Accidental Agent (River's End Ranch Book 3)

by Amelia C. Adams

Liz hadn’t called him back in the small window of time he’d had before he took this assignment, and the number he’d given her was his private cell. That phone was now turned off, and the only one he was using was his work phone. He’d have to try her again when this was all over, but he had no idea how long this would take.

  Surveillance was his least favorite assignment. The agents in question could sit there for hours or days or even longer, depending on the situation, and then have to spring into action at a moment’s notice. It was difficult to remain on high alert for that long and yet still be able to relax enough to sleep when someone else was on watch. At least this apartment was carpeted, although unfurnished—he’d once spent a week in a filthy basement with concrete floors and cockroaches. By the end of their stint, all the cockroaches had names and were partially trained to do tricks, that’s how bored the agents got before anything happened with the case.

  Nelson pushed his way into the apartment, his arms full of grocery sacks. He wore jeans, a hoodie, and a baseball cap, and looked nothing like an agent at all. He plopped a sack down on Jack’s lap. “Breakfast.”

  Jack pulled out a package of bagels, a box of cream cheese, and a bottle of orange juice. “Thanks, man.” He grabbed a plastic knife from the box near the window and got to work assembling his meal, his eyes flicking constantly to his target.

  Nelson squatted down next to Jack, his own bottle of orange juice dangling between his fingers. “I got a call from Holden on my way up. Seems our informant just died under mysterious circumstances.”

  Jack’s hand froze midway through spreading his cream cheese. “But he was under tight security.”

  “Yep.”

  Nelson didn’t say more. He didn’t have to.

  Jack went back to spreading, now pressing so hard that he broke the knife. This couldn’t be happening. Their best lead in ages, their best chance at finally catching the guy, and this happens. “Now what?” he asked at length.

  “Holden says to sit tight, that del Gato’s just trying to flush us out. If this is one of his buildings, he’ll wait a week, two weeks, and then he’ll start clearing it out. He’s going to play games with us until we give up.”

  “So we could be sitting here for two weeks, watching a building that’s absolutely dead in every way.” Jack knew it was a very real possibility. “But if our informant was right and this is a clearing house for human trafficking, we’ve got people in there, and if they’re not bringing food in . . .”

  “Exactly.” Nelson came to his feet. “This is either going to be the biggest hoax del Gato has played on us yet, or we’re going to have a lot of victims on our hands by the time this is wrapped up.”

  Jack bit into his bagel, hardly tasting it at all. He wasn’t in the mood to eat anymore, but he knew he had to keep himself sharp. They needed to get a search warrant on that building, and fast. If there were people in there, with no food deliveries . . .

  But then again, maybe the warehouse had been fully stocked with a good supply before the agents ever set up camp. There could be pallets and pallets of food in there—food, water, medical supplies. They could have themselves a whole compound going on in there. Even as he thought about it, though, it didn’t ring true. It was like Nelson said—either that warehouse was empty and they were wasting their time on a hoax, or there were a lot of suffering people in there right now.

  Search warrants were good, but so was probable cause . . .

  And in cases of emergency, he wasn’t above taking the risk of censure.

  He finished his bagel and washed it down with the rest of his orange juice. He’d wait until nightfall. Then he’d talk to Parker and Nelson and see how they felt. If they didn’t want in, he’d ask them to turn a blind eye, and he’d do it himself. If they wouldn’t turn a blind eye, well, maybe he’d steal their phones or at least ask them to give him a ten-minute head start. All he knew was that the question had to be answered. Were there or were there not starving people in that building?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Liz dialed Jack’s number again, but hung up before leaving a message. She’d already left two, both bright and breezy, and figured that anything more would be annoying and unwanted. If he didn’t want to talk to her, he wouldn’t have sent her flowers, so something else must be going on, and she didn’t want to think about that. His job was dangerous, so very dangerous, and there were too many unpleasant possibilities.

  The contract from Fingerprint Press lay on her desk. May and Kaya had said that it looked pretty good to them, and the lawyer had confirmed that it was fair. But then there was that unanswerable question—would everything really go as they projected? Or would she find herself six months or a year down the road wishing she’d never signed on the dotted line?

  Argh! She hated this kind of unpredictability! She loved Christmas presents from unexpected sources and seeing old friends in random places and closing her eyes and pointing at a map when it came time to choose her vacations, but this was crazy making.

  She needed to get out for a little while.

  Yes, she’d left the ranch just an hour before when her shift ended, but she headed right back.

  Jaclyn opened the door with a scowl on her face, but quickly swapped it out for a smile when she saw who it was. “Liz! Come in. I’ve been expecting you for a while. What kept you?”

  Liz entered the small house, careful not to step on the rabbits who had also come running at her knock. “Did the fairies tell you I was on my way?”

  “No, but when your handsome young man has been here twice and you haven’t come at all, well, it’s just a matter of time, isn’t it?”

  “Jack was here twice? He mentioned that he’d met you, but not how many times he visited.”

