Quicksilver

by Elise Noble

  “You don’t understand. I need this job.”

  “Why?”

  Now Leandro pushed away from the closet and put one knee on the bed, leaning over to whisper harshly in my ear.

  “Because I’m a fucking FBI agent working undercover, that’s why.”

  CHAPTER 32 - CORA

  LEANDRO SOUNDED ANGRY, but when he sat on the bed again, shoulders slumped, his posture spoke of defeat. Meanwhile, my brain was still trying to catch up.

  “You’re an FBI agent?”

  “That message to your brother might just have blown our entire operation.”

  Joder. Leandro was undercover? Suddenly, a lot of his behaviour made sense. The way he never touched me or any of the other girls. The attempt to get rid of me at the warehouse. His general caginess about the past. But one great big thing made no sense at all.

  “Wait. You work for a law enforcement agency, and you and your colleagues stand by and watch while women get raped and murdered?”

  “That isn’t my choice,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m as trapped in this nightmare as you are.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. You can just walk out.”

  “But I can’t. Even if we arrest Radcliffe and everyone else in this place, there are others like it and we don’t yet know where they are. If you and I go tomorrow, we can find one more.”

  “Why can’t you simply arrest Radcliffe and interrogate him?”

  “Because the last time we tried that, the guy killed himself rather than talk to us. His computer was encrypted, and the moment we tried to get into it, we tripped a switch and all the data got permanently wiped.” He sighed. “Like you said, it’s a long story, and I wish I’d never taken this fucking job.”

  “I’m kind of glad you did.”

  “Watching you get abused every night is tearing me apart.” His lopsided smile flickered back for a second. “In case you haven’t noticed, I like you a little more than I should. I wanted to rip Chad’s head off earlier, but that wouldn’t have gone down too well with my boss. My real boss.”

  Leandro liked me? “I’m not sure what to say to that.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. In here, I’m the asshole who stands by while bad shit happens to you, and if we met anywhere else, you’d be way out of my league anyway.” Another sigh. “But here we are, and now we’ve got a big problem to solve.”

  Yes, we did. Fully processing Leandro’s confession would have to wait.

  “When I got into this, I thought I had my eyes open, but this is worse than I ever imagined it would be. Not just the men forcing themselves on me night after night, but having to live with myself afterwards.”

  “What do you mean, worse than you thought it would be?”

  “I got kidnapped on purpose.”

  His gaze snapped to mine, incredulous.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds crazy. But the same man who sold me also took my best friend first, and I followed so we could find her and get her back.”

  “‘We’? You and your brother?”

  “Yes. I wore a tracking bracelet, but then the plan fell apart at the warehouse and I lost it. So he’s out there, trying to find me, and I want to go home, but I also want to find Izzy, and if I don’t, then everything I’ve been through will have been utterly pointless.”

  “Izzy? Isabella?”

  “Yes.”

  “She was at the warehouse.”

  “And she came here—Hallie told me—but I don’t know where she went after that. How did she look when you saw her?”

  “Fragile. Quiet. She wasn’t holding up as well as you.”

  “Of course she was quiet. You put drugs in our water.”

  “Drugs? No, we didn’t.”

  “Not in the bottles? They did on the boat. The first time I drank it, I almost passed out, so I started drinking from the tap in the bathroom, and in the warehouse, I drank from the toilet cistern.”

  “I’m sorry.” He gripped my hand so tightly it was almost painful, but I squeezed back anyway because his stricken expression made my heart stutter. “I’m so, so sorry. At first, I tried to block out what was happening to the girls, but then you came along, and all the lies I’d told myself didn’t work anymore. After Kelsie died, I spoke to the agent in charge and begged him to act because this job has gone beyond fucked-up, but he won’t until we can bring down the guy at the top. If I walk out, everything I’ve done so far is wasted. And if my cover gets blown, then not only is my life at stake, but the guy who recommended me for the position’s in grave danger too.”

