Special Agent Booker

by Mimi Barbour

  Once she had Sloan holding Sara in the back seat, behind the blackened windows so no one could see in, she flipped on another of her wigs. This time, bouncy red curls framed her face and a lacy white blouse with ruffles around the collar completely changed her appearance. Moving fast, she got behind the wheel and drove out of the garage.

  She glared through her oversized black-framed, golden lens glasses at the sight of the crazies, who cut her off and yelled obscenities. Then with her music blaring, she backed up to let them pass and drove sedately on her way.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Later, after transferring Sara into the care of Cassie, they headed home, Sloan happily ensconced behind the wheel of his GTO. He’d watched Alia shut down, close into herself, signaling she didn’t want to talk.

  Well, for crissakes. He needed answers. The place they’d taken Sara to had been adequate, though a bit rundown. The clinic portion, like a small operating room, was well-stocked, had a couple of hospital beds and enough paraphernalia to appear professional. There was even a doctor, besides Cassie, waiting to look after the girl.

  But he still wasn’t convinced of the propriety of taking the girl there rather than a regular institution. He’d just followed Alia’s orders and done what he was told. But now he needed her to share. What the hell was going on?

  Before he could break the stilted silence, Alia’s cell rang with a different ringtone than earlier. Her side of the conversation kicked in and he unabashedly listened. “They left before the cops got there? Good. Who called them? You?”

  She listened.

  “True. I guess gunshots do freak out neighbors.”

  She listened again, this time with a slight smile on her face.

  “Thanks for the heads-up, and for stepping in earlier and slowing the pricks down. Now can you just stop spying on me and go back where you came from?”

  The smile slid away.

  “I didn’t think so. Fine, just don’t mess with my kid.” She hung up and her disgruntled sigh let him know she wasn’t pleased.

  “I’ve been a darn good sport so far, Alia, but I need to know what you’re up to and if it’s going to hamper the mission we’re on.”

  Her hands continually rubbed her thighs, from her crotch to her knees, over and over as if she could massage away conflicting emotions. Finally, she spoke, low but steady.

  “My nanny Ruby was taken from the Philippines, brought to the US and forced into prostitution by a ring of human traffickers. This happened over eight years ago.”

  So, she was going back to the beginning. That worked for him. “How did you meet her?”

  “I was one of the first responders on a tip from a neighbor. He’d suspected there was something not quite right about the old warehouse they’d housed the girls in.”

  “You saved her life.”

  “Me and others in the FBI squad who were on that mission.”

  “Why didn’t Ruby return home after her rescue?”

  “She was too ashamed. This trip will be her first time back. Her father’s illness forced her to overcome her dishonor and face her family. It’s been very difficult for her. She’s a soft-hearted woman with only one flaw – as she calls it.”

  Interested, and not wanting to hide it, he egged her on. “And… it’s…”

  “Hatred for people like Roger and Joey. You have no idea how many confessions that poor girl has made at mass on Sunday mornings.” Alia chuckled, the sound soft and loving. It made him squirm. He liked it.

  As if once started she couldn’t stop, Alia added. “Because of those horrific experiences, she formed a network of other people who’ve been hurt in the same way: street people, prostitutes, even drug dealers and pot heads. But they have no confidence in the cops. Or respect or liking for law enforcement. Instead, they’ve formed their own rules, and try to the help the youngsters who are just starting out down the path.”

  Fascinated, he questioned the one part of her story that puzzled him. “How do the young ones find out about this group?”

  “Ruby, Cassie and a few of the others are on the streets, talking to the kids, trying to help them make the right choices. When the kids won’t listen, they pass out cards with a number only. And that phone is always monitored.”

  “By Cassie?”

  “Sometimes Cassie or Ruby, sometimes one of the others.”

  “So what’s your role?”

  “I’m just a transporter. When someone’s in trouble and needs assistance to get to their safe place, they call me, or someone like me, to go and bring them in.”

  Sloan soaked in her words for a few minutes, aware of her changing positions frequently, nervously awaiting his condemnation. As an officer of the law, he should feel annoyed that, given her role as an FBI agent, her involvement in this kind of anti-establishment system was against their very principles.

  The thing is, in his opinion, anything that helped those needy kids, especially the runaways who ended up on the street because of family dysfunction, had his total sympathy.

  “You’ve only been here a short time. How did Ruby organize so quickly?”

  “It was a blog post on Social Media that Cassie wrote a while back about street kids. Once Ruby read it, she hooked up with her and explained what they’d set up in San Diego. Cassie loved what Ruby and her friends were doing and had already begun setting the system in place here before we arrived.”

  “Why no cops?” He already knew the answer but had to ask.

  “They wouldn’t have anything to do with the group if they thought the law was involved. That’s why I don’t flash my badge, make arrests or force the kids to regular hospitals, where they’d have no choice but to call in the police for gunshot wounds. Look, what we do is save them any way we can. I’m just a person who comes to their aid when they’re in the most danger. My training allows me to help them and so I do what I can. No biggie.”

  “You’re a real softie, aren’t you? Trying to be the iceberg princess when deep inside, you’re all gooey.”

