Running Blind

by Gwen Hernandez

  Fear etched Caitlyn’s chest like acid, but she couldn’t see a way to get Rose out of this place without them both getting shot. As much as it pained her, she had to retreat and return with a plan.

  At least now she knew Rose was alive and where to find her. Not necessarily safe, but her situation could be much worse.

  I’ll come back for you.

  Turning to face Lambert, she said, “Sorry. I dropped my mug.”

  “A few jitters are to be expected,” he said, ever the gracious one. Except now she knew him for the heartless bastard he really was. “Are you sure you’re good to fly?”

  She gave a brisk nod and followed him out of the room, not allowing herself to look back. “Of course.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “I’m running late for my meeting.”

  Her mind and body were numb with loss. Every leaden step took her further away from Rose. And her bruises. And whoever had delivered them. Caitlyn would like to return the favor.

  God, Rose. Caitlyn forced herself to unclench her hands and breathe slowly.

  Focus.

  The excessive number of guards, the whispers surrounding Lambert’s business dealings, his fast-growing fortune. It all made sense now.

  And no wonder Rose hadn’t escaped after a week or two undercover. She hadn’t ended up in some random household from which she might sneak away, she’d landed in Lambert’s secure compound surrounded by fences and men with rifles.

  She hadn’t stood a chance.

  Caitlyn and Lambert were on the grass that edged the runway before he spoke again. “I discussed it with my wife, and we have a request. Our way of saying thanks for what you did today.”

  And she had to pretend her world hadn’t been tossed. She cleared her throat and tried to pay attention. “What’s that, sir?”

  “You must come to Arielle’s engagement party,” he said. His youngest daughter was set to marry into one of the richest “high white” families on Barbados—descendants of the original plantation owners—in October. “And bring your fiancé. I want to meet the man who can handle such a firecracker.” He winked.

  Shit. Warning bells went off in her brain. “Oh, sir, I’m not sure—”

  “No arguments.” He stalked toward the plane, and the rest of his entourage followed. “If you’ve already booked clients for that evening I’ll pay to have someone else take them. Tell your man to take a weekend off. Tell him it’s important.” She opened her mouth to protest and his expression turned hard as he looked over his shoulder. “No arguments. I’ll see you both there.”

  Dammit. She had to get out of this. Maybe the police could help. Maybe none of this would matter after today.

  He owns the police.

  Glenn had straight up told her that.

  To maintain her trusted position within his sphere—and find a way to help Rose and anyone else imprisoned behind his walls—she needed to pretend nothing was amiss.

  And if the police failed her, she had to attend the party. With Kurt on her arm.

  Trapped like a spider under a cat’s paw, she swallowed hard. “Of course. We’d be honored.”

  CHAPTER 2

  KURT STEELE BREATHED out and pressed the trigger, running through the steps of marksmanship on autopilot. Five shots, five holes in the paper target, center mass.

  Six. Dead on. Seven.

  Pain gripped his lower leg—well, where his lower leg used to be—and his shot went wild.

  Next to him, Dan Molina lowered his weapon and gave Kurt a “what the hell was that?” smirk. Then his smile dropped and he tapped his earmuffs before removing them.

  Kurt lifted the protection from one ear, forcing himself to stand tall as he took deep breaths through his nose.

  “You okay, man?”

  “Fine.” Sometimes his friends read him too well. “Just lost focus.”

  “Bullshit. You could take that shot in your sleep.”

  “It’s nothing. Sometimes I still get…twinges.” Phantom pain, twinges, whatever.

  “Twinges.” Dan’s voice was laced with skepticism, maybe concern.

  Kurt let the earmuff drop, dismissing his friend, who also worked for him at Steele Security. There were advantages to being the boss.

  Talking wasn’t going to help anything, and the pain was already diminishing. After six years, he knew how to work through it, and the inexplicable sensations didn’t last as long or come as frequently as they had early on.

  He raised his weapon and fired. Eight. Center mass. That’s more like it.

