by Joya Fields
“Where did the girls come from?”
“Thailand, mostly. I don’t know all the details, but I know the girls had their passports taken away, none of them spoke English well, and they were to be sold as housekeepers, cooks, and nannies.”
Craig Bittinger. The man had been a suspect from the beginning, but it still didn’t click. Logan trusted his instincts and his instincts told him Craig was a follower, not a leader. This human trafficking ring was organized. With an experienced leader or leaders.
“I haven’t slept right for weeks, picturing the girls, hearing their muffled screams.” Wattana fisted his eyes. “And last night was the worst. I had a nightmare that the pregnant one died. Somehow, I knew she would.”
“She did.”
“Not what I signed on for.” He lifted his gaze from the table to stare at Logan.
As scumbags went, this guy wasn’t the worst he’d encountered. But a girl was dead, and Wattana had confessed to transporting women to be sold as domestic slave labor. As far as Logan was concerned, they should lock him up and throw away the key.
They had everything they needed—a witness who could place not only Craig Bittinger with girls flown in from Thailand, but who had access to their plans.
He took a stab at digging deeper. “Craig Bittinger doesn’t call all the shots, does he?”
Wattana shook his head. “Craig answers to someone else. I’ve overheard bits and pieces of conversations, but not enough to figure out who it is.”
Christ. What was he missing? Who the hell was running this organization? Bittinger’s wife? Wouldn’t be the first time a woman intimidated other women and kept them too scared to run. Especially since she spoke Thai.
Logan slid a notepad and pen across the table in front of him. “Start writing. Everything that happened. Everything you know. The more you tell us, the easier the DA will go on you. They might even cut you a deal.” He straightened. “When you’re done, we’ll type it up and you can sign it.”
Wattana nodded mutely and picked up the pen.
Logan stood, leaning on both palms, pressed against the table. “One other thing. Does Craig Bittinger use these women for his own purposes, or does he just arrange the sales?” Bile rose in his throat at the mention of selling a human being.
“Oh, he uses them.” Wattana squinted up at him. “Craig has at least three of them at his house. Watching the kids, cleaning. He also uses girls in his restaurant, in the kitchen.”
At least now Logan understood how the man afforded all the luxuries in his life. And why he never let anyone inside his home.
An hour later, Wattana had finished writing his confession and Logan took it to be typed up, then returned to his desk.
Quinn stuck his head around the partition. “Search warrant is ready. Captain called in a favor with the judge. We gotta move.”
He rose and grabbed his vest, following him out.
What was he missing? Everything had fallen into place, but someone else called the shots in this smuggling ring. Someone close to Craig? Logan thought of Charlie, Ben’s secretary, and his defensiveness about his briefcase. But Charlie didn’t have the aggressiveness or the arrogance to run an underground human trafficking organization.
Something nudged him—a fleeting thought—and then it was gone. Hell.
They piled into their police cruiser, sped from the lot, and hit the lights and siren. Three more black and whites screamed after them.
Blood pumped hard and fast through his veins. They were close to solving this case. But how many people were involved, and who the hell was calling the shots?
…
Keely stood outside the old church, only the streetlights illuminating the area. Charlie had acted suspicious when they’d asked about his briefcase. Time to find out why.
Last time she was here, Logan had been by her side. But time to face reality. She might not ever have him by her side again. Besides, it wasn’t as if Charlie would hurt her. But whatever he was acting cagey over, maybe knowing that would help figure out why her father and Margaret had been hurt. And if they were still in danger.
She lifted her hand to ring the bell just as the big church door swung open.
“Charlie,” she said, stepping back. “Hi. I was just coming to talk to you.”
Her father’s secretary held the door open and tucked his briefcase under his arm. “Sure. Come on in.” He motioned for her to follow, and she fell into step behind him.
He took a seat on a worn but sturdy bench in the hallway outside the offices and perched his briefcase on his knees.