  Jaclyn settled herself in a chair and picked up a rabbit to stroke. Liz did the same. There was something about the repetitive motion of palm against fur that calmed her every time. “He was looking for himself, as most people are, and he was pretty sure he found himself, but then he wasn’t sure what to do with himself after that. It’s a very common problem. We get what we want and then we’re clueless what do to with it.”

  “That’s exactly why I’m here,” Liz said. The rabbit on her lap was a fluffy gray fellow, and he didn’t seem to mind being her emotional support animal for a few minutes. His nose twitched every time she stroked him. “I was offered a contract this week.”

  “You were? Oh, that’s wonderful news. And is it a good one?”

  “I think so, and my writer friends seem to think so. Still, I’m worried about it.”

  “As you would be. As anyone would be. What do you want to do?”

  “I want to accept it, but I don’t want to rush into it just because it’s the first one I’ve ever been sent.”

  “Wise.” Jaclyn nodded several times. “And if you turn it down?”

  “If I turn it down, I might not get another one for quite some time, but I have a lot of resources that will help me self-publish if I decide to go that way. My online friends are self-pubbed and have promised to help me.”

  “So either way, you’ll be published.”

  “That’s right. It’s just a matter of choosing which, and choosing timing—I do have queries out at other publishers too. What if one of them replies next week or next month?”

  “What if, what if, what if . . .” Jaclyn shook her head. “Can you imagine what would have happened if John Lennon and Paul McCartney had asked themselves that question? There would have been no Beatles. And then where would we be?”

  Liz couldn’t begin to make a correlation between her situation and the Beatles, but she supposed she could go along with it. “Not in a good place?”

  Jaclyn slapped the arm of her chair. “Precisely. Now, listen. You’ve just got to decide what you want most, and then go for it. All sails to the wind. No holds barred. Leap of faith. You know what happens when people don’t leap? We get a lot of faithless non-leapers, that’s what, and they’re all stuck on the side of th
e cliff and they won’t do anything, and you’re like, just jump or go home already because you’re blocking the way for everyone who really does want to jump. You’ll never know if those wings work until you test them out. You grew them for a reason, right? They aren’t just decorations?”

  Liz smiled. “No, they’re not just decorations.”

  “Well, there you go then.” Jaclyn slapped the chair again. “And as far as Jack goes, no worries there. Everything’s fine.”

  “He’s fine?”

  “Of course. One of the fairies went home with him, but he doesn’t know it—gracious, they never do. It’s like they’re completely blind. Anyway, you’re not to worry. Concentrate on you right now and let him concentrate on him, and in a little while, it’ll be time to concentrate on each other. In the meantime, you need to get this whole business with yourself straightened out—you can hardly be thinking about a relationship when you don’t even know who you are or where you’re going.”

  Liz nodded. That made perfect sense. She was tempted to ask just how a fairy had managed to go home with Jack, but decided that was probably a can of worms she didn’t want to open.

  “Thanks, Jaclyn. I think I’m going to go home and read the contract over one more time. My parents are thrilled, of course, but weren’t much help—they’re just excited that I got one.”

  “I’m sure they’re very proud. This is your decision, though—make it the best you can for you.” Jaclyn walked Liz over to the door. “And I highly recommend that you teach the other waitresses how to make Sprite. That new girl, that Lindy person—it was nothing but bubbles and ice.”

  “Okay. I’ll do my best.” Liz grinned as she stepped off the porch. She couldn’t say if she’d gotten the answers she came for, but she’d been loved and supported, and maybe that was all she really needed.

  ***

  “And you intend to do this whether or not I give you my approval. Is that right?” Agent Holden’s voice reverberated through the cell phone Jack held.

  “I’d much rather do it with your blessing and the support of the FBI, sir, but if that’s not possible, then yes, I will go down there and break into the warehouse myself.”

  “I find it interesting that you informed me before you went ahead and did it.”

  “In this case, I thought asking permission first might be the better course of action than apologizing later.”

  “And it was the right choice. Yes, I support you. Wait until full dark and then head down. I’ll send a couple of snipers for the rooftops—we’ll be prepared for each eventuality. You realize, of course, the likelihood that the warehouse is completely empty and that you’ll find nothing.”

  “If that’s the case, we’ll just end our surveillance and wait for the next break,” Jack said. “And if we find something, all the better.”

  “Be careful,” Holden said.

  “Of course, sir.”

  Nelson and Parker were more than glad to get their orders. They’d been just as antsy as Jack had been, eager to find out what was really going on down there. They watched the clock and they watched the horizon, willing the sun to set faster—or at least, to seem like it had.

  At last it was time.

  Holden informed them that the snipers were in place and that several more men would be joining them on the ground. Jack and his two fellow officers put on their Kevlar vests and headed down to street level, holding their guns at the ready. They assembled in front of the warehouse, the other set of agents still watching the back in case anyone tried to sneak out that way.

  Jack took the lead and shot the padlock that was holding the warehouse door closed. Then he and Nelson pulled it open. It was pitch black inside, barely any light filtering in through the door or any windows. The agents pulled out high-powered flashlights as they began their search.

  All Jack could see was hundreds of feet of empty storage space broken up with occasional shelving units.