  The range was quiet midmorning on a Tuesday. He and Dan and the owner were the only people around.

  They ran through their ammo and pulled in their final targets. Kurt had to get back to the office for an eleven o’clock meeting, and it would be at least a twenty-minute drive to Arlington.

  “Nice grouping,” a woman said from behind him.

  He holstered his Beretta and faced her. “Detective Breschi. I’m sure yours would look similar.”

  “Thanks, but I wish you’d call me Eva.” He might be out of practice when it came to dating, but even he couldn’t miss the way she leaned in and maintained eye contact, or the hint of a suggestive smile on her wide lips.

  “I know.” But he wouldn’t.

  Her smile slipped and she turned away, showing off her tight ass in form-fitting black slacks. “Dan, good to see you.” She chose a spot further down the range, leaving behind a faint cloud of perfume.

  As soon as they were paid up and outside in the cool October air, Dan attacked. “Dude, the pretty detective so wants you. Why don’t you at least take her out for dinner? See how it goes.”

  Kurt shook his head and put on his sunglasses. “She doesn’t want me. She wants to prove to herself she’s a patriot by fucking a wounded warrior.”

  Dan glanced back at the building, his expression skeptical. “What makes you say that?”

  “Experience.”

  “Shit. Sorry.” Dan took a few steps in silence. “But still. Is that necessarily a bad thing?”

  “I have no desire to be her charity case.” God save him from well-meaning friends who were happily married now.

  “But if it gets you laid…” Dan leaned against the minivan he and Alyssa had bought after Sophie was born last July. “Let’s say patriotism or some sense of, I don’t know, altruism is her motivation. How is it any different from hooking up with a spec ops groupie?”

  Sometimes friends and their long memories were a pain in the ass. “Because I’m not twenty-four anymore. And I had legs back then. Those women worshipped our strength. They thought of us as heroes, and they wanted some of that to rub off on them.” Or against them, anyway.

  Dan rubbed his dark stubble. “I’m pretty sure Eva thinks you’re a hero.”

  Kurt scoffed. “Losing your legs isn’t heroic. It’s just plain-ass bad luck.”

  “Whatever.” Dan opened his car door. “If you’re not into her, I get it. But it wouldn’t kill you to have a little fun.”

  “I’m a ball of fun.”

  Dan grinned and shook his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, boss.” He, Todd, and Jason were working security at the Ritz in Tysons Corner this evening for the wedding of a congresswoman’s daughter.

  Kurt watched his friend drive off before getting into his truck. Maybe Dan was right, but he couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for the idea.

  Half an hour later, he entered Steele Security’s office on the fifth floor of a high-rise building in Arlington. The main lobby of the suite had a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Potomac, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Washington Monument that never grew old.

  From behind a counter-height mahogany desk, Tara Fujimoto—aka the world’s best business manager—looked up and greeted him with a smile. “Hey. How was the range?”

  “I killed the target.”

  She flipped her long black hair off her shoulder. “Oh, good. We’re safe for another day.” Reaching for a small stack of paper, she said, “Sc
ott called. Everything went well at Valerie’s ultrasound appointment.”

  “Boy or girl?”

  “No idea. They want it to be a surprise.”

  Between his sister and half of his team over the last few years, it seemed as if everyone was having babies. Would he ever get to be a dad? Thirty-four wasn’t exactly ancient, but he hadn’t been on a date in years. Kind of hard to become a father when you’re celibate.

  “Also, Caitlyn Brevard is in the break room with Todd,” Tara said, with no knowledge that she’d just dropped a bomb. “She wanted to know if you could fit her in today.”

  “She’s here?” Kurt pointed at the floor, feeling thick in the head, even as his heart galloped.

  “Yeah. She’s been waiting about ten minutes. Todd arrived early for your meeting and offered to get her a cup of coffee.”