Keely glanced from his briefcase to his face. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and his gaze flickered around the hallway to the floor, the pictures on the wall, and the briefcase. Everywhere but her face. Nervousness? Or was he planning something? She eyed the open doorway, making sure her exit was clear.
“I don’t believe you would hurt my dad, Charlie, but don’t you see how suspicious it made you seem when you wouldn’t show Logan what’s in your briefcase?”
He lifted his chin and finally made eye contact with her. “Of course I know how it appears.” Slowly, he unclicked the locks on his briefcase with two loud snaps.
“That day, I had a letter of resignation in my case,” he said quietly. “I was thinking about leaving for another job, but I’ve decided to stay.” He laid the case on his lap and opened the top. “Go ahead, look for yourself.”
She peered inside. Sure enough, inside was a letter of resignation, addressed to her dad. Under it was just a jumble of other church-related documents. Relief flooded through her so fast that she wanted to get up and hug the man. Charlie hadn’t broken her dad’s trust. “Thanks for showing me.”
“Don’t tell your dad, okay? After the attack, I decided I wanted to stay. I’m sure he’d understand, but I don’t want to hurt Ben’s feelings.” He glanced up at her worriedly.
“Okay. I’ll have to tell Logan, of course.”
Charlie nodded.
Now that she could cross Charlie off the list, she needed to recheck others close to Ben. They posed the most danger if they had anything to do with the attack because her dad wouldn’t believe his friends would hurt him. But unlike Margaret, Keely wasn’t strong enough to face down a bad guy by herself. She’d dig around the office and see if she could generate any leads through the paperwork, and call Dunnigan if she found anything she could pass on to the police.
“Do you mind if I check my dad’s files again?” she asked Charlie. “Maybe there was something I missed last time, something that will make sense now that more time has passed since the attack.”
Charlie stood, looked at his watch. “I’m late for a dinner meeting, but I’ll unlock the main office for you. The keys to your dad’s office are in my top drawer. Lock everything up behind you when you leave.”
Keely spent the next few minutes searching the files. Nothing new, nothing that tied into the attack on her dad, the strange things going on at the Bittingers, or Margaret’s shooting. She jingled the keys in her hand, and glanced at Dave’s door. Would it be ethical to search his office? No. But she didn’t have to adhere to the same rules as the police. This could be her one shot at finding out something new. A note on his calendar, a file, something incriminating on the Bittingers…anything.
She unlocked the door with the same key used for her dad’s office and flicked on the light. A row of tall, beige metal cabinets stood at the far end of Dave’s office. She crossed the room and tugged at the first top drawer. Damn. Locked. Moving fast, she checked all of them. All locked. She moved to Dave’s sparsely-covered desk. Only a desk calendar—without any writing on it—a desktop computer, half-filled cup of coffee, and a pencil holder graced the top. All the drawers were locked, and neither of the keys opened them.
With a sigh, she settled her hands on her hips. Well, at least she’d learned about Charlie’s briefcase. The trip wasn’t a total bust. Her gaze settled on his trash bin, partially hidden under the desk
. An airline logo on a piece of paper caught her attention, and she pulled it out of the bin.
A confirmation email for a ticket to Thailand. In Dave’s name. Keely’s fingers trembled. Dave had traveled to Mae Sot, Thailand.
Su Lin was originally from Mae Sot. So was Amy Bittinger.
What the hell did that mean?
“Hello, Keely.” Dave stepped into his office.
She whipped around, holding the paper behind her back.
“What are you doing in my office?”
Her heart slammed and she worked to keep her voice steady. “I needed paper for my dad’s printer. Do you have any?”
“What’s that paper you got there?” Dave asked, moving around the desk.
The blood rushed from Keely’s face. “Recycling.” She crumpled it up and lobbed it at the trashcan, where it landed inside.
“Nice swoosh. You should be my assistant coach next year for the youth team.”
Keely forced a laugh. She didn’t want to risk retrieving the paper from the bin. She’d tell Logan the airline and date. He’d be able to get a copy.
