by Kylie Brant
“Declan.” Her mind went blissfully blank for an instant when her lips—completely devoid of logic or good judgment—kissed him back. “Raiker’s waiting.”
“Those are the only words that would get me out of your bed right now.” With a lithe movement he rolled away from her and off the mattress. Then walked to the door, blissfully unselfconsciously nude. She was female enough to enjoy watching the play of muscle across his shoulders and narrow hips before leaping from the bed and pulling on clothes. She met him at the desk in the corner of the front room, where he already had the laptop open and powering on.
“How long until you have the video chat going?”
He gave her an understanding look. “You’ve got a minute. No more.”
Dashing into the bathroom, she grabbed a brush and dragged it urgently through her hair. There was nothing to be done with it short of washing and styling, and she didn’t have time for that. Dragging the length into a ponytail, she secured it at her nape and hurried back to the computer. Seconds later, Adam Raiker’s likeness filled the screen.
He looked freshly shaven, dressed in a suit and looked far more awake than she was feeling. It was a bit of a jolt to look at the time on the computer and see that it was already early afternoon.
“Sun Yanyu, the woman you knew as Xie Shuang, still isn’t talking. And Malsovic hasn’t been found yet.” Adam’s voice was carefully expressionless. “He must have left in a hurry. The safe in his room was open, and it was filled with identification papers on the women. Phony passports in their names. I’m told high quality ones. But no ID was found for Malsovic. And nothing for the other man, Marko Zupan. They did find Hobart’s ID where you discovered it under the bed in Malsovic’s room.”
“He had a lot of equipment in there,” Eve recalled. “A laptop and several other machines that looked like printers.”
“None were recovered.”
“He’s on the run,” Declan said surely. “And when he leaves the country you can bet it will be with a new name and a falsified passport.”
“That would be the best case scenario. We’ve got his likeness out to every airport in the country, as well as to Customs and Border Protection. He won’t get far.”
“If this other man, Zupan, is also missing, they’re likely to be together, especially if the man’s ID is missing, while the other three men’s were not.”
“Conjecture,” Raiker said impatiently. “What we need are answers.”
“Conjecture might lead to answers,” Eve said imperturbably. “For instance, all the spokes in this wheel seem to lead back to bin Osman at the center. Until seven years ago he was running a similar illegal operation in the exact same hotel. You’ve placed Shuang there at the time his operation was raided. Malsovic shot Hobart with the same gun that killed your father-in-law nine years earlier. You’ve been looking for the link to your son. It seems to me that those three people are the link. We don’t know why yet,” she admitted. “But if Shuang could be convinced to talk, I’m guessing she can tell us.” The woman’s real name was unimportant. How she was linked to Royce did.
“Perhaps. But she’s buttoned up now. And with the other agencies involved, I don’t have a great deal to bargain with.”
“Shuang berated him for not being there a couple nights ago.” Declan had pulled on jeans, but hadn’t bothered with a shirt. Next to him Eve felt positively nun-like in jeans and a turtleneck. “Maybe he has a girlfriend stashed somewhere. An apartment.”
“That’s the working assumption. Burke has already started looking at rental properties within a ten-mile radius of the hotel. We’ll assume for the moment that the man would want to stay fairly close. Perhaps within walking distance. You’ll join him. He started with those in ethnic neighborhoods.”
“Did anyone find the rifle last night?” Eve asked.
“It was discovered blocks from the hotel in a Dumpster. I’ve offered the services of my lab pro bono, so all physical evidence has been transported there. Including the computers taken from Shuang’s and the meeting room.”
“I’m not so sure the attendant at the front desk didn’t tip Shuang off when SWAT entered the hotel,” Declan said. “I can’t figure any other way she would have known to try to escape. I blocked internal access to the cameras minutes before the raid began.”
Raiker smile was fierce. “She definitely knew what was happening. She’d started a seven pass erase on her computer before she tried to escape. Doesn’t matter. My people will recover what’s there. They’re working on her encrypted emails. Few of them are in English. Eve.” She started a little at the use of her name. “I’m sending a driver to bring you to my labs. It would be easiest to have you on site to translate whatever personal correspondence we’re able to recover.”
Adrenaline was already humming in her veins. “All right, I’ll be ready. I’d appreciate it if you talked to the federal agents about a T Visa for Brina.”
“I did. Stillions said you’d already brought it up.” She had, several times, but she thought the request would carry more weight if it were repeated by Raiker. “I’ll keep tabs on the issue.”
Because she doubted very much that the man made promises he didn’t keep, she was satisfied with that.
“What are the orders for whoever finds Malsovic?”
Declan’s question had a quick shudder working down Eve’s spine. For the first time it occurred to her to be concerned about the assignment Declan had been given. Malsovic was always dangerous. Cornered he’d be deadly.
“Of course we want him alive if possible. But be prepared to use force to defend yourselves. No heroes, Gallagher.” Raiker’s tone brooked no argument. “The man has already ruined enough lives. I don’t want you or Burke to be next on the list.”
