by Joya Fields
Logan liked being the bad cop.
Amy’s makeup ran down her cheeks in black smudges. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. Logan couldn’t help mentally comparing Keely’s fresh, girl-next-door, freckled face with Amy’s perfectly made up one. Compared to how real and open Keely was, Amy seemed fake.
“Your kids are asking for you,” Logan said. Low blow? Maybe. Using a mother’s maternal guilt or instincts often worked to get a confession. In the end, that made the tactic useful. Sure had worked on her brother. “The faster you tell us who is bringing these girls into the country, the quicker we can let you see your kids. Maybe you’re not even a part of this, Mrs. Bittinger. Maybe it’s all on your husband. If so, you can leave without any charges being pressed. Get back to your kids.” Possible. Not likely.
She blinked several times, sniffled, and then sat up straighter. “You can’t hold me here. I can call my lawyer.”
“We can’t stop you from calling your lawyer. You’ve been read your rights.”
“But I’m innocent. I didn’t do anything, so I don’t need a lawyer.”
Logan stood. If the thought of her children being upset didn’t do the trick, he’d have to move to a different tactic. He needed to find the mastermind behind this organization. Anger burned inside him at the woman for not giving up the information he needed.
“I’m having a very busy night, Mrs. Bittinger. I’ll have the on-duty officer escort you to a holding cell. We’ll talk in the morning.” He turned for the door.
“What? I’m not spending the night in jail! You can’t do that.”
“I can and will put you in jail,” he said, calmly. “I already know your husband arranged to have women shipped into this country illegally. What’s your part in it? Did you train the girls? Did you threaten them? Did you transport them from another country to the US?”
“I certainly didn’t do anything illegal. Someone else did all that.”
“Someone from Loving Arms?” When she remained silent, he continued. “Someone from the church?”
At that, her gaze flickered.
Aha. That meant something.
Wait—
The tickle in the back of his mind that had been pestering him for days suddenly clicked. Lenny and Chayce were locals, well-known in the community. Dave was active in the church’s outreach programs, hanging out with the local teens. Dave had said he’d never met the boys, but that didn’t seem right, given how active the man was with the local youth. A picture of Dave and a winning basketball team had been at Ben’s, prominently displayed. Logan struggled to recall the images in the picture. He yanked out his phone and scrolled to his camera roll, to the pictures he’d taken at Ben’s house after the robbery. He enlarged the photo of Ben’s dining room shelf. In the picture of Dave and the winning team, Lenny and Chayce’s images smiled broadly at him. They’d been younger then, but they were in the picture.
Dave had lied—he’d known both boys, and had known them well. They’d been the goddamned stars of Dave’s winning team.
“Dave,” he said aloud.
Amy’s eyes widened in panic.
“Can’t hide anymore, Amy.”
“Dave did everything.” She bit her bottom lip, as if she couldn’t believe she’d said it aloud.
Logan and Quinn exchanged a knowing glance.
“Everything?” Logan crossed his arms on his chest and hovered over the woman.
“Once after visiting Mae Sot, I mentioned how many girls were desperate to leave the country and get jobs in the US. After that, he started traveling there and bringing girls back each time. Dave went to Thailand once a month to stalk the bus stops and street corners. He went to California, Mexico, too. He’s the one who shipped them off and got the money from his customers. Not me. I didn’t do any of the bad stuff. I treated those girls with kindness. I fed them, gave them—”
Logan smacked the wall and Amy jumped. “Don’t you mean they cooked for you?”
She glanced at Quinn. “I’m not talking to him anymore. He’s rude. I’ll tell you what you want to know, though. You promise it will get me a more lenient sentence?”
“We’ll absolutely let the court know you cooperated. Judges take that into consideration at sentencing.” Quinn stepped forward. Amy had just walked straight into their trap.
She nodded. “Dave sold the girls, not us. Craig used them in his restaurant, and I helped them learn useful skills around the house, but I never hurt them.”
Logan ground his teeth. He hated this woman for her stupidity, was furious at her for her selfish thoughts. Wanted to rage at her for what she’d done to so many innocent girls.
Then a realization sank in.
He hated her, was furious with her, but he didn’t want to hit her. He wouldn’t hit a woman, and he wouldn’t hit a child.
His father never would have been able to sit across the table from someone who made him so angry and still manage to keep his hands to himself.
But Logan could. He wasn’t a brutal jerk like his father. Never would be.
Keely had given him the key to realize what he’d believed his entire life had been a lie. That he didn’t need any kind of violence to express his feelings.
Because of Keely, he now knew he was capable of love.
And the woman he loved was Keely.
Amy leaned back in her chair with wide eyes. “Why are you smiling like that?”
What a ridiculous time to realize he was in love with Keely—in the middle of a major investigation, in the middle of a key interview. Hell. Who said love was sensible?
He focused back on Amy. He still had a job to do. “Were you aware that the girls you so kindly taught household skills were being shipped off and sold?”
“Well, yes, but they were nice households and—”
“Were you also aware that the sale of a human being is considered human trafficking under Maryland law?” If stupidity and selfishness were trees, Amy Bittinger would be a forest.