Dave moved toward her, toward the trash bin. Every bone in her body shook. She couldn’t run past him—he blocked the way. Keeping his gaze on her, he pulled the wadded paper from the trash and unfolded it on his desk.
“This is what you were holding?” He glanced at Keely.
“I’m not sure. I didn’t look.”
Dave rubbed his jaw with his thumb and forefinger and then glanced at Keely. “My name is on here.”
“Oh?”
He smiled and moved closer. Not a friendly smile. A smile that sent shivers up her spine.
Suddenly he was cupping her elbow. “I travel all the time. Meet up with old friends.”
Keely grimaced. “That’s great.” Her voice shook. He was not traveling to Mae Sot to meet a friend.
His eyes were cold and distant. “Keely. You’re looking at me like I’m the Big Bad Wolf when I’m really your friend.”
She shrugged out of his grip. “Yes, of course you’re my friend. And my dad’s friend.”
She turned to move around Dave, but he blocked her way.
And then he pulled out a gun.
She gasped at the weapon, suddenly unable to breathe.
“You saw the flight info, Keely. And that means we have a problem.”
Her mind couldn’t get past the cold steel pointed at her.
With his free hand, he smoothed out the paper she’d wadded up and spread it on the desk. “Funny you ended up seeing this. It’s one of the things I’d tried to get back from your father.”
She gritted her teeth and glared at him. “What are you talking about? My dad didn’t have this paper.”
“He took the wrong briefcase. I couldn’t let him see this or the fake IDs inside.”
Oh God. “Fake IDs? Dave, what have you done?” she whispered.
He lifted and dropped a shoulder. “What any businessman would do. I arranged to get it back. If he’d only let those boys take it, he would never have gotten hurt.”
Keely’s chest constricted as rage filled her. Dave was the one who arranged the attack on her father? The betrayal rocked her to her core. But she needed to focus—not lose her head and freak out. Dave was a big man and he had a gun pointed at her chest. If she kept him talking, kept him distracted, she could reach the phone in her pocket, call for help. “But you’re his friend. Why would you hurt my dad?”
“Get your hands where I can see them, Keely.” He gaze slid to her jacket. “I don’t want to hurt you, too, but I will if I have to. And your dad wasn’t even supposed to be there. He was supposed to be at the damn airport, but that stupid girl’s flight was changed.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, working to keep her voice from shaking, to keep from moaning. “How on earth would someone like you end up— My God. Surely, you’re not involved in human trafficking?”
He made a pained face. “Such an ugly word.”
“It’s an ugly thing. Why, Dave? I don’t understand.”
“A friend arranged the first woman for me. I bought her to help my parents. They’re old, and, well…I couldn’t afford to pay for help. Not on a church manager’s salary. Free help was… free.” He looked like he thought he was clever. But not contrite. Not a shadow of guilt in his eyes. “Then I found that others needed the same kind of help, too. And a lot of the teens I coached at church had let’s say…connections. I saw a business opportunity.”
She wanted to kick his ass, tell him to go to hell. “Heaven forbid you pass that up.”
“I’m glad you see that.”
All she saw was red—and a desperate need for revenge. But she’d play along for now, wait for her chance to strike back. Because staring down the barrel of a gun didn’t give her any other option.
“You’ll be coming with me now. No way am I going to let Ben’s busybody do-gooder daughter ruin my business plan.” He held the gun to her temple and moved behind her. “Go ahead. Lead us out of here. Things will go better for you if you do as I say.”
She nodded and bit her lip until she tasted blood, trying to think of ways to escape. Wait until they were outside and make a run for it? Maybe—
Her cell phone rang.
“Get going,” Dave said, pressing the gun into her temple.
Forget running once she got outside. She might not even make it that far. She whirled, stomped on his insole, and sprinted for the door. But she wasn’t fast enough.
Dave’s arm swung at her. The cold metal of the gun smacked against her skull, and everything went black.
