by Dana Volney
“Most likely.” The resignation of helping was softening his eyes.
The silence ticked on as they stared at each other. A flash of her sister’s bruised and beaten dead body made her blink. “I need this.” She felt tears pinch at the sides of her eyes. Fuck. That was unexpected.
“I know.” There wasn’t concern or pity in his gaze but something else. Something she couldn’t read. “You can’t get reckless on this one. You’re in a team now.”
She tilted her head and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered into his ear before pulling back.
He nodded to Sabene. She’d gotten his okay.
“Club Alegria,” Sabene started the briefing. “It’s a mix of a strip and dance club run by the Salvadorians that go by the gang name SL-40. They are new here, but they’ve been around for a long while down south and in California. They are into drugs on the West Coast, but here it seems their main trade is sex trafficking. They own the corners now and have houses set up for prostitution.” The two big flat screens in front of them clicked on—the picture on the left was of the club, the right was that of a genetically gifted man in a tan suit. “It’s all run from Club Alegria, where they also launder the profits. Meet the front man, club owner, and top dog, Padarn Gonzales.”
“Hel-lo.” Claire was staring at Enrique Iglesias with slicked back, black hair.
Samson swung his head to her, his eyes widening for a disapproving second. She nearly let a laugh escape. He’d always had a jealous streak, and if she had to resort to exploiting it, she sure as shit would.
“The records they keep on their computers are just enough for them to be legal and aboveboard. Grace Kaye’s not listed as an employee on any list. However”—a website popped up and replaced the image of the club—“here’s a picture of their dancers.”
Pretty faces in barely passable beachwear were scattered all over the site.
“We aren’t getting in the back of that club without going undercover.” Claire crossed her arms and studied the screens.
“They are guarding it 24/7.” Sabene sipped from a white ceramic mug that said Hackers Gonna Hack, the black font made up of ones and zeros.
“We’re missing the obvious. I’ll just go in with Rife and get eyes on her.” Samson tapped his finger on the arm of the couch.
“That’s a place to start. If she’s out front or even there.” Claire moved to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. “Where are these houses they own? She could be in one of those or on a corner somewhere.”
“That’s a problem for later then. If she’s not in there, we can see about digging further.” Samson made finding Grace sound like a black-and-white mission. This was a person they were talking about. A person who could be in danger, not a plan to see if some convoy had made it to the pre-determined destination or not. “If I see her tonight, this case is over.”
“I want to go in.” This girl, this Grace, needed a voice. Someone to help her. Claire was all too familiar with a story of a young girl in need of someone to care for her. Claire’s sister had run away at a young age and fallen in with the wrong crowd. She’d never made it out alive. “I can do this.” She filled the kettle on the stove then turned on the burner. She yanked the fridge open and rifled through the shelves, picking out a shiny apple. She pulled the knife from her red, wedged bootie, cut a slice out of the apple, and ate it off her blade.
“No.” Samson stood and put his hands in his jeans pockets like that was the end of the conversation.
“Do you not believe me?” She adjusted the square collar of her red shirt that was studded in front with gold, then squeezed at the back of her neck in an attempt to relieve the pressure mounting at the base of her head. Even if she really did have amnesia, she’d bet the stash of art in her storage locker on P Street that she wouldn’t have lost her ability to get the job done.
“You’re in no condition to be in the field.” His hard brown-eyed gaze challenged her as his words taunted her.
She’d show him what she was capable of alright. “I may be having a rough week, but I assure you my skills are not lacking.”
“Still no.”
“Care to make a wager?” She’d prove her worth, even if she was the only one who needed the verification. “I win, I stay with you. If I lose, I’ll stay with Sabene.” She’d gotten the first yes for the case to proceed, but she’d come too far to not see it all the way through.
The door chimed downstairs. It would be Milo, Rife, or a stranger. Perfect.
“If I can get whoever comes up those stairs to say the number nine from a choice of one to ten, will you stop second-guessing me and treating me like I’m not an equal member?”
He chuckled crossed his arms. “Truth?”
“Yes.” Their test of honesty.
“This ought to be good.” He ran his thumb over his lips.
He wasn’t distracting her that easily.
Rife’s curly, dark blonde hair peeked over the top of the railing well before he stepped onto the top floor.
“Good morning.” She smiled.
Rife nodded. “Are we talking plans? Those fuckers need to pay.”
“We’re going to find Grace,” she paused, “and the revenge can wait for a second. I want you to pick a number between one and ten for me.”
“Did you have her checked out today?” Rife glanced to Samson, who shrugged.
“I know two, three, four, five, and six are too easy of guesses and you wouldn’t be obvious and pick seven.” She cut into the red apple again. “What number do you choose?”
“Nine,” he said and moved past her toward the kitchen.
She whirled on her heels toward Samson. “There’s a science to what I do.” She bit into the slice she’d just cut. “That I haven’t forgotten … lover.”
He grinned and both dimples and his approving stare made her skin warm. She let her pleated skirt twirl as she moved to take the seat across from Sabene at the table. “Where’s Milo?”
“On his way back.” Samson cleared his throat. “He’ll be here tomorrow.”