She pressed her lips together.
“What did Ben Allen have to do with this? Why was he attacked?” Logan asked.
Amy rolled her eyes. “That was his own fault. He took the wrong briefcase from the church offices. Before he left for the airport, Ben went into Dave’s office. Craig was there. Ben took the briefcase with the passports Craig had made and some of Dave’s papers. Craig told me Dave arranged to have it taken care of.”
“And that would be how?” Logan asked, making notes on his notepad, even though he knew the video camera was getting the whole interview on tape. He knew the answer already—Chayce and Lenny had to be who Dave had called. “Those two boys who were killed.”
Her eyes opened wide.
“Chayce and Lenny,” he prodded.
“Yes. Dave told them to get the briefcase, but then Ben fought them, and they had to hurt him. See? It was his own fault.”
“What about Margaret? Did Dave tell Chayce and Lenny to shoot Margaret?” He intensified the anger in his tone, trying to scare her, and forced himself to look into her empty eyes. All she cared about was herself. She wasn’t telling him any of this to help with the investigation, and she sure as hell wasn’t showing any remorse.
“Oh, no. Not Dave. Someone else told them to kill Margaret. She’s a busybody. Took pictures when she shouldn’t have.”
“Who ordered Chayce and Lenny to shoot Margaret?” He leaned in close, practically shouting in her ear.
“The other ones! The two drug dealers!” She pressed her lips together and looked around the room.
Shit. Had she finally realized she needed a lawyer?
“Go on, Mrs. Bittinger. You’re being a big help. We’re going to take good care of you, I promise,” Logan said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Come on, come on…tell us how the dealers were involved. “Who are the other two drug dealers?”
Amy shrugged. “The important ones. The ones who helped connect Craig with druggie parents willing to sell their kids.”
…
Logan stood outside the interrogation room. Amy’s words had made him sick to his stomach. Twice he’d tried to call Keely, but the calls had gone straight to voicemail. He needed to warn her, needed to tell her who’d hurt her dad. And he also needed to tell her he loved her.
But first he had to find Dave. He speed-dialed Ben.
“Logan?”
“Is Keely with you? Is Dave there?”
“No, she isn’t here yet. Should be here any minute. And Dave left ages ago.”
Logan tensed. He tried not to picture what Keely could have gotten herself into by being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe she hadn’t charged her phone, maybe she’d left it at home. Damn it, she needed to answer his calls.
“Is something wrong?” Ben asked.
As much as Logan wanted to protect Ben, he had to be honest. “I don’t know. I can’t get in touch with Keely, and Dave might be involved in something very bad.”
“Dave?” Ben sucked in a breath. “What do you mean? What did he do? I mean, he can be a bit abrasive and wants things his own way, but I can’t imagine him doing anything wrong.”
“I can’t get into it now. Tell Beatrice what I’ve told you. Tell her to cuff Dave and read him his rights if he shows up, and have Keely call me as soon as she gets there. I’m heading to the church now to look for her. Stay put, Ben. I’ll find her. I promise.”
“I know you will. God help you,” Ben whispered.
Quinn excused himself from a nearby group of officers and came over to Logan. “Search warrants are being served for the diner and for the boat Wattana told you about.”
“I’ll meet you there. I have to stop by the church. Can’t find Keely anywhere.” His chest tightened. What would he do if something happened to her? He might have been able to get back on his feet after a crappy childhood and get back on schedule after seeing the atrocities of war in person, but he wasn’t at all sure he could go on if something happened to the woman he loved.
He loved Keely. Always had.
He raced to his SUV. Once inside, he squeezed the steering wheel tighter as he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. He’d fallen in love with her when he was eighteen and had been trying to fall out of love with her practically ever since. You’d think he’d caught on by now that it wasn’t going to happen.
At full alert, with every muscle in his body tense, he screeched around the corner and double-parked in front of the church. Oh God. Keely’s Civic was in the parking lot.
Dashing to the front door, he jiggled the knob. The door swung open on its own, and his chest constricted. Why was the church unlocked?
He pulled out his gun and sprinted through the church, down the hall to the office area. Ben and Dave’s office doors stood ajar. The lights in Dave’s office shined bright. Logan held his gun with both hands, and leaned against the outside wall. “Police. Put your hands up.” He rounded the doorway.
Dave’s office was empty. Keely’s purse lay on the floor next to a toppled plant. She’d been here and left. After a struggle.
He suddenly found it hard to breathe. “Keels, where are you?”
Chapter Eighteen
Keely fought the urge to sleep and forced her eyelids up. Darkness surrounded her. Where the hell was she? She inched forward from her seated position on a cold floor that rocked beneath her. Or maybe her dizziness just made it seem like it was rocking. Her wrists were tied behind her back and somehow fastened to the floor. Pulling in a steadying breath, she gagged and bit back bile. The scent of human odor—urine and sweat—overpowered her senses. A strong smell that permeated the area as if it were part of the walls and floor.
The memory of Dave’s gun smacking her skull came reeling back. Her father’s own friend had hired drug dealers to beat him up. He’d probably ordered the hit on Margaret, too, but she couldn’t figure out why.
