by Vella Day
Mac started the engine and let it run. When Sam had first seen the dockside tape of her looking into each of the warehouse windows, and then ran her profile, he’d found her arrest record. If she’d been them, she would have wanted to keep an eye on her, especially if she was at the site of Cheryl’s abduction. Mac shivered at the thought of what Cheryl was going through right now, but she couldn’t dwell on it, or she’d never get anything done.
Just look.
To put the troubling thought to rest, she climbed out, walked to the back of her car, and ran her hand under the bumper.
“Fuck.”
She ripped off the tiny device, and was about to stomp on it, when she got a brilliant idea. If the men believed she was safe and sound inside their house, they probably wouldn’t come home to check on her. For now, she’d place the device under the cushion on the porch chair. If she went some place innocuous, she’d take it with her. Simple. The men would never catch on.
In case one of them happened to be driving toward the house as she was leaving, she’d filled out a shopping list to show them. Having an explanation why she was out would go a long way to soothing those two beasts. Luck was with her, and she made it to town without spotting either man.
First stop was Carl Hampton’s estate. Because he worked from home as a day trader, she had no plans to stomp around the outside of his house and look in the windows. She’d be caught for sure. Her plan was merely to snap a few pictures of his movements, as well as those of the surrounding neighborhood in case she needed to return at a later time.
If only she understood human trafficking better, she’d feel more confident about her search. It also would have helped if she’d known whether someone like Carl treated a woman like a commodity—that is, something to trade—or would he store his newly acquired possession someplace to use when his wife wasn’t satisfying him? If that were true, he’d need a second location, making Cheryl that much harder to find. To make matters worse, all this speculation was predicated on the assumption that all ten men still had the women they’d purchased. A sharp pain ran down her arm. Christ. She rubbed the ache and inhaled deeply.
The more she thought about the huge task in front of her, the faster Mac’s heart sank. Despite the tall hurdles, she was determined to succeed. Once or twice she’d contemplated asking the men to help, but the past had proven that too many hands messed things up.
As she neared Hampton’s home, the image of a tied up and gagged woman surfaced. Would he drag her out just to use and abuse her? Or would he care for his expensive investment? What confused Mac was why buy a woman instead of hiring a hooker when his urges got the best of him? Damn. All these ideas disturbed her more than she cared to admit.
She finally reached Carl Hampton’s neighborhood. He lived across town, on the northwest edge of Gulfside. If the huge mansions were any indication, it was where all the rich people resided.
Despite the wonders of the glorious, balmy day, bright sunlight wasn’t always the best for taking pictures. The glare could kill a shot, not to mention the backlighting would silhouette a person to the point of making them unidentifiable. But Mac was not deterred. If she spotted the man, she’d take her chances and hope for the best.
From her research, the wife didn’t work. Given it was close to Christmas, no telling if the kids were out for vacation or not. While Carl Hampton might be rich, she couldn’t imagine a wife putting up with a man who brought home another woman—especially if he’d purchased her. Then again, there was a lot of kinky shit happening these days.
Mac drove around the neighborhood, amazed at the opulence. Almost everyone had some kind of gate in front of his house, making getting close impossible. Damn. She’d have to go to plan B, which was to take a walk in the hope someone would leave the Hampton compound. If she was near, and the gate slow, she might be able to sneak in without anyone noticing. If she did get caught she could say she was a professional photographer, specializing in family photos taken at the person’s house. People ate that shit up.
For the next hour, she walked up and down the street, but never once did Carl Hampton’s gate open. Christ. How did he stand staying cooped up inside all day? She’d have gone stir crazy.
By the time three p.m. rolled around, she was hot, tired, and her feet hurt. If only she’d been able to shift, she would have leapt over the damn shrubs. Perhaps she should swallow her pride and ask Sam and Brandon to get close to this guy. She might have to move on to someone else.