  “Your uncle?”

  “He’s not really my uncle. He’s undercover in the Mafia.”

  “So what you’re saying is that we’re screwed.”

  “In a nutshell? Yeah.”

  “Who’s the man at the top?”

  “Shit. This is supposed to be classified.”

  “Surely I’ve earned the right to know? And besides, who am I going to tell?”

  Leandro shifted so he was lying alongside me, not touching anything apart from my hand, but close enough that he could lower his voice to almost a whisper.

  “Nobody knows his real name, but we call him The Banker. Think of him as the Goldman Sachs of money laundering. The crème de la crème. He takes the proceeds of crime and cleans it, hides it, and invests it in return for a cut.”

  “How do we fit in? The girls?”

  “A reward for his associates. Most of your clients have been bankers, investment managers, realtors—they all help with the process. And we think he dabbles himself as a sick sort of hobby.”

  “You mean he could have been here and we didn’t even know?”

  “Yeah. We’ve only got a couple of old photos of him, and we think he’s changed a lot since then. Most likely plastic surgery. Truth is, everyone thought he was dead for years.”

  “How did you find out he was alive?”

  “Pure dumb luck. A phone intercept on an unrelated case. The guy’s a mathematical genius, he knows the world’s financial markets inside out, and the money he moves around helps to finance crime and terrorism on every continent. A task force of thirty agents has been working on this around the clock for two years, and so far, I’m the only one who’s managed to get inside. I’m sorry I got mad at you, but now do you see why I was so upset?”

  “And I’m sorry I messed up your case, but I get raped five nights out of seven. Now do you see why I texted my grandma?”

  A long, heavy silence fell in the tiny gap between us.

  Yes, I understood now that there was a serious problem, but the so-called task force had let this abuse continue for two years. Two years.

  After what seemed like forever, Leandro spoke.

  “I’ll speak to Radcliffe in the morning. See if there’s any way you can stay. Maybe there’ll be some way I can go to the other house later on.”

  “Why has it taken so long? Finding The Banker, I mean?”

  “Honestly? Because the Special Agent in Charge is a self-centred prick. He doesn’t trust anyone, probably because he’s a backstabbing asshole himself, so he vetoes anything risky. And by risky, I mean anything that might jeopardise his promotion.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ve worked for Radcliffe for seven months now, mostly at the warehouse but sometimes here. First, I wanted to try and turn Hallie, because I bet she’s learned a lot since she came, but Childs said no way.”

  “Childs?”

  “The SAC.”

  “If you thought it would work, couldn’t you have gone ahead and done it anyway?”

  Leandro scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Six months ago, I thought I’d be a career agent, and I was scared of getting a disciplinary. Childs doesn’t take too kindly to people going rogue.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, I just want to find this fucker, then get a job delivering pizza. I hoped going to this new place would be a breakthrough. Radcliffe’s got to have records on his computer, but
he’s paranoid about security and I haven’t been able to get near it. The next head honcho might be different.”

  “What if we went to the new place? Would you take risks or play it safe?”

  “You’ll go?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I’d take calculated risks, but not stupid ones.”

  “I want Izzy back, I want all the other girls set free, and I want The Banker’s cocktail wiener impaled on an ice pick.”

  “The last part might be tricky.”

  “I’ll settle for a bamboo skewer.”

  “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  Could I really do it? Forego rescue for weeks and possibly months of hell at the mercy of an unknown overlord with only an FBI agent I barely knew to keep me safe? I felt sick at the prospect, but then I thought of Izzy and what might be happening to her and knew I had little choice.

  “We’d have to send another message to my brother. Maybe he could help?”

  “Yes, we need to send him a message, but he’s on the run from the police after his stunt at the precinct. He tried to stab a consultant psychologist in the neck with a fountain pen. If he accidentally leads the cops to us, that could jeopardise everything like it did at the warehouse. Your brother needs to lie low until this is over, then get his ass back to Colombia somehow.”

