Face of Danger

by Roxanne St Claire

  He stayed on a main road, easy to follow, heading south until he maneuvered onto Hummock Pond Road, leading southwest to Cara’s house.

  Lang wasn’t at all surprised when Sutton chose that road and gunned his little Accord onto the open road. Colt called the location in to Iverson. Reinforcements were standing by.

  Could the “shipment” be taken right to Cara’s house? He pictured the geography of the bog, the surrounding brush, all the way out to a small perimeter road—and the lighthouse.

  So Emmanuel didn’t mean the Brant Point Lighthouse, but the small private one with a dock on Cara’s property. The one looking right out over the water where any ship could come in, dock in broad daylight, and transfer its human cargo to other boats for distribution.

  He called in to his agents and instructed them to stay hidden but surround the lighthouse and watch for incoming boats. Still, at the point where Sutton would have to get on foot or on an ATV to navigate the bog property, Lang would either lose him or be seen. Maybe the best thing to do was get up to the house, get on his own ATV, and beat Sutton there.

  Head him off at the pass, so to speak.

  He thought of Vivi, and something twisted in his gut. Why hadn’t she called or texted? He hit her number on his phone and went right into voice mail.

  Could he spare an agent to go look for her?

  He cut across the road to the gates, laying on the horn and signaling for the small pack of media to get out of the way. Barreling through, he got up to the house and on the last ATV without seeing anyone else, practically crashing through the doors, into the brush, and down the path he knew led to the bog house and the lighthouse beyond.

  Iverson called with a report that a medium-size trawler had been spotted off the coast, coming up from the south toward their location. One agent was stationed in the lighthouse. Five more surrounded the dock, all hidden from sight. The Coast Guard was on alert.

  Still no word from Vivi.

  Colt parked the ATV far enough away to get close to the dock and lighthouse without being seen. He took cover next to Special Agent Iverson and her backup, able to see the trawler in the distance.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded. “News from town. Cara Ferrari’s been shot.”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  “Someone tried to drill her in the bathroom of the Martha’s Vineyard ferry. She was saved by a good samaritan of some sort—no perp yet.”

  The perp was Joellen, taking orders via text from Roman.

  Was that why he hadn’t heard from Vivi yet?

  The engine of a second boat, a motor cruiser, broke through his thoughts and the seaside sounds. It was coming in from the north, taking them all by surprise.

  Someone from a northern position texted an alert to the team. “Lone driver on a thirty-foot cabin cruiser coming toward the dock.” Emmanuel? Or Joellen, who said she’d meet him at the lighthouse?

  After she took care of Cara, like she was paid to do.

  So Vivi had been right with her first theory, after all. He couldn’t wait to tell her. But now his entire focus was on that trawler and the human cargo it carried.

  The trawler was about a hundred yards from the dock, giving them a great view of the beat-up piece of crap that looked like it should have sunk in the Gulf of Tonkin instead of making its way across the Pacific Ocean and through the fucking Panama Canal carrying children for the slave trade. This was a huge bust.

  Bringing this bastard in would close down a major human trafficking op, save hundreds of lives—and seal the deal for him as an SAC in L.A.

  For a million reasons, he couldn’t have cared less about the L.A. job right then. No, for one reason. The motor cruiser flew along at top speed, its big nose high in the air, the inboards screaming, headed right for the dock.

  Even from the distance Colt could make out Roman Emmanuel at the wheel. We got him.

  Emmanuel brought his cruiser into the dock a few minutes before the trawler, which lugged along at a much slower speed. Just then, an ATV broke through the brush, coming across the road, right past the ditch where they’d found the other ATV abandoned.

  Steering it was the man Colt had been following in town, confirming that his hunch had been right. Was this Sutton the person who’d knocked Vivi into that tunnel? Was there an underground passageway from here to another transfer point?

  They were about to find out, and Roman Emmanuel was about to go down.