Since she hadn’t even eaten lunch, she hiked back to her car, and drove home. Luckily, neither man was there. She promptly fixed a sandwich and went back to doing more research. There had to be something that would help her find out whether this man had Cheryl. Evil men often came from troubled pasts.
Mac started with recent news stories and worked her way backward. Finally, under the crime section in a paper from thirty years ago, an article mentioned a teenager who claimed Carl Hampton had raped her behind the school bleachers after a football game.
Mac dug deeper but found nothing more about the trial, or if he was sent to juvenile detention. When she did the math, she realized Carl would have been seventeen at the time. She speculated that with his family money, his records had been sealed. But did it matter? Mac could contact his accuser. Mary Whitmore would be about forty-seven. Even if the woman lived in town, what good would it do to dredge up the past? The fact Carl Hampton had purchased a woman implied he was scum, which was all Mac needed to be convinced that he was low enough to not only be a Colter, but to buy a woman from one.
Mac was not ready to give up though. There had to be more. For the next two hours, she dug into Hampton’s family members. She learned where his wife got her nails done, which school the kids went to, and where he had his car detailed. From Sam, she’d already learned that Carl’s parents were dead, and that he and his brother had inherited the fortune. While there were bad apples in families, she suspected the brother might be cut from the same cloth.
Because she didn’t have time to scope out the next man on the list before one of her men returned home, she did a quick check on brother Bill. To her surprise, he’d been in a car accident two years ago, leaving him a quadriplegic. The chances of him having Cheryl were slim, so she decided to come back to him later if all else failed.
Happy with her progress for the day, she took a break and went grocery shopping, figuring the men would probably appreciate a home-cooked meal. She envisioned all of them discussing the case, and then having mind-boggling sex.
Chapter Sixteen
Mac was smiling when she woke up the next morning. Who knew her men would be so excited to have her make them spaghetti and meatballs? Sam, in particular, had been highly complimentary. As happy as she was to hear she was a good cook, she was more thrilled to see him so content.
The big upside to last night had been the incredible sex. The downside was the lack of sharing between the men and her. They claimed they were busy at work and hadn’t had time to do their Pack stuff. Mac didn’t buy it. Sam and Brandon were too driven to let their jobs get in the way of searching for Cheryl. When she’d asked them which of the ten men they were targeting, they wouldn’t tell her. Sam said she’d just end up sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. Damn men. From the way Sam kept watching her all night, she suspected he feared she’d get into trouble.
She’d just have to show them that she could get the job done as well as they could—if not better.
Once the men went off to “work,” she moved on to man number two—Roger Medlock. During their one and only sharing time, Brandon had told her about the man’s high-living lifestyle. If he’d made millions with his online game, it made sense he might not think anything of buying a beautiful woman. Fucker.
Mac made sure to replace the tracking device under the porch chair before heading out. Medlock, like Carl Hampton, lived northwest of town. When she arrived, she was pleasantly surprised to find the man’s estate wasn’t gated. Perhaps he w
as arrogant enough to believe his security system was infallible. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had a few werewolf bodyguards instead of using an electronic service. She preferred the latter. She could get around wires a lot better than wolves.
The one-story brick façade looked very much like a medieval castle, complete with two armored guard statues holding spears standing by the front door. All that was missing was the moat. Given his video games were about knights, the home fit him. In front of the house, at the end of a circular drive, sat a large fountain. She’d really have to give some thought as to how to get close without being seen. He didn’t seem to be a big fan of trees, and there wasn’t much to shield her from view.
Not wanting to look obvious, Mac drove down the block and spotted a more modest home that was for sale. An idea sprung up. She parked, called the name on the sign, and waited for the real estate agent to answer. As soon as Mac explained she was interested in purchasing the exclusive home, the agent said she could meet up with Mac within the hour. That worked for her.
In the meantime, Mac slung her camera over her neck, and began canvasing the neighborhood, taking tons of shots. If anyone asked what she was doing, she’d tell him the truth—she was waiting for the realtor.