  I’ll bet he did. According to Jason, when Caitlyn had helped out on a mission for Steele a few years back, Todd had followed her around as if attached by a leash. Jason had ribbed Todd about it for months afterward. Kurt had worn the enamel from his back teeth trying to pretend he didn’t give a shit.

  “Thanks.” Steeling himself to face her in person for the first time in twelve years, he squared his shoulders and turned toward the break room.

  At the same moment, Caitlyn emerged with a ceramic mug in her left hand, and stopped several feet away. His heart skittered to a halt at the sight of her.

  It shriveled and died when the large diamond ring on her left finger caught the overhead lights.

  Caitlyn’s stomach cartwheeled at her first sight of Kurt.

  He was more intimidating than she remembered, his expression darker, his muscles more defined—if that were even possible. The contours of his familiar, handsome face had become more rugged, more sharply honed, more deeply carved. More beautiful.

  She hadn’t expected seeing him again to make her…want. He shouldn’t have this effect on her, especially after so many years. There was no place for it in her life.

  Ruthlessly shoving aside the messy feelings wreaking havoc on her system, she said goodbye to Todd and followed Kurt down the hall to his office, her feet sinking into the plush, brown carpet.

  Kurt’s appearance wasn’t the only change. His gait was different too. Tighter, more constrained, less fluid and graceful. According to his company website, he was a disabled veteran. Whatever had happened to him, it had to be bad. She couldn’t imagine him leaving the PJs—Air Force pararescuemen—willingly.

  Business must be good, though. The rent on this place had to cost a fortune. His office had the same incredible view of the National Mall and the monuments as the lobby and was probably intended to impress the type of clients who were willing to drop wads of money on security.

  He closed the door behind him and gestured her to a metal-framed chair. He rounded his desk and sat, his own chair squeaking in protest. Apparently not everything at Steele was top notch.

  His wary brown eyes—so dark they almost appeared black—met hers across the desk. “It’s good to see you, Caitlyn, but why are you here?”

  So, no small talk then. She pried her hands apart and laid them on her thighs. “I have kind of an odd favor to ask.”

  “O-kay,” he said, drawing out the word. “You know I’ll help if I can.”

  She had known. That was the thing about Kurt. He didn’t know how to refuse someone in need. It was both his greatest strength and the thing that drove her nuts about him, because he couldn’t walk away even when the person didn’t want his assistance.

  She tilted her head and adopted a neutral expression, trying to recall the words she’d rehearsed in her head for days. “I have a regular client, Treavor Lambert. He’s a big deal in the islands, with his hands in several businesses. When he needs to fly within the EC—the Eastern Caribbean—he calls me. For several reasons, I can’t afford to lose him as a customer.”

  Kurt had leaned forward and now studied her intently. His thick eyebrows came together, but he said nothing.

  She raised her chin. Not that he had any right, but if Kurt was anything like he used to be—Mr. Overprotective—he was going to flip his lid. Which was exactly why she hadn’t led with her work for The Underground.

  Though, to be fair, Kurt had brought her in for several missions that put her under fire in the last few years, so maybe he’d changed.

  “For the last six months,” she said, “I’ve been running rescue flights for victims of human trafficking, mostly on St. Isidore.” The island country’s recovering economy had created demand for cheap labor and sex workers, and traffickers had stepped in to fill both needs. “There are people on the ground who go into brothels and warehouses and other businesses to help victims escape to a designated pickup point, and I fly in to get them.”

  “Sounds dangerous.” Instead of judgment or misplaced protectiveness, his rich voice held only friendly concern laced with approval. “But I’m sure the people you help are grateful.”

  She stared at him for a beat. She’d been poised to defend her choices, to point out the hypocrisy of a guy who used to drop into hot zones to save wounded soldiers calling what she did dangerous. His response threw her off balance, as if she’d been pushing against a door that had suddenly opened without warning. “So far, I haven’t had any trouble.”

  “How’d you get involved?”