  “Spread out,” he said, and the men systematically searched every shelf, every corner, and every nook. There were no rooms off to the side, no office cubicles—nothing. Jack lowered his gun slightly, feeling deflated. On the one hand, it was a relief to see that the human trafficking victims weren’t being held here after all. On the other hand, he wanted del Gato arrested, and he was disappointed in this lack of evidence once again.

  “All clear,” the other men reported one by one, and Jack nodded.

  “Let’s go report,” he said, and they filed out of the building.

  As Jack walked across the floor to the doorway, he noticed that his footsteps echoed as he stepped. That was a little odd, considering that he was wearing sneakers. He stopped, held up his hand, and when the other men had stopped walking as well, he stomped on the floor.

  It echoed.

  “Shine your lights on the floor,” he said.

  What he’d thought was a solid floor was actually made of wooden planks, and some appeared to be a bit loose. He bounced up and down where he stood, noticing the give.

  “Help me out here,” he said, and he was instantly surrounded by agents who knelt and dug their fingers into the grooves between the boards. One shoved a pen between the slats and was able to get some purchase that way, and they lifted out several boards and shone their lights into the hole.

  “There’s a whole ’nother level down here,” Parker called out. He lowered himself down and dropped out of sight, and Nelson followed him.

  “Saunders, you’re gonna wanna see this,” Parker hollered a moment later, and Jack dropped down as well.

  He didn’t know exactly how far down the bottom floor was, and when he landed, pain shot up into his shins. He straightened and glanced around.

  In the glow of the flashlights the other agents were shining around, he saw cages—and in those cages were women and children, bound and gagged.

  His stomach clenched. He grabbed the radio he wore on his shoulder. “Send in as many ambulances as you can and set up triage outside,” he said to the dispatcher. “We’ve got them. We’ve finally got them.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jack stayed down in that basement level until every single person was out. They’d found a ladder on the floor and leaned it up against the hole, and every woman or child who was strong enough climbed it to freedom. Those who were too weak were carried by an agent or lifted in a sort of hammock that they fashioned out of ropes or blankets.

  At last, Jack was the only one left down there, and he made a final sweep before climbing the ladder himself. As his head and shoulders cleared the hole, everyone spontaneously began to clap, and one little girl ran up to him and threw her arms around his knees.

  He stood there, shaking, tears running down his cheeks, completely unashamed.

  This was why he did what he did. This was why he’d become an agent and why he would stay an agent. This was bigger than any payday, than any bonus, than any award or newspaper interview he’d ever received. These victims would be returned to their families, where they could begin to heal. He and his team had changed lives that night in a way that no one else could. This was why he carried a shield. This was why he’d devoted his life to being a man in blue.

  Henry would have loved this moment. Henry would have been right in the thick of it, making sure these children were cared for and tended. He would have had sticks of gum in his pocket or candy or stickers—he always had something, and Jack had never figured out how he managed it. “This is for you, Henry,” he said. He didn’t think anyone heard him, but he heard several echoes of “amen” from the agents around him.

  Hours later, all the victims had been treated, and all had been transported either to the hospital or to a hidden shelter, where they would be interviewed by social workers and additional law enforcement officers. They would all be fed and warm for the night, and they would be given a chance to sleep in a safe environment for the first time in who knew how long.

  As Jack went home that night, using a taxi, he closed his eyes as he thought abo
ut it. What if he hadn’t noticed the echoing floor—how long would those women and children have remained down there? He couldn’t dwell on it—the thought was too horrific. But he didn’t have to think about it. Instead, he could go to sleep in the knowledge that he’d been led by fate or destiny or the hand of God—whatever it had been—and that he’d done some good that night.

  Going to sleep . . . that was exactly what he was going to do.

  ***

  Liz tried Jack’s number one more time before heading in to the diner the next morning. No answer . . . again . . . and she was starting to wonder if he’d written one of the digits wrong. That was possible, right? She sometimes forgot her own telephone number because she didn’t call herself all that often. She just hoped he didn’t think she was purposely ignoring him . . . and she hoped that whoever she’d been calling instead didn’t think she was a total nutcase.

  She kind of was a nutcase that morning, though . . . or at least a basket case. She’d called Jaclyn and invited her to come down for breakfast, and she waited until all the most important people were there. Then she climbed up on a chair right in the center of the dining room.

  “Hey, everyone? Can I have your attention, please?”

  Everyone’s heads swiveled her direction.

  Her knees were trembling a little bit, and it wasn’t just because she was balancing on a chair. “I have an important announcement to make. I’ve just signed a contract with Fingerprint Press to have a novel published.”

  Applause broke out, and Liz felt her cheeks grow warm.

  “I didn’t know you wrote!” Wes Weston called out from where he was drinking coffee at the counter.

  “Yeah, I haven’t told a lot of people. I wanted to keep it a secret until I actually did something with it,” she explained.

  “Will you hold a book signing here and let us all buy copies?” Simon asked.

  “Well, I haven’t even thought that far ahead, but sure, I’ll think about it.”

  Others wanted to know what the book would be about, and someone asked if she was going to keep waitressing once she made it big.