The steady pounding in her head made her dizzy. Her stomach lurched from a combination of betrayal and fear. She clenched her fists and struggled against the need to throw up. These assholes would not get the satisfaction of seeing her sick.
The rocking continued and she swayed back and forth, growing queasier with each sway. She must be on a boat. The thick, humid air confirmed it.
Who else was aboard? Could she make an escape?
She blinked several times, trying to adjust to the darkness. Squinting, she made out shadows around her. With shaking limbs, she dragged her leg to the right and touched something warm with her stockinged foot.
“Ya,” someone quietly said and kicked her leg away.
“Who are you?” Keely whispered, although it hurt to talk. “How many of you are there?”
“Help me.” A weak voice, like a child’s, whispered. Was it a child? Or a woman who sounded young? These women had to be handcuffed, too.
Keely’s breaths came fast and short, and the stench only added to her dizziness. What were her captors going to do with her? What were they going to do to these other victims?
“Come on,” she whispered, needing to hear a voice, even if it was her own. Find a way to get these women out of here. To get yourself out of here. She straightened her back, wincing at the shoulder pain, and peered into the darkness.
“Does anyone speak English?” she whispered.
“Shh,” someone hissed.
A squeak from the far end of the room drew her attention. A door opened, spilling light from above. A harbor bell sounded in the background. The cold floor, the darkness, the slight rocking motion. It felt like she was in the hold of a good-sized yacht. At least a thirty footer. She’d been in similar boats before, but this one had been emptied of the table and furniture. Gutted. To allow for higher capacity? For captives. She shuddered.
Dim light silhouetted Dave’s form in the doorway and fear sped through her body. His foot hit the bottom step.
The woman beside her gasped. Keely closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall.
She’d pretend to be unconscious. Wasn’t that what Logan had said his mother had told him to do when his father beat him?
He hadn’t realized it when he’d shared his past with her, but what he’d told her just might save her life.
…
Logan steered his SUV around a corner and gritted his teeth to keep from howling at the growing pain in his chest. Keely. Taken by a human trafficker. But Dave had no criminal history. Had he somehow stumbled into the role of criminal? But if he had no record, maybe he didn’t think like a criminal. Maybe he didn’t know the ways the police could track him.
Logan would need a court order to track Dave’s cell GPS, but he could get that fast now that Dave was a suspect. He called Quinn.
“Yeah?” Quinn answered.
“Get a court order started to track Dave’s cell phone.” He spat out the number.
“On it,” Quinn said.
“Check something for me, will you? Has the search warrant been served at Dave’s house yet?”
Quinn spoke to someone, then returned. “Nobody home. Got a uniform sitting outside, waiting for him to show up.”
“Thanks.” Logan disconnected.
Keely had to be with Dave. Not at church. Not at his house. Somewhere else.
Where?
God. Baltimore was a big place.
He glanced around at the city lights, the passing traffic, and had another idea. Through his time in the Marines and his years on the police force, he’d prided himself on his gut instincts when it came to criminals. And his gut told him Dave was driven by greed.
Which meant he would keep shipping girls, continue to sell them, until he was put away. And from what Amy Bittinger’s brother had said, the girls sometimes were held for a while. What if Dave had another ship in the area?
Logan hit the brakes, made a U-turn, and headed for Locust Point where they’d intercepted the ship the other night.
He pulled into the dimly lit parking lot, then drove toward the dock. Nothing. No ships. No cars.
After visiting an
other ship repair lot with the same result, he banged the steering wheel with both hands. “Where are you, Keely?”
Wait. Dave had used ship repair yards, but that wasn’t the only place to dock a boat downtown. Yacht clubs. There were two of them within a half mile.
He sped out of the lot and headed south.
The yacht club parking lot by the building was deserted, but as Logan steered the car toward the water, his lights landed on a late-model Buick. Dave’s car. He tensed, fearing the worst. He burst out of his SUV, yanking out his cell to call Quinn as he ran.
“Dave’s car is at the yacht club off Key Highway.”
“He in it?”
Logan squeezed his cell between his shoulder and his cheek as he kept one hand on his weapon and shined his flashlight into the car. His gut lurched at the sight of dried blood on the back seat. Keely’s?
“There’s blood on the backseat, but the car’s empty.”
“We just got the order for Dave’s GPS. He’s on a boat not far from the yacht club. SWAT and units are on the way. Two minutes out. Hang tight, pal.” Quinn disconnected.
“Please, Keely. Fight. If he’s got you, fight and fight hard.”
To hell with hanging tight. He had to get to Keely now. He raced back to his SUV, grabbed a pair of bolt cutters, then ran back to the fence that closed off the dock. In one strike, he chopped the padlock.
Red and blue flashing lights filled the lot as patrol cars careened close. SWAT team members swarmed toward the fence.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins with such force that his muscles ached to rip something apart. Preferably Dave.
Logan tossed the lock aside and threw open the gate. Hank, the SWAT commander, caught up to him and together they ran down the pier, faster than he had ever run in his life.
Fear drove him. But not like when he was a kid and he feared a beating. Not like in Afghanistan when he feared for his life and those of the men in his platoon.
