At the corner of the house, he stopped and peered around the corner. The scene was an odd one, almost as if everyone had frozen in time while staring at one horrific image. All eyes were on the man holding a little girl, maybe four or five years old, in front of him, a knife at her throat.
“I will kill her,” the man snarled. “Gut her like a fish unless you do what I say.”
“You do that,” Sabrina said, “you’ve got no protection. We’ll drop you where you stand. You’ll be dead in an instant.”
“No, I won’t. You’re not going to let the brat die.”
He was right about that. What the asshole didn’t know was that LCR practiced this very scenario numerous times. Each operative knew exactly what to do. Protecting the child was the number one priority.
Sneaking up on him slowly was not an option. The man’s friends would warn him. He could, however, move fast and take him by surprise. Taking off, he was behind the asshole in seconds. Pressing his gun to the back of the guy’s head, Raphael said quietly, “Let the kid go and you’ll live. One scratch, just one scratch on her neck, and you’re dead in an instant.”
Stiff with tension, the man snarled, “You’re bluffing. You won’t risk the kid getting hurt.”
“It’s not really a risk. We have a doctor with us. He can save the child’s life. You won’t be as lucky. Even if you survive a bullet to the back of your skull, we’ll do nothing to help you. You’ll die in agony, and we’ll stand here and watch. Now…drop the knife. Then, very slowly and very gently, hand the child to her mother.”
Determining the mother was easy. Though there were several women standing a few yards away, one woman had the same hair color and features and was sobbing uncontrollably as she called out a name.
Several seconds passed, and Raphael was beginning to think the man was going to do something stupid. The child in his arms was whimpering, but thankfully no longer struggling. The large knife stayed at the little girl’s neck. Any small movement might nick her skin.
“Don’t take the chance, man,” Raphael said softly. “Do what your boss told you to do. Live to fight another day. You do not want to die.”
Growling curses under his breath, the man dropped the knife. Whirling around, he shoved the little girl toward Raphael. Still holding the gun on the man, Raphael took a one-armed hold of the little girl. Jake Mallory grabbed hold of the asshole, pulled his hands behind his back, and zip-tied his wrists.
Raphael would swear a collective sigh of relief went through the entire area. The little girl was crying hard as she clung to his neck. Before he could take her to her mother, the woman was in front of him in an instant, pulling on her daughter. He released her into her mother’s arms.
Stepping back, Raphael took in the scene. Nine men stood in a line, their hands secured behind their backs, each holding an expression of either pure hatred or fury. Several dozen women and children stood near the trucks they’d been transported in, the expressions on their faces running the gamut of emotions. The majority of them looked both exhausted and elated. The hopelessness had disappeared.
Peace swept through Raphael. No doubt about it, he was exactly where he belonged.
Chapter Three
Alexandria, Virginia
“Samara, seriously?” Mary Lyons held up the scarlet-red cocktail dress. “You don’t think this looks too…I don’t know, bold for me?”
Samara McCall shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not, Mom. You’re going to look fabulous in it. You’ll knock Daddy’s socks off.”
“Hmm. Maybe.” Mary walked over to one of the store’s full-length mirrors, held the dress up to her body, and turned every which way.
“Why don’t you at least try it on?” Samara asked.
“Okay. Can’t hurt.”
Smiling a little, Samara watched her mom head into the dressing room. This vacation was the first one her parents had been on in years. Samara and her four brothers had given them a sixteen-day European cruise for their fortieth wedding anniversary. It was a trip of a lifetime, and while both her parents had insisted it was way too expensive, they’d been almost beside themselves with excitement.
Sighing with satisfaction, she checked the GPS location of Micah’s phone. Her son had texted her a few minutes ago to let her know that he and his sister had arrived home from school. She considered once more if she should call her dad to remind him he had promised to stay with them until she got home. Though Micah was ten years old and sometimes acted twice his age, she didn’t like leaving him and his sister by themselves. Her work schedule allowed her to be at home most days when they arrived from school, but when she couldn’t, either her mom or dad pitched in.
Given the choice of going shopping with his wife to help her pick out cruise clothes or spending time with Micah and Evie, her dad hadn’t hesitated to offer his help. Not only was shopping akin to torture for Sam Lyons, alone time with his grandkids was a treat for him. She knew her dad well. Within five minutes of arriving, he would be loading the kids into his SUV for a trip to their favorite ice cream parlor.
She slid the phone back into her jacket pocket. He wouldn’t forget.
Turning, she picked up a dress in one of her mother’s favorite colors. As she checked for the right size, she sensed someone watching her. Having been trained to listen to her gut, Samara took a surreptitious glance around. Saw no one. Another person might have dismissed the feeling and moved on. She wasn’t that kind of person. She trusted her instincts. Plus, she’d seen too much to not take notice. Something felt off.
She looked up again, this time quickly. And saw him. About five foot ten, weight about one seventy-five, beefy, wide shoulders. Gleaming bald head, shaggy black brows, broad nose that was slightly askew, neatly trimmed black beard. Thirty-five to forty years old. The observations took less than five seconds. Noah McCall trained all his operatives to observe and assess in this manner. His wife was no different. Something else she noticed was the slight bulk beneath his brown leather jacket. He was armed.
When it came to protecting herself and those she loved, there was no such thing as overreaction. There was protocol for such things. She and Noah had practiced numerous times, as had her children.
Sliding her hand into her jacket pocket for her cellphone, Samara pressed the tiny button on the side that was designed specifically for LCR operatives. It would alert Noah, who would take action. Now she just needed to get her mother out of the store without anyone getting hurt.
***
In a nondescript hotel room fifteen miles away, Noah McCall sat across from a couple requesting LCR’s help. Though his office was only a couple of blocks from the hotel, he rarely met new clients at that location. Last Chance Rescue had two main headquarters—one in Alexandria and another in Paris, France—plus multiple satellite locations throughout the world. All locations were carefully guarded secrets, and only those who could be totally trusted were allowed inside. Noah could already tell these people had a long way to go before he would even remotely trust them.
Running Strong Page 3