  Colt’s heart hammered at a steady rate, a little faster than usual, but not as fast as it had at, say, three o’clock this morning, when he’d been making love to Vivi. This was a different adrenaline rush, a different high. He’d miss this feeling when he was sitting behind the SAC’s desk in L.A.

  And he’d really miss the three a.m. sex with Vivi.

  Sutton turned off the ATV at the edge of the dock, completely unaware of the eyes of the FBI on him. Emmanuel docked the boat and stayed on it; they spoke, but from where he hid Colt couldn’t make out the words.

  A silent, palpable sense of anticipation rolled through the trees and bushes, and through the seven agents, all ready to move in as the trawler finally docked. When the trawler door opened, one man, older, probably Laotian or Vietnamese, stepped out and spoke to Emmanuel when remained on the cabin cruiser. A minute later, the “cargo” filed out from belowdecks of the trawler.

  Skinny, ragged, none more than fifteen years old, eleven girls, two boys, and then two young men, barely twenty years old. Not one of them looked like they’d eaten in days, and all were shackled by the arms.

  The captain of the boat shoved the two young men onto the dock first; they seemed to have lost any fight they might have had—along with most of their muscle tone. Then came the haunted, empty girls, who moved like they were going to the gallows.

  Considering their fate, that might have been preferable. They walked single file past Emmanuel’s boat as he eyed them like the meat they were to him.

  “He should be shot,” Iverson whispered next to him.

  “Our job is just bring him in. Justice will take care of his punishment,” Colt said softly even though he agreed with her.

  The line traveled up the dock, toward the lighthouse, a stark contrast of human abuse against a picturesque background.

  “If Emmanuel doesn’t get off that boat, I’m going after him,” Colt said. “You two back me up.”

  When the children reached the lighthouse with the driver, Colt held up one hand. Ten seconds and they moved.

  One, two, three…

  Just then, another girl appeared on the deck of the trawler, crawling forward, dragging a broken leg. Sutton reached over the side of the boat and hoisted her up. Shit, they could shoot her if Colt pounced too soon.

  Sutton threw her into Emmanuel’s boat and she hit the fiberglass with a thud.

  Seven, eight.

  He had to take that chance.

  Nine. Ten.

  “Do not move! FBI!” He charged forward before they could react. Instantly the agents appeared out of the bushes. Some of the kids cried out, and Sutton threw himself on the dock with a shout as Colt ran, his gun trained on Emmanuel.

  “Do not move!” he repeated, still running down the dock.

  But Emmanuel grabbed the girl on the deck, yanking her by the arm, eliciting a scream of terror.

  “Then she’s dead,” he countered, holding a gun to the girl’s head. “My freedom for her life.”

  “Your freedom is history,” Colt said, aware that two agents ran behind him to restrain and cuff Sutton. “Drop your weapon.”

  They stared at each other.

  “I will kill her.”

  “Then I will kill you,” Colt replied calmly. “Let her go.”

  Next to him, Special Agent Iverson aimed her weapon at him as well. “Or I will. Let her go.”

  “Fuck,” he mumbled, closing his finger over the trigger. “You want her to die? I will fucking kill this girl if you don’t let me go.”

/>   Colt sensed Iverson looking at him. He couldn’t sacrifice one more child for this bastard.

  “Hand her over and get out of the boat, Mr. Emmanuel.”

  Emmanuel raised his elbow and jabbed the gun harder just as the hatch door cracked and popped open, shattered off its hinges.

  “Let her go!” An ax blade came crashing out of the hatch opening, landing square on Emmanuel’s shoulder. “Let her go, you goddamn son of a bitch!”

  Colt jumped backward at the sight of Vivi, fire and hate and fury in her eyes, a deadly weapon in her hands.

  Emmanuel fell with the blow, losing hold of his hostage. Colt leaped into the boat to restrain Emmanuel and Vivi dropped the ax and fell, covering the screaming girl with her own body.

  Iverson cuffed Emmanuel while two more agents jumped on board for backup.

  In the middle of the chaos, Vivi cradled the girl, soothing her, calming her, wiping her tears.

  Vivi looked up at Colt, her own eyes moist, her skin pale.