  “Can’t he just explain that he was only trying to help?”

  “One of the guys they found dead in the warehouse? He didn’t die in the fire. Someone cut his throat, and your brother had the murder weapon in his pocket.”

  “But he wouldn’t…” I started before realising that he would. New Rafe, the man I’d met right before we began this crazy crusade, wasn’t the brother I’d grown up with. New Rafe could kill a man, and New Grandma probably gave him the damn knife.

  “If he’s innocent, we can clear his name later,” Leandro said gently. “But if we’re going to do this, we can’t afford complications.”

  “Okay, so I’ll tell him to back off.” Mierda. I was going to do this, wasn’t I? “Leandro, I’m scared.”

  “Leander.”

  “Huh?”

  “Leander. My real name’s Leander, not Leandro. Leander Arden.”

  I held out a hand. “Corazon da Silva.”

  Rather than shaking my hand, he brought it to his lips in an oddly sweet gesture.

  “Corazon… That’s a pretty name.” I got a shy smile too. “My friends call me Lee, but nobody in here does.”

  “Everyone calls me Cora.” There was a beat of awkward silence, and I cleared my throat. “So, now that I know your secrets and you know mine, what happens next?”

  “We need to get some sleep.”

  “Can we message my brother first?”

  “There’s no signal down here, and Radcliffe told me to stay in the basement with you. When I went to the kitchen to get your ice, he was roaming the hallways.”

  “What about in the morning?”

  Even Rafe couldn’t act instantaneously. Waiting for a few hours wouldn’t change things.

  “As soon as we get a clear moment.” Leandro—Leander—cupped my cheek in one hand. “Get some rest, Cora. We’ll need our strength tomorrow.”

  “I need to use the bathroom first. Do you have a spare toothbrush?”

  “In my toiletry kit—help yourself.”

  I only took five minutes to clean up, but when I got back into the bedroom, Leandro had fallen asleep on the bed, his mouth slightly open and eyelids twitching as he dreamed. I didn’t want to wake him. My first thought was to sleep on the floor myself, but after a moment’s consideration, I crawled up the bed and lay next to him. Why? Because no matter how unhealthy it may have been, I kind of liked him too.

  CHAPTER 33 - BLACK

  “RED, READY?” BLACK asked over the radio, using Nate’s code name.

  The team wore casual clothes—sportswear and jeans—but now they pulled masks down over their faces.

  “Ready.”

  “Valkyrie, ready?”

  “Pronto,” Emmy replied, speaking Italian because they planned to blame today’s escapade on the Mafia.

  While the initial investigation had progressed slowly then stalled, when Corazon sent her message, things moved fast. By two o’clock in the morning, they had a list of sixteen potential properties to check. Emmy had taken the target house, jogging past a little after daybreak with Rafael’s dog in tow. At that point, they’d gotten their second lucky break—the black SUV spotted driving away from the warehouse was parked outside the double garage, complete with the Orlando plate.

  They say disasters happen in threes, but it seemed Lady Luck had adopted that tradition too. Their third break came when Justicia paused outside the house opposite to take a shit, and Emmy’s camera recorded a station wagon turning into the driveway. The feed came through in real time to their mobile command centre. Although compact, the customised panel van was fitted out with surveillance equipment, seats, and enough weapons to start—and finish—a small war, and from the outside, badged up with the logo of a non-existent furniture delivery company. They’d parked half a mile down the road, and their driver, Cruz, was in the front, dressed in civvies and pretending to nap.

  And Alaric, never a morning person, had miraculously dragged himself out of bed and joined the team in the back, as if there wasn’t enough testosterone in there already.

  He choked out a laugh as he watched the footage. “Fuck me, it’s shift change.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Black asked.

  Alaric pointed at the driver’s head. “I recognise that guy. He’s FBI. And it’s five to six, which means they’ve got the six a.m. to two p.m. shift.”