  She huffed her disdain and glared in his direction. “No one who really knows me would ever, in the furthest stretch of their imagination, call me gooey.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Once they returned to the house, Alia beetled into her room before temptation to pick up where they’d left off when Cassie called became too great. Anyway, she needed to have a Skype session with Ruby, one they’d planned before the woman left.

  Alia had no doubts about Ruby’s arrival at her home. Positive her family would welcome her back into their fold with grace and the forgiveness she craved, Alia’s heart swelled for her best friend. Her biggest concern was that Ruby might not come back. Just thinking of that set all her nerves to clamoring.

  How could she bring up Kean alone when she had so few qualifications for doing a good job? Hell, she even cringed when she knew a hug was needed. Overcoming her upbringing, her inability to be openly affectionate, would damage her and Kean’s relationship. She knew it. But Jesus help her, most times it didn’t feel natural, or easy… or possible.

  With her laptop on her knee, propped against the wall and sitting on the bathroom floor so as not to disturb Kean, she made the connection.

  Ruby glowed. And Alia had no choice but to celebrate with her friend. Ecstatic, her old nanny warbled on and on about her homecoming. Her father’s tears of welcome had healed the breach and even her sisters had rallied around her with open arms and loving greetings. She talked non-stop for ten minutes about her happiness, her relief about her flight, which had proved to be arduous, before grilling Alia about Kean and her own situation. Once assured that both were fine, she’d passed on reminders, orders that Alia needed to follow, and then signed off.

  Later, Alia lay in bed, trying to calm her mind, conscious that Sloan slept on the other side of her bedroom wall. If she listened closely enough, she could almost imagine hearing him breathe.

  He disturbed her. Set all her pre-conceived notions of men, and especially m
ale agents she’d known, upside down. Most of the guys where she’d previously worked wore suits, had slick hair and the personalities of sour green grapes.

  Here was a man who was completely different. His thick wavy hair constantly drew her attention to where her fingers itched to sift through and stroke. His everyday outfits, featuring khaki shorts, with either his Booker work tops or colorful Hawaiian shirts, caught her eye because any woman with good vision knew they covered a muscular frame most men would envy and females would lust over.

  Then there were his slanted, chocolate-brown Hawaiian eyes, filled with gold and danger. This thought made her pull her legs together to stop the yearning hunger from drawing her fingers to help relieve sudden cravings.

  She turned over on her back, bed creaking, wriggling uncomfortably and heard similar noises from behind the wall. Was that a moan? Yep. He’d moaned. Good! I bloody hope you’re having a hell of a time sleeping too, Mr. Sexy. Why should I be the only sufferer?

  Oh, cut it out! She needed to stop fantasising about screwing the man, for heaven’s sake, and set her priorities straight. Right now her main goal was to do her job, while at the same time, keeping her ex-husband from getting close to Kean.

  She’d die if Paul took her boy away from her. And the thought of giving in to his ludicrous demands to give him and his young bimbo a baby… well, she’d rather be dragged under the wheels of a bus.

  If she thought for one tiny second that Paul had any affection for his son, she might be willing to open a dialogue. One where he’d get to know Kean, even form a relationship that every boy needed with another male, especially a dad.

  But she knew better. The jerk only wanted to please his rich, well-connected wife. With her eggs. No thank you very much! Her eggs were staying inside her body, and he could go to hell.

  Libby’s words intruded and their earlier conversation came back to haunt her. The PI had followed her to Sloan’s house, but all the woman had to have seen was the taxi pulling away. Not their suitcases. Otherwise, she wouldn’t still be stalking the old house.

  So she didn’t really know where Alia and Kean were living now. What Libby did know was her cell number. But that would be easy enough to get for anyone with Internet smarts.

  Accepting the proficiency of the PI, Alia knew she’d soon figure out that they lived here now. When she passed that information on to Paul, Alia had no doubt that he would try something. The man didn’t like being refused. And, according to his boasts, the law wouldn’t stand in his way; he’d just use it to his benefit.

  Friggin’, shittin’ hell!

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  “Mom, Roy’s working in the yard, cutting the bushes. Can I go and help him? He wants me to. I promise not to get in his way.” Kean stood in front of her, his blue eyes big as saucers and his soft bangs obscuring his vision. He needs a haircut. She remembered Ruby’s instructions issued last night and winced because it should have happened days ago.

  “Sure, kiddo. If you like.”

  “If he likes what?” Sloan appeared in the kitchen doorway, his body seeming overly large in the small space.

  Kean stepped closer to her, his hand reaching for her bare leg where the white shorts didn’t cover.

  “He wants to help Roy in the yard.” In a motherly fashion, she brushed his hair away from his eyes and noticed his surprise when she touched him.

  Sloan stepped closer and crouched down so that Kean and he were eye to eye. “Hey, dude, wanna try cutting the grass with the riding lawn mower? It’s a hoot. You’ll love it.”

  “Can I?” Eyes glowing, Kean first checked with her. Only she had to confirm with Sloan because she honestly didn’t know if it should be allowed or not. They’d always hired yard people to take care of their place.