  “Last year, the graphic design company my sister Rose—technically my half-sister—worked for went out of business, and she decided to visit me in Barbados to see her dad’s homeland. He’s the one who got me interested in living there in the first place,” she added as an aside. “Anyway, while there, she fell in love with a woman who runs STOP, an organization that raises awareness for, and helps the victims of, human trafficking and indentured servitude in the Caribbean.”

  “And sponsors these rescue flights?”

  “Right. STOP needed a pilot who was up for a little risk. I was available and willing.”

  The muscle in his jaw gave a tic. “What does that have to do with your client? And me?”

  Her stomach knotted. “Four months ago, Rose decided to go undercover. Most of the trafficking victims are terrified of testifying against their abusers, and she thought she could go in, see how the system works, gather evidence and punch out in a week, maybe two. She answered several ads for housekeepers on St. Isidore, and finally got a response that seemed likely to be a scam, so she flew to St. Isidore for the job. She hasn’t communicated with anyone since.”

  “Jesus. Four months?” Kurt rubbed his chin and stared out the window for a minute. “What about the cops?”

  “I reported her missing, but corruption in St. Isidore’s police force is still common. They could be getting paid to turn a blind eye. The government might even consider indentured servants a necessary measure to get the country back on its feet. People are trafficked for everything from sex work to manual labor and construction. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the politicians are involved or getting kickbacks to stay quiet.”

  “So you need someone to find her. My guys are good at that, and you know several of them have experience on St. Iz.”

  Caitlyn couldn’t hold back an impatient head shake, but it wasn’t his fault he didn’t understand. “No. I know where she is. Three days ago, I found her—completely by accident—at Lambert’s house, but security was too tight for me to get her out safely.”

  “Lambert, your client?”

  She scowled. “Yeah.” Finding out Treavor Lambert was a snake had cut deep. She’d liked the guy, in spite of the son he’d raised.

  “Did you have any idea he was involved in this stuff?”

  “None.” And how had she missed it? Then again, it wasn’t like Lambert had asked her to transport his victims. How would she have known?

  “Well, since you know where Rose is, that makes our job easier. It’s just a rescue operation.”

  “I’m not asking you to send any of your guys.” She forced her hands onto her lap and
rushed her explanation. “Lambert’s plantation is heavily guarded. If you storm the place, too many people could get hurt. Not to mention it could cause an international incident. But now I literally have an engraved invitation into Lambert’s house. Which is where you come in,” she said. “I’ve been invited to an engagement party for his daughter.” Caitlyn took a deep breath. Just spit it out. “It would be incredibly helpful if you could come to the party as my fiancé.” She clamped her lips shut and waited.

  “Your fiancé?” He gave her a what-the-hell look, and spots of color appeared on his cheeks. “Don’t you have one of those already?”

  Oh, no. He thought— God, could this be any more awkward? Why on earth hadn’t she made up a name instead of using his?

  Because Glenn would check.

  “The ring is fake. To keep guys away.”

  Kurt’s expression shuttered and he gave a slight shake of his head. “So why can’t you just tell the police you found Rose and have them get a warrant?”

  “Shaylee—Rose’s girlfriend—tried. She contacted a cop in St. Isidore who she thinks is clean, but the woman said the people who could approve such an action are likely on Lambert’s payroll. All we’d be doing is alerting him that I know Rose and want to rescue her. I need his trust.”

  With a sigh, Kurt wiggled the mouse on his desktop and then typed on his keyboard. “What are the dates? I’ll check the calendar and see who’s available to go with you.”

  Damn, damn, damn. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy. She sat taller and cleared her throat. “Um, actually, I already gave Mr. Lambert your name.”

  Kurt froze, and then he leveled a dark look at her, his inky eyes unforgiving. “Why the hell would you do that?”

  It was a fair question. She took another fortifying breath. “For years I’ve been telling people I’m in a long-distance relationship. I started because it helps me fend off advances from clients, but Lambert’s son Glenn is a little…let’s call him persistent. At some point he got suspicious and started pressing for details. I think he honestly can’t understand a woman rejecting him.” She grimaced involuntarily.