She barely noticed when the screen went black. Her attention was fixed on Declan. One corner of his mouth kicked up as he returned her gaze. He reached out a hand and slid the ponytail holder away. Gave her hair a shake.
“Declan.” Caught between concern for him and exasperation, she pushed back the curls with one hand.
“Eve.” He cocked his head, considering her. “I think I could get used to this. Why don’t you just wear it like that?”
She gave him a pitying look, brushed his hand away when he reached up to stretch out a curl. “Spoken like someone with straight hair. Be serious. What Raiker said earlier? About staying safe?” She had his attention now. His smoke colored eyes sobered. “He wasn’t disparaging your abilities. Wasn’t being overprotective.”
“Where exactly is this going?”
“It’s going right here.” She reached up to cup his jaw, was momentarily distracted by the rasp of his whiskers against her fingertips. “I trust you as an agent.” And she’d shown far more trust of him as a man hours earlier. “So I know you’ll make smart decisions. I will be seriously pissed off if you get yourself shot today.”
His smile was slow and wide and devastating. “I think I’ve already learned the dangers of pissing you off.” The kiss he pressed on her would have to last her all day. And maybe, just maybe the memory of it would keep worry about his safety at bay.
_______
“Shuang has a dozen communications here, all written in the past three months, that mention bin Osman. On all she signed her name as Sun Yanyu.” Eve was sitting in a conference room in Raiker’s computer forensics wing of his lab building. The structure was huge, with eight different laboratories and countless other examination and conference rooms. She was certain that if Macy Burke hadn’t been guiding her, she could be hopelessly lost for days before ever finding her way out of the building again.
Macy, who was Raiker’s top forensic linguist as well as Kellan Burke’s wife, had printed off the emails. Eve had them spread across the table in chronological order. “All are written in Malay.”
“So Yanyu is bilingual,” the other woman
observed.
Eve was scanning the first of the emails. “Many Chinese are able to converse in Malay and English. It is also common for Malaysian youth to be multi-lingual, as well. These emails are to five different people.” Eve picked up the documents, scanning each before setting it down to go on to the next. “A couple appear to be lining up a new supplier for more women.” The news was surprising. Malsovic had still been on site, yet these communications were dated several weeks ago. Had the two had a falling out, perhaps after the attempted kidnapping? Or was Shuang planning to get rid of the man?
Studying the remaining correspondences, she said, “There are three recipients for the rest of these, all with the same subject. She was looking for bin Osman, and apparently was unable to contact him directly.” Eve went silent for a moment as she mentally translated the rest of the text. “She was asking for contact information. And being stonewalled.” She’d had a similar reason for the last call they’d picked up on the transmitter, Eve recalled.
“But there’s no indication of why she was looking for the man.”
“Not yet.” And that was really the question burning inside Eve. She set down the document and moved on to the next. “I’ll type up the translation for each of these before I go. We know they were both in the US up to seven years ago, at the same hotel where she now resides. If bin Osman was the head of the same human trafficking operation that she was a victim of, why would she want anything to do with him now? The story she told the police at the time is that he brought her to the country under false pretenses and forced her into prostitution.” It was hard to feel sympathy for the woman since a few years later she’d done the same to other females. And from the fear with which Brina had regarded her, Shuang had been brutal. “But enduring a trauma like that can affect people differently.” Perhaps it had stripped the woman of empathy for others. And gave her the idea for how she could wield power, by transforming herself from victim to predator. “It might give her a peculiar sense of satisfaction in running the operation in the same hotel where she had been held prisoner.”
Eve read silently for several minutes, working through most of the pages quickly before she slowed, shock working through her. “This one is from Ahmed Pascal and the tone is quite combative.” She began to translate aloud. “I have mentioned your interest to Rizqi bin Osman and he has instructed me to tell you that he wishes you die a thousand deaths. If you attempt to come here and see him yourself, be assured I will personally see that you meet with the end he wishes for you.”
“Harsh words,” observed Macy. She seemed far quieter and more serious than her husband. Eve found herself wondering how the two had gotten together. “But bin Osman escaped the country and any punishment when his hotel was raided, correct?”
“That’s what Raiker said.” Eve sat back. Considered. “Of course he would have lost the hotel. His…” she made a moue of distaste… “inventory, to use a word. His livelihood. That would have been a substantial financial loss. But why would he blame Shuang for that?” She couldn’t get used to using the woman’s real name.
Her gaze returned to the sheets in front of her. “In the next one she begs Pascal to carry a message to bin Osman about a business proposition that she knows the man will want to hear.” She set the note down and slid the final one forward so she could read it. Felt herself go a bit lightheaded when she did.
“Are you all right?” Alarm showed in Macy’s expression. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What does the last one say?”
Swallowing, Eve reread the missive. The translation remained the same. “Apparently Pascal didn’t respond, because she contacted him again yesterday. ‘Tell Rizqi I found his missing son. For a half a million dollars I will deliver him, with DNA proof of their relationship.’ Feeling slightly frantic, she shuffled through the papers again, although she already knew she’d seen everything that was there. “There were two attachments to that one.” Shoving away from the table she turned toward the door. “We have to alert them in the technology lab. They have to recover those attachments.”