She’d gotten to him alright. He’d always liked to watch her work before. “And Able?” she asked.
“Who knows.” Sabene typed constantly, her laptop feeding data to the two TVs and causing an increased pain behind Claire’s eyes. “These guys are not known for their charity or mercy. If you take pictures tonight, I’ll run them and make a profile of who were dealing with. There’s not much to make of Padarn. There are no warrants out for his arrest, no flags on his passport, and he’s not specifically mentioned in any FBI case files. I’ll work on internationally.”
“Someone will have to get to know him then.” She would be that woman.
“We’re going to the strip club first.” Samson was so alpha. “That’s where we start.”
“It’s like eleven in the morning.” She threw the core of the apple into the trash.
“I’ve got some people we can hit up first.” Rife stood big and broad by the main couch. “I nailed down who they are using for international trafficking at the port and their drug connect in the area.”
“If that doesn’t take the better part of the day, we’ll case the place first,” Samson said.
“Better this time, I hope.” She arched a brow.
His one dimple dipped into his cheek momentarily. Her comment had stung.
“Besides, if Grace is a dancer, we don’t know when her shift is. It could be she works days. Maybe we will spend more time there.” His challenge was clear.
He could go watch dancers all day and night. That didn’t bother her.
“A young girl like that. I doubt it.” Sabene shook her head as she continued to work. “She’s too high value to waste on day drunks.”
“We’ll get eyes on her and talk to her if we can. Then we’ll know what we’re dealing with. If anything.” His gaze pointed on Claire at his last two words.
It would be great if Grace was in there and under no distress. But the knot in her g
ut knew otherwise.
“Be careful. I assume someone got a look at your face the other night,” she said, but he didn’t break his stride to the stairs.
He stopped before going down. “I assume you remember where the spare key is.”
“If not, I’ll just smash a window.” She headed to the kitchen to make her tea.
“Right,” he grumbled and hustled down.
She’d let them go have their fun, collect intel. At any sign Grace wasn’t okay, she was taking over and doing it her way from here on out. Samson could get on board or out of her way. She didn’t care which.
Claire stuck a bag of popcorn in the microwave. Lying to the team was making her snack-y. “Tell me about the Salvadorian gang.” She wanted to tell Sabene the truth, but she couldn’t risk her teammate saying the wrong thing and Samson figuring it out.
“There isn’t much intel about what they’re doing in our neck of the woods.” Sabene focused on her laptop and kept the feed on to the screens so Claire could see what she was doing. Not that she knew what half of the code meant that was scrolling on either 110-inch.
“No. Before. In other areas they control.”
Pictures of men with tattoos filled the screen. “Here’s what the LAPD gang unit has compiled.”
Claire dumped the salted popcorn into a bowl and took a seat at the round table with the bowl between them. Claire had been lucky enough to be considered an adult by the state when her parents had died; Sabene had not. Yet, due to her intimate knowledge of hacking that gave her the ability to forge her records, Sabene had managed to evade the foster care system. Still, it hadn’t made for an easy life.
“What do they deal in on the West Coast?”
“You name it and at least one faction does it.” Sabene grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl. “Drugs, prostitution, human and drug trafficking, extortion. They have everyone from ICE to the marshals and feds after them.”
“So how is it that they moved to the East Coast?”
“Testing the waters from what I can gather.”
“It always comes back to greed, doesn’t it?” Claire studied the pictures of gang members. Gangs relied on trust and soldiers carrying out orders for the good of the whole. If there was a way to make Padarn less trustworthy, that would be one way to go at them.
“Money, money, mon-ney,” Sabene sang. “Padarn Gonzales is the nephew of one of the hotshots in Los Angeles. He’s in charge out here but has somehow managed to keep a pristine record. As in no record.”
“Which makes him the perfect front man.”
“Exactly. But in reports it seems he’s just as ruthless as the rest. Only better at covering his ass. Or having someone clean his records.”
“Anyone you know he might contact?”
“I can put feelers out.” Sabene shrugged.
“And we think they are focused on human trafficking and a little on drugs here?” It wasn’t like she lived an upstanding life—she knew that, and sitting in judgment of others felt a little hypocritical—but she also didn’t sell people or provide them with a way to ruin their lives forever. Claire had standards.
“Drugs are always easy.” Sabene tapped into the local FBI office database. “That is usually their quick cash. Doesn’t look like any cases are open for investigation in our area though.”
“It could all be too new. How are they bringing in the people?”
“Rife’s contact says the Port of Arlington. Head honcho over there is dir-tay. He deals with all types of goods.”
“Anything coming in today?” This waiting around shit was for the birds. The sooner she dealt with this, the better she’d sleep. Then she could focus on things like how to get herself out of the amnesia hole without raising suspicions.
“I’ve been tracking companies that do business with the Salvadorians. There are a myriad of shell companies routed through more shell companies. But, I’ve managed to narrow down one that has ties to our local port.”
“I love a visit to the river.” Claire stood. The day just got a little more exciting.
“They have interest in containers 1157 and 1159.” Sabene grabbed a handful of popcorn and put her knee to her chest as she ate.