  “What are you doing here?” Colt dropped to his knees next to her.

  “He took me,” she said simply. “I found a fire ax and used it on the hinges.”

  He couldn’t speak, rage rocking right through him. If Emmanuel wasn’t already in custody he’d kill him for touching Vivi.

  “It’s okay,” she said. But he wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or the girl. “Shhh. Honey, no one’s ever going to hurt you again. No one. I promise.”

  Vivi looked up at him and a single tear trailed down her cheek. The girl who said she never cried.

  Vivi stepped out of the hospital room to find Lang leaning against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed. His gaze lit up when she opened the door. The same thing happened to her insides at the sight of him.

  “How is she?” he asked, pushing off the wall.

  “Asleep.” Vivi had to fight the urge to fall into his embrace, but he didn’t offer one. “Her leg’s been broken in three places and there’s a bad infection, but they’ve got her on an IV. God, I don’t even know her name.”

  “It’s Souvanna,” he said. “She’s from a Laotian village on the Vietnamese border. They’re all from the same tiny village.”

  Souvanna. Damn, she loved her already. “What about Emmanuel?” she asked.

  “He’s in custody. Want to go see Cara? She’s one floor up.”

  Vivi hesitated. “I don’t know. Do I? Have you interviewed her?”

  “Yes, and her story is pretty solid, actually. She says Marissa worked for Emmanuel and shot her because she was on her way to Nantucket to turn over evidence she’s been holding about him.”

  “I heard him talking to her, not Joellen.”

  “We sent agents to her and confirmed that she was using Joellen’s phone, and it was Marissa who was in contact with Emmanuel. Marissa’s in custody, too, taken on the ferry when we interviewed Cara.”

  “So what is Cara guilty of?”

  “Other than bad judgment? Maybe some conspiracy charges that will probably get dropped. Evidently, when they moved away for a while, Roman Emmanuel, who was a regular visitor to Nantucket, handpicked the abandoned place as an East Coast transition point for his business, for all the reasons we thought. It was relatively deserted, and the last place the authorities would look.”

  “How did Cara get involved?”

  “Romantically,” he said. “She met Emmanuel when they returned, and started a long-term affair with him. Then she and Joellen moved to Los Angeles to pursue acting careers. Joellen worked for him, and so did Cara for a while, then she broke into show business and made it big. And here’s the most interesting tidbit of all.” He paused in the hall to let his words sink in. “Joellen Mugg, then an RE employee, once worked for Adrienne Dwight and Isobel DeSoto.”

  She blinked at him. “She knew them?”

  “Had access to them. And probably a motive.”

  “Lang, seriously? You think she’s the Red Carpet Killer?”

  “We think it’s worth pursuing. And so’s she. We’re searching Martha’s Vineyard now.”

  “Does Cara know?”

  “We haven’t told her yet. She’s kind of out of it, despite the fact that her wounds aren’t that serious. Could have been, though. Gabe took a bullet out of her before they docked even though he wasn’t supposed to be following her.”

  She smiled. “Never underestimate a Guardian Angelino. You’ve been busy while I stayed with… Souvanna.” The name just made the little girl dig deeper into Vivi’s heart. “Did you find out how Emmanuel’s name got all over those deeds?”

  “Yes.” He guided her to elevator doors. “While they were involved, she signed over half the property to him. She knew what kind of business he was in, and they had each other in a blackmail deadlock. When Marissa, who was Emmanuel’s spy, learned that Cara was going to break it, she was following his orders to kill her.”

  “Dear God, she is a lousy judge of character. It’s a wonder she had the brains to hire me.”

  His hand hovered over the elevator buttons. “Up to see her and tell her that, or down to go home?” he asked.

  She should see Cara. But all she wanted to do was fall into Lang’s arms and stay there forever. She leaned against him a little, just at the thought of how good it would feel. “I’d prefer to go back to her house. Can we just do that?”

  “I’ll take you there.”