Less than thirty minutes later, a woman in her fifties pulled into the drive. Mac strode toward her as the realtor eased out of her BMW with a clipboard in hand.
“Ms. Atkins?” the realtor asked, extending her hand.
“Yes.” Mrs. Atkins was Mac’s eighth grade English teacher. It was the first name that popped into her head. It wouldn’t do to use her real name. She could only imagine what Sam and Brandon would say if they found out she’d gone there.
“I’m Mary Walters. Tell me what you’re looking for in a house.”
If Roger Medlock had a lot of parties, Mac bet there’d be noise in the neighborhood. That was the angle she wanted to leverage. “I’m actually looking at the home for my parents. They live up north, so they asked me to take a look at the place.”
“Perfect.” The woman led her up the stairs to the front door.
Mac’s dad wouldn’t have been caught dead living in a place so opulent. He’d been a frugal man who believed in saving resources. “While I was waiting for you, I ran into a woman who told me that one of the neighbors often had parties that were quite loud. Have you heard anything about that?” Mac was pleased with the lie. It had rolled off her tongue.
“You mean Mr. Medlock in the castle house?”
Excitement sliced through her. “Yes. What can you tell me about him? Is he nice? My folks are very picky about their neighbors, if you know what I mean.” Mac didn’t even know what she meant, but it sounded good.
“He’s an upstanding citizen. In fact, he’s planning to run for the State senate. Can’t get better than that!”
Mac wasn’t sure what to make of that turn of events. If Medlock was indeed a werewolf, and his constituency ever found out, the entire nation would be shocked. Given he was evil, she feared for the good folks of Florida. No telling what legislation he’d try to get passed.
For the next twenty minutes, Mac followed the realtor from room to room. There was nothing about the house that appealed to her, but she kept smiling and taking photos. “I’m sure my folks will love it.”
Once back outside, they shook hands. Mac told her she wanted to walk about the neighborhood, but that she’d be in touch. Lying went against her grain, but it was for a good cause. She just hoped the ends justified the means.
Just as Mac was ready to pack it up and call it a day, a woman who lived across the street from Roger Medlock came out from her home with a small mutt by her side. She looked to be in her twenties, slim, and coifed to the hilt—the typical trophy wife.
Mac headed back to the house for sale, taking pictures along the way in the hopes Mrs. Trophy Wife would walk on by. Sure enough, she trotted across the street, the little dog panting to keep up.
“You interested in the Carlyle place?” the neighbor asked.
Mac stepped over to the woman with the cute-as-sin dog. “Possibly. I’m looking for my parents, but from what I’ve heard, Mr. Medlock, in the castle house, has some really loud parties. What’s your opinion of the guy?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Loud is an understatement. Valet parks the guest cars everywhere. Pisses off everyone. It would be a lot more tolerable if Medlock invited the neighbors.”
That didn’t answer her question directly, but it gave Mac a nice segue. She drew her brows together to show her support. “I’m surprised he’d want to upset anyone. I heard he’s running for State senate.”
“Pu-lease. He wishes. He ran for mayor a few years back and got, like, five percent of the votes. He spends too much money. He’d be a disaster in the government—or perfect for it.” She laughed.
Mac liked that the woman seemed to love gossip. “Have you ever been inside? I wonder if the interior walls are all stone, like a real castle.”
“I haven’t, but my girlfriend has.”
Mac’s pulse raced. “So she’s met the potential politician?”
The dog lifted his leg and peed on the grass before sprawling out next to his owner, seemingly content. Mac loved dogs, especially cute little puppies. It was her one weakness. She squatted next to the fluffy fur ball and petted him.
“That’s Pepi. Oh, and I’m Darla, by the way.” Mac stood, loving all the news she was getting—legally.
They shook hands. “Hannah.” Mac hoped her aunt wouldn’t mind if she stole her name.