“All right.” A flush of excitement flagged the other woman’s cheeks as she led Eve down the maze of hallways to the lab. “But something tells me you already have an idea of what might be in them.”
“I’m hoping I’m wrong.” But even as she uttered the words she knew she wasn’t. Because Eve was already as positive that at least one attachment would be a photo of Royce Raiker.
_______
“It’d be easier to find a dime at the bottom of a mineshaft. A twig in a forest. A proverbial needle in a haystack.”
Kellan Burke’s analogies weren’t far off from the reality, Declan admitted silently. The man had been at this task longer than he had, going to apartment buildings all day, working a circular grid outward from the Latifma Hotel. Every hour they conferred with the liaison for the DCPD canvas charged with the same job. The liaison had changed two hours ago, because the officers went off shift after eight hours. For Declan and Kell, there seemed no end in sight.
“I’ve been keeping track.” They trudged up the steps of an apartment building that could have been a twin for the one Declan and Eve had stayed in, down to the non-existent security and broken lock on the front door. The faded red brick façade was in dire need of tuck-pointing repair and the cement stoop had a decided list to one side. “Wanna know how many of these shitholes I’ve visited today?”
“Not really.” Because there was nothing keeping them out, Declan pulled open the front door to walk into the dingy foyer.
“Forty-seven.” Burke crowded in behind him, probably anxious to get out of the cold. The temperatures that day had been a relatively balmy thirty degrees, but they’d dropped in the last hour.
“What part of not really did you not understand?” There was no sign to point them in the direction of the landlord. Declan figured the place had to have one, though. Somehow all these apartments got rented, proving there was never any shortage of desperate people. He went to the first door on the right, just inside the hall, figuring it was as good a place as any to start.
“We’re three miles out from the hotel. Almost exactly. That’s a ways to walk. He could take a bus, though,” Burke countered his own statement. “Probably does. But he’d catch one a few blocks from the hotel. He wouldn’t want anyone to wonder where he was going and follow him.”
Finally seeing a small doorbell that had been painted the same color as the door and jamb, Declan tried ringing it. Heard someone moving around inside. Still it was several moments before the door pulled open a crack, with one bifocaled eye pressed against the opening. “Come back during day.”
“We just want to ask you a question, ma’am,” Declan said smoothly, reaching into his pocket for the photo of Malsovic they’d been showing all day. He unfolded it, held close to the door. “Are you the landlord? We’re looking for this man.”
He saw the fear that flashed in her gaze. “No. Do not know him.” The door shut quickly.
The two men looked at each other. In silent agreement, Declan pounded on the door again. “Ma’am, we’d like to ask you a couple questions.”
“Go away!” The woman’s tone was fierce. “I will call police!”
“ We will call the police,” Kellan put in. “And you can answer their questions instead. But we’re not leaving until you open that door.”
“What are you doing, harassing my mother?” A middle-aged stocky man pushed through the front door, a scowl on his face, which was reddened from the cold. “Get the hell out of here before I kick both your asses.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Declan invited politely. A serious brawl might be just the thing to wear off this edge of irritation that had increased with each place they’d failed to find Malsovic. “But if your mother is the landlord, we need to talk to her about someone. She said she didn’t know this man.” He held out the pi
cture again. “I think she’s lying.”
The truculence fading from his expression, the newcomer reached out and took the photo. “Yeah, she knows him. Sergei Peterol. Son of a bitch. Been here years, since before we ever took this job. I’m the landlord,” he admitted. “She takes the calls all day. Collects the rent. I take care of the repairs after work.” From the looks of the place the repairs the man did were few and far between. Coolly he looked them both up and down. “You cops?”
“Working with cops.” Kellan had already turned half away to text the DCPD liaison. “Do you know if this man is here now?”
As answer, the newcomer reached out and hammered on his mother’s door. “Nene!” He released a spate of words in a foreign tongue that had Declan wishing Eve were here for translation. The older woman opened the door again, shouted back at him in the same language. They argued. Whatever the woman was saying, she was quite emphatic. After several moments of squabbling the man threw up his hands and turned to them as the woman slammed the door again. “She is frightened of Peterol. I am not. He is a common thug. A criminal probably. But she worries if we talk about him he will take vengeance.”
“The cops will be here within the hour with a warrant,” Kell put in. Declan hoped like hell the man was right. He knew warrants could take far longer. “Peterol is wanted for questioning in two attempted murder charges. You don’t want to get in the middle of that.”
Apparently Burke was right. “Room 406. He isn’t here often. Sometimes we don’t see him for weeks at a time. But he was here last night, with a friend. I don’t know if he is at home now. You can go see. If not, when you have a warrant, I am across the hall. Michael Vrioni.” He brushed past them to go to his apartment. Unlocked it and went inside.
Declan and Kell looked at each other. Then without a word they headed for the stairs. The building seemed to grow shabbier with each floor they passed. When they reached 406, Declan pressed an ear against the door. Heard nothing. He banged on it, already knowing the place was empty. Without a word they fanned out to the doors flanking Malsovic’s, and knocked. It was Kell who hit pay dirt.