Claire raised a brow and smiled at her friend. It was time for a girls’ day out on the town.
“I’m in.” Sabene closed her laptop and Arkham stood. She dug in her bag and gave him a treat. “Come on, boy. We’re going to do some recon.”
Claire made sure the knife was in her boot and baton in her pocket. “Should we bring some firepower?” Recon was one way to look at it. Solving the problem with force was another.
“I got everything we’ll need.” Sabene tapped her backpack.
“What about the layout?” They were headed into enemy territory. There was no way she wanted to go in blind.
“I’ve got it. You can study it on the way over. There are a lot of weak places to exploit for entry and exit.”
They pulled up to the gate at the Port of Arlington on the Potomac River in Sabene’s two-door orange Jeep Sahara, Arkham riding in the back, his tongue sticking out.
“State your business,” the guard in a dark green outfit said.
Sabene glanced at Claire. They hadn’t exactly made a plan to get through the doors.
She leaned over into Sabene’s space, twirled a lock of Sabene’s dark hair, and batted her lashes. “We’re here to see Roberto.”
Without further question, the guard opened the gate and waved them in.
“Who’s Roberto?” Sabene asked.
“The second in command.” Claire had seen his name on the documents Sabene had been scrolling through at the office. While the head guy looked smart enough not to bring more illegal activities to the dock, Roberto didn’t. Add that to the fact that he was middle-aged, balding, and overweight, it wasn’t a large leap to assume he liked the ladies who were out of his normal reach. He had just enough clout at the docks to use his connections for a sample of the girls he helped transport in.
Sabene had access to more information than any one person should. But Claire knew how to use it.
They drove around until they found the containers in question. Sabene parked two rows up. They got out, no guards in sight.
Sabene dug in her backpack as Claire petted Arkham. There weren’t any cameras besides the ones at the main gate. They were in the clear for now.
“Let’s go.” Sabene held up giant bolt cutters.
They made their way to the containers, on constant lookout for guards. If they spotted one, it was better to take control of the situation and not let the guard happen upon them—it would cut down on suspicions and give Claire time to come up with a plausible story about getting lost or working up some tears. Crying disoriented most people.
“This one.” She stood before container 1157 and put her hands and then her ear to it. Nothing. Not that huge metal containers generally let sound pass through. But it was worth a shot.
Sabene cut the lock and Claire helped open the old, reddish container. Her face fell when they stood before a bunch of brown boxes. She stepped forward, pulled her knife from her boot, and opened a one. Clothes. She moved down the row and opened another. Clothes. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to find, but some trace of life to lead them to the women would’ve been better than someone’s musty old wardrobe.
“Not very fashionable.” Sabene held up a sweater that looked to be from the eighties.
“I mean, there could be other stuff hidden in here. Drugs, maybe?”
Sabene snapped pictures with her phone. “I’ll keep some of these.” She took a blue, hot pink, and black sweater. “I doubt they spent a bunch of money to ship Goodwill donations halfway around the world.”
Claire let the lid to the box flap shut and exited the container. They closed the doors and Sabene pulled out a zip tie to wrap around the lock and made it look like it was still secured, if someone didn’t look too closely.
They moved to the next container. Sabene
clipped the lock the same way, but 1159 was empty. The strong stench of urine, body odor, and mildew hit her nostrils as she stepped inside.
Claire spun around, arms out. “What in the hell?” This had been used for live cargo and they were too late. Her pumping blood thudded in her ears. She was sick of being too late—first with the fight in the alley and now with the container.
Sabene frowned and raised her phone, snapping a picture.
“This is unacceptable. How are we supposed to be the good guys if we can’t even find the people we’re supposed to be helping?” Claire rocked her jaw back and forth. Nothing in her life was working out. Everything was spiraling out of control.
They locked up the second container and Sabene started toward the Jeep.
Claire hung back. Something wasn’t right. Why would they have 1157 and 1159 and not 1158? She didn’t know the first thing about shipping yards, but it seemed like containers owned by the same people would be all kept together.
“Wait.” Claire placed her hands on1158. There was a slight vibration to this one when the others felt static. “Let’s cut this lock.” She bit into her bottom lip. Was she crazy or just unwilling to accept they weren’t rescuing anyone today? In either case, she wouldn’t stop looking. Rife’s intel had said girls had been delivered to be trafficked. If they’d missed them at the docks, she’d start searching the town. She may have been too young and unskilled to help her sister, but she was older and wiser now and had the means. And she was going to use everything she had to save who she could from a life of torture and despair.
They each took a door. Murmurs sounded as soon as the light hit the inside of the container. Adrenaline gave her a jolt as she peered inside.
Women. The container was packed full of approximately thirty women who looked Latina. Girls, really. Her chest tightened as she glanced from one dirty face to the next. It was the middle of the day—how long had these girls been there and was anyone coming to let them out? Or had they been sentenced to rot in a metal hell? She wanted to reach out and hug every single one of them. She tried not to react, to show the horror welling up in her soul. Her gaze landed on a girl in a long, black skirt. Her feet were bare and dirty, her black hair matted, and her lip was split open and untreated, but her eyes were wide with hope.