  His voice was kind of tight and distant, and he didn’t get the cue. Or didn’t take it.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “Me?” He hit the Down button with a little too much force. “I’m off.”

  “More interviews? Paperwork? Meeting with the team? Find Joellen?”

  “Los Angeles.”

  Her heart plummeted. “Today? Tonight?” She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

  “In a few hours.” The elevator doors opened and there were reporters in there, snooping around.

  Not one of them recognized Vivi, who’d been under their nose for days pretending to be Cara.

  They rode down in silence, and drove back to the house in a car with two other agents, who talked about the case, about Cara, and about what a coup it was for everyone to bring in one of the largest human traffickers on the planet.

  It was a coup. Everyone won. The Guardian Angelinos came through and did the right thing for Cara. ASAC Lang was a hero, and now he would get his just rewards. Souvanna would be safe.

  And Vivi would have… fantasies.

  At the house, she climbed the stairs without enthusiasm, slipping into the master suite. Behind closed doors, she let out a long, slow, pained breath.

  How could he just leave?

  “Hey.” The tap on the door made her startle, but Lang’s voice made her smile. “Can I come in?”

  She flung open the door and stared at him. “Don’t leave me.” Damn, the words were out before she could even think to stop them.

  He stood stone still; only his eyes moved, searching her face. “I have to,” he finally said.

  “Why?” She pulled him into the room, committed now. “Why can’t you stay here? There must be promotions in the Boston office. Move your dad here if you’re worried about him. There’s always an answer, there’s…” Her voice trailed off as she watched his expression harden.

  “I have to leave.”

  She ignored the punch to her stomach. “Why? Is it because you’re not over… Jennifer?”

  “It was,” he said. “I won’t lie, that’s what started it. But now if I stay…” He didn’t finish, just pushed by her, heading toward the closet. “I left some clothes in here and I need to get moving.”

  “You need to move on,” she said, an ache wrapping around her. She hugged her arms and followed him, her heart kicking, her body shaking with how much this mattered. How much he mattered.

  He was in the closet, retrieving clothes she’d stripped off him the night before.

  “Do you hear me, Lang?”

  “I hear you.” He sto
od up, a shirt in his hand. “I do need to move on.”

  “But not out of town,” she cried softly. “You can’t run away from imagining her around every corner or remembering…. You have to get over that and on with life, Lang.”

  “I have,” he insisted. “Really, I have. It’s just that—”

  “That what? You’re scared of this? You’re scared of me.”

  He crouched to grab a pair of khaki pants that were draped over the chaise in front of the three-way mirror. Khaki Dockers she hated on every other man but loved on him. Loved. Why wasn’t she scared of that?

  “I’ve just been dead inside for so long,” he said, shaking them out and smoothing them to a Lang-like crease as crisp as the one he was putting into her heart.

  She circled the chaise, got in front of the mirror to face him. “I don’t know what that means… for me,” she said. “Dead inside when? Past? Present? Future?”

  “Until now.”

  She waited for him to say more, but he just looked at her, the Hollywood chaise between them. And a whole country. Not to mention his ex-fiancée. Could she get past all these obstacles and make him understand?

  “And you’re right,” he said on a disgusted sigh. “I’m scared to death of you.”

  “Why? Because I’m like her? A little daring? A little reckless? Able to hatchet my way out of a jam and give the asshole what-for, as you would say?”

  “That doesn’t scare me,” he said. “What scares me is how much I… could…” His voice trailed into silence.

  “You could what?” Care? Love you? Say it, damn you.

  “Get hurt again. If something happened to you…” He swiped his hand through his hair, barely tousling the short locks. “I just… I couldn’t go through it again.”

  That’s what was holding him back? “I’m not going to get killed, Lang. And even if I did, haven’t you heard it’s better to have loved and lost than—”

  “No.” He put a hand over her mouth. “No, it’s not.”

  Silenced, she just stared at him, stepping back, away from his touch. “So you’ll walk away—three thousand fucking miles away—to protect yourself from the possibility of pain?” She let her voice rise in disbelief. “How is that living, Lang?”