  “Surveillance?”

  “Well, he can’t afford that mansion on the pittance the Bureau pays.”

  So the FBI was watching the house. Why? And, more importantly, did they know a kidnap victim was being held there?

  Those were both questions that could be answered later. Right now, their priority was to get inside and get Cora out in case the gang decided to move her again. The message she’d sent was short, urgent, and undoubtedly written by someone under pressure. At least she’d kept a cool head. Da Silva genetics at work?

  Emmy climbed back into the van ten minutes later, barely having broken a sweat. Rafael petted his dog for a moment, and then Justicia curled up under his seat as the team convened in the back. With space at a premium, Emmy sat on Black’s lap. Alaric jokingly offered up his lap to Ana, and she gave him a glare that would have stopped a lesser man’s heart.

  “What’s next?” he asked.

  Since he knew the area better than anyone, they’d brought him along to assist with the logistics, but he’d stay in the van. Alaric could hold his own in a fight, but his specialty was destroying people with information, not bullets. Black checked his weapons again. Yes, all present and correct.

  “Next, we send in Rosie.”

  “Rosie? You’ve got another girl that I haven’t met yet?”

  “Rosie’s a remote-controlled cockroach,” Emmy explained. “Nate flies her.”

  “A cockroach?”

  “You’d be perfect for each other,” Black muttered.

  By eight o’clock, they’d peered in every window of the hideous pink mansion and done a recon of the visible security. A guard in a hut by the gate. Cameras on every corner, although there were gaps in the motion arcs if you knew where to look for them. The house had bars on some of the windows too, although they seemed to be in place to keep people in rather than out. The women. They’d spotted five in the third-floor bedrooms, although worryingly, none of them were Cora. The second-floor bedrooms, more ornate and without the bars, were all empty, and downstairs, guards appeared from a basement as the house gradually came to life. Seven of them, and one had a black eye and a split lip. The only other person in the house was an older woman who looked like a housekeeper or maid.

  At a quarter past eight, a grey-haired
man, in his mid-fifties at a guess, arrived in a top-of-the-range Mercedes and walked into the house carrying two bags—a gym kit and a laptop. The boss, judging by the way he ordered the guards around. He appeared particularly unimpressed with the black-eyed asshole.

  “Where’s Cora?” Rafael asked, voicing the question on everyone’s mind.

  “I don’t know, but I guarantee somebody in that house does.”

  The setup screamed high-class brothel, and the bars on the windows said none of the girls were there voluntarily, not just Cora. Black feared some sort of altercation had taken place last night after Cora sent her message—the injured guard backed that up—and Cora had been hurt. They needed to find her, and they had no time to waste.

  “I vote we go in today rather than waiting for dawn tomorrow.”

  Dawn was always a good time to break into places—people were still half-asleep, but there was enough light that you didn’t trip over the furniture.

  Emmy shrugged. “You know I always like a challenge. We’ll come along the beach and over the back wall?”

  “Yes. Three couples strolling along by the sea won’t arouse much suspicion.” And a ten-foot wall was nothing to Team Blackwood, even with spikes on top. “When we get to the house, Nate and Carmen will stick together, you can team up with Ana, and I’ll go with Rafael.”

  Carmen had arrived yesterday, a flying visit on her way back from Mexico, and when the possibility of some action came up, she’d stuck around to help. Given the choice, Black would have preferred to pair up with his wife or Nate, his usual partners in crime, but Ana didn’t play nicely with anyone except Emmy, and Black wanted to assess his nephew’s performance. Or rather, stop him if he tried to do anything stupid. Ideally, he’d have left Rafael back at their beachside base, but Black recognised a lot of himself in the younger man, and no way would he have stayed put if his sister’s life were at stake. A quiet chat with his mother had confirmed that suspicion. So, like it or not, Rafael was on the team.