Chapter Seventeen
Logan shifted his body to the right in the police cruiser as Quinn took a fast corner. Two unmarked cars led the way to Bittinger’s house for the raid. The siren blared and adrenaline pulsed through every vein, and to every one of Logan’s limbs. Human trafficking. He fisted his hands so tight his short nails dug into his palms.
He relaxed one hand enough to dig out his phone and call Keely again. “Come on, come on, baby. Pick up.” For a second time, her phone went to voicemail.
“You calling Keely?” Quinn floored it and the patrol car sped along a straight stretch of deserted city street.
“Yeah.” Logan shook his head. “She left me a message earlier saying she’d staked out Craig Bittinger’s house, and then went to talk to Charlie at the church.” He’d broken up with her, but thank God she’d heeded his earlier words about her safety being at risk. Having a cop know her whereabouts was a smart move.
Except he had no idea where she was now. Why wasn’t she picking up?
Quinn cut the lights and siren, and whipped around to look at him. With only the dim city streetlights to illuminate the interior of the car, Logan couldn’t make out the expression on his partner’s face.
“Bittinger didn’t see her, did he?”
“I sure as hell hope not.”
Quinn steered behind the Bittinger’s townhouse. Two more squad cars and two undercover sedans, with headlights turned off, rolled silently into place.
They’d synchronize their entry to be sure nobody got hurt and nobody escaped. There were children in the house, but there was no way to get them out without tipping off the adults. Tension built. This was the kind of take-down they all lived for. An adrenaline rush. The part when all of the legwork and investigating was finally going to pay off.
God, it felt good.
Quinn chomped his gum. Logan took a deep breath, readying himself for the bust. Movement inside the house revealed several shadows. His body tensed, his muscles coiled and bunched. He was ready to spring into action.
They waited for a signal from the captain. Every man and woman had to be in place, then they’d storm the house in seconds. Logan tapped the steering wheel.
The SWAT commander raised his flashlight.
Officers jumped from vehicles and raced into place. Logan and Quinn drew their guns, crouched behind their open car doors. SWAT would go through
the front. A chorus of shouts from the front and the sound of splintering wood alerted them SWAT had made entry.
Seconds later, the sliding glass door on the lower level opened and the upstairs deck door also slammed open. A half dozen women rushed from the house, headed right for the waiting officers.
Quinn and another patrolman flicked on their spotlights at the same time. Blinded, the women stopped.
“Police. Freeze!” the captain shouted.
A translator shouted instructions in Thai.
“What’s going on?” a shrill female voice called.
“Hands in the air,” Logan shouted.
Four petite women with wide eyes stood frozen on the grassy fenced-in yard, hands raised. Amy and her five children stood on the back deck. Shadows behind them closed in and a SWAT agent grabbed Amy, held her hands behind her.
“Go,” Quinn yelled.
Logan and the others rushed into the yard. He let the others handle the women and raced up the back porch steps to Bittinger’s wife. “Where’s your husband?”
Amy glared at him through watery eyes. She glanced at the officers escorting her small children. “How dare you? Get your hands off those children!”
Logan stood in front of her. “Where’s Craig?”
A cold breeze kicked across the deck, scattering dry leaves. Despite the late hour, neighbors opened windows and gathered on nearby porches. Logan stared at Amy expectantly.
“I’m not talking to you. This is ridiculous. Why would you force your way into our house like this?”
The SWAT agent cuffed her hands behind her back and she lifted her chin.
“We’ll have a nice chat about our reasons when we get you to the city jail, Mrs. Bittinger.”
The woman’s eyes widened and she paled.
He needed to find out who her husband’s boss was. He was so close to cracking this, he could feel it. Could he figure it out before anyone else got hurt?
And where the hell was Keely?
…
Logan crossed his arms and stared at Amy Bittinger across the table. Hours earlier, he’d been interviewing her brother in this same room. He’d been one of the boat crewmembers. Now they’d both be behind bars. Logan nodded at Quinn, a silent message for his partner to jump into the questioning when he saw fit. Good cop, bad cop.