“To answer your question, Marina has met the future senator.” She waved a hand. “I do love Marina, but she’s a gold digger. I told her Roger wasn’t worth her time, but did she listen? No.”
“What happened?”
“Hold on.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and swiped her finger across the screen. “You’ve got to see what Marina looks like in order to appreciate this.” Darla held up a picture of the two of them. While she was attractive, Marina could be a movie star—very tall with long, blonde hair, huge wide-set eyes, and lips that looked like they’d been injected with Botox.
“She’s gorgeous.”
“She is. She’s also smart—a lawyer, no less. But after one month of dating, including numerous evening cruises on Medlock’s yacht, they hadn’t done the deed.”
Mac wanted to be sure she understood. “Because she didn’t like him?” If that were the case, why date the man?
“Oh, it wasn’t from lack of trying on her part. Trust me. Marina told me she stripped for him, teased him mercilessly, and everything you could imagine. Roger said he wanted to wait until marriage.” Darla rolled her eyes. “That’s bullshit if you ask me.”
A bit of disappointment at the dead end rushed through her. “Do you think he’s interested in men?”
Darla shrugged. “Beats me. But after Marina dumped him, she told me Roger went through two more women. From what Marina said, he gets all hot and bothered, and loves kissing, but that’s it.”
“You said Marina is a lawyer. What kind? Maybe he was put off by her intelligence.”
“She deals in adoptions. Is a partner in a firm, too. But Medlock’s quite the genius boy from what I’ve heard.”
Mac believed she’d found out everything she could from this woman. “I can’t thank you enough. I’ll be sure to give the gossip to my folks.”
Mac had an idea what might be going on and couldn’t wait to investigate.
* * *
It was getting close to dinner and Brandon couldn’t wait to get home to Mackenzie. All day, he’d missed her. As he was heading there, Sam called and said their presence was requested back at headquarters to meet Trax and Dante ASAP. Apparently, they had a copy of the security system for Roger Medlock’s house, something he and Sam would need.
Brandon hooked a U-turn and headed to town. At their last meeting, the General made it very clear that each team needed to make sure one of the purchased women was at the house before
storming it. Having the blueprints would help to get into and out of the house without Medlock’s knowledge.
When Brandon arrived at headquarters, Sam was already with the Field brothers. Brandon went to the conference room and pulled up a chair. “Hey.”
Trax unfolded a paper copy of the alarm system. “This is the most secure system we’ve ever installed. Not only are the doors alarmed with a silent alarm, the windows are, too. Even if someone knocks on the window, a signal is sent to the security house in back. From what Medlock told us, he planned on stocking it with three shifters, each of whom would have an attack dog.”
“Fuck me,” Sam said. “What’s at his house? Fort Knox?”
Trax shrugged. “Apparently, something important. Maybe it’s his computer game system. Who knows?” He tapped one section of the design. “This is what you both need to understand. If you do manage to get in, you can’t get out without the code. And we don’t have that. Medlock types in a new one whenever he sees fit. The doors automatically lock from the outside.”
“Shit. There’s got to be some weakness we can exploit,” Sam said.
“There is. It’s the locks themselves. We don’t make those. You might be able to pick the lock from the outside, but once inside, a deadbolt slides shut, making getting out impossible.”
Dante nodded. “I’m guessing he’s intent on catching the intruders?”
“Rather diabolical, don’t you think?” Brandon said.
“Quite.”
Roger Medlock was an interesting man. “Has he had any break-ins?”
Dante shook his head. “Not that we know of, so he’s had no reason to contact us. If someone did try to break in, all Medlock needs to do, is reset the alarm. We should never be needed unless the system fails—which it won’t.”
Brandon shifted his gaze between Trax and Dante. “Did either of you personally install the system?”
“I did,” Trax said. “I’ve met the guy—a very rich one at that—given the amount of money he paid. That was why I wanted to do the install myself.”