  “Sure. It’s safe. Come on. I’ll go and tell Roy we need to give the front yard a slight trim and he’ll set you up.” He reached for Kean’s hand and smiled when the boy quickly grasped his, anxious to get started.

  With a parting wink for Alia, he closed the door behind them, and she rushed to the window to see him piggyback Kean toward where Roy was setting up his gear in a wheel barrow.

  Her boy’s smile couldn’t have been any bigger, stretching on his face from one ear to the other, his arms gripping Sloan’s neck. And Alia felt the same smile light up her features. That man was getting to her.

  She took a cup of coffee and made her way into the sunroom where they had the equipment set up. When they’d returned the night before, Don had reported that everything across the street had been normal. Lights had gone out early and there was no movement thereafter.

  She examined the equipment closely, familiarizing herself with each piece and all three computers attached to the video feeds. They’d been set up on a table behind a decorative screen, so once turned on they couldn’t be seen from outside. Making sure the recording device would work when she and Sloan each dictated their reports, she did a few tests.

  Then she watched as Roy came from around the house, followed by Sloan and Kean riding on a lawn mower that wasn’t too huge or too scary for a small boy. Face lit with excitement, Kean listened as Sloan gave directions and then slowly took over the controls, the machine lurching forward. They laughed and Sloan ruffled his hair, followed by a small hug that was given to show Kean he was doing just fine.

  Alia’s heart swelled and she couldn’t take a deep breath because of the building emotion. Oh, God! This is what her boy needed. Not a mommy who babied him, but a dad who could teach him how to be a man. Sobs broke free before she even knew they were coming. Swiping at the rainfall on her checks, she bit her cheek to control the sudden onslaught and headed to the kitchen to clean up their breakfast dishes.

  This job was going to break her. She knew it. But how the hell could she build defenses when that handsome son of a bitch kept tearing them down?

  ***

  Ten minutes later the call came. She answered the phone, recognizing the ringtone as Don checking in.

  “Hi, Don. Did they arrive?”

  “Yeah. I’m watching them here at the airport. Only Janna came to pick them up. There’s a man and a woman. Both look to be in their mid-twenties, seem educated and have little baggage other than their carry-ons.”

  “You figure they’re not staying?”

  “Their return tickets indicate two weeks. They have their B-2s, all the documents they needed for their visas and their qualifications have been checked and okayed, including the papers on behalf of their relative, Janna Aman.”

  “So that’s the connection.”

  “Yes. Looks like they’re her brother’s children.”

  “So we can’t, in all good conscience, send them back to Pakistan?”

  “Nope. They also have direct ties to an important Pakistani government official. Strangely, he employs them both. We certainly don’t want to ruffle any feathers at that end when we have no evidence they’re planning on waging Jihadi-type activities. Plus, having a relative here is part of their cover and it’s perfectly legal for them to come and pay her a visit.”

  “But you’re worried.”

  “Damn right. Homeland has flagged one of them as an activist in their own country. They have online connections to groups who’re vocal but not operating in the sense that they’ve been physically involved in any fighting or subversive activities.”

  “So they’re here to what…?”

  “That’s just it. We don’t know. They could be holidaying or planning to attract other ideological fighters.”

  “It’s important we don’t take any chances. I get that.”

  “Yeah. Because of their interactions with some suspected terrorist sympathisers here in Oahu. DHS has kept their eye on these local groups with convincing online and social media campaigns that have grown. In fact, they’ve shut many down, only to have them immediately show up on new sites. Unfortunately, their rhetoric is dangerous and could be taken seriously by those crazy enough to carry out their own jihad, like
the brothers in Boston.”

  “Cyberterrorism is hard to prove and equally hard to stop. I’m glad the various government agencies are on top of these kinds of situations.”

  “Me, too. Okay, they’re heading out now and should be arriving there shortly. If you and Sloan have any trouble keeping up with the stakeout, I can always provide a break for you. What have you told Kean about that room?”

  “Sloan made up a story about being a stargazer, and that he had exclusive equipment in there for that reason. Also told him he kept the room locked because the stuff was crazy expensive. Kean bought it.”

  “The French doors leading there from outside works perfectly, doesn’t it? He won’t even see anyone going in and out of the room from inside the house.”

  “True. Any time one of us is on duty, we can leave and then re-enter from outside so he doesn’t know we’re even in there. I’m glad, because I want to keep him completely unaware of the surveillance.”

  “Don’t blame you. Not that it’s a dangerous mission. These people don’t pose any threat.”

  “None that you know of.”

  “Right. They’re heading your way. Will trail them as far as the driveway and then they’re all yours. Talk soon.”

  Alia stalked to the front window to see not only Kean on the mower working the controls, but Faisal, Janna’s son, perched there with him, the two boys working the machine, laughing… bonding.

  Roy and Sloan stood close by, watching their antics and laughing too.

  Lonely confusion gripped her. She fingered the side of her eye, wiping away the moisture, knowing she’d have to fix her mascara yet again… twice in a matter of such a short time.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Sloan watched Alia at the window and saw her raise her hand and wipe at the corners of her eyes. What… Why?