Bend, Don't Break

by Skye Callahan

  “Kirk?” I heard a woman’s voice beside me. She’d snuck up while I was watching a pair of officers lead a man into one of the rooms.

  Fuck.

  I steeled my features before I turned my head. I drew my gaze from the top of her head where her long black hair was twisted up in a messy bun except for the long bangs that fell over her face, and down to her sneaker-clad feet. She was dressed in casual street clothes—nothing like I’d ever seen her in before—loose fitting jeans and a black tank top, that hung from her small frame. I lifted my eyes back to her face before speaking. “Raini.”

  “I—no one has—” her bangs fell, shielding her face from my view.

  I glanced around the room, searching for Trent.

  Raini kept her head lowered just enough to avoid my direct gaze. “So, the rumors were true—about you being the narc.”

  “What makes you say that?” I asked, praying that no one walked over and identified me as a cop. Or maybe that would have been better, since I hated putting on the façade again, but I had no idea who she was in contact with.

  Although it obviously wasn’t the group who thought I was dead.

  “Nothing,” she backed away, head down, but still looking in my direction. “Sorry, Sir.”

  Sir. I felt like someone had kicked me in the balls. She’d been free from the control of Ross and the Retreat for over a month. I wasn’t sure if it was simply that they were still too broken to heal in that time, or if it was merely my presence that sent her reeling.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Got dragged in. I um—I....”

  “Kirk,” Trent said the name so loudly, I almost plowed through the wall. “I told you to wait—” he grabbed my arm and jerked me into one of the empty interview rooms slamming the door behind him.

  “She snuck up on me,” I whispered.

  Trent threw the file on the table and loosened his tie. “She said someone from the escort service approached her, but the friend she was having lunch with was interested and took the job a week ago, then disappeared two nights ago.”

  It sounded like he had it all under control. “What do you need me for?”

  “You’re my partner. You know—the guy who gives me information and bounces ideas with me.”

  “Didn’t know you missed me so much.” I peeked through a break in the blinds toward the room where I’d run into Raini.

  About three months after I’d gone under, Milo had transferred her to our retreat. She was little more than skin and bone, but her frail condition didn’t stop Ross from putting her through the ringer. I didn’t think she’d make it through the first week so Miles and I conspired to get her away from Ross for a few days, and he finally lost interest.

  The man was like a squirrel, collecting so many nuts he eventually forgot where most of them were buried. His idyllic life of riches and excess ended up squandered more often than he realized.

  Trent stepped up beside me. “This whole thing is already turning into a shit storm. There’s talk going around about none of the girls that we freed being taken care of. They say they’re being forced back into the same way of life because they don’t have options. Today, Richards decided to crack down on all of the known prostitutes and pimps in response to everything—I didn’t get pulled in until Raini came in.”

  “Politics,” I mumbled. Sex slaves or not, they were used to being provided with food, clothing, and all living arrangements. Now they were being expected to provide all such amenities for themselves. They had options now and they had made their choices—opting for what they knew, rather than working dead end jobs and barely making ends meet.

  This was a world they knew little about, except how to use their bodies to get what they wanted.

  “It’s not like I can get too involved, she still believes I’m Kirk.”

  “And we’re keeping it that way for the time being.”

  I shook my head and dropped into the chair. “So, Raini’s friend, she wasn’t connected to the Retreat?”

  “Elizabeth Watkins.” He slid a photo across the table—a skinny blonde girl smiled up from it, looking straight at the camera. The picture had been taken near a wooden lodge. I didn’t recognize the girl, but the lodge did look familiar. “Wait, was she in A.A.?”

  The cabin was frequently used by the local group who liked to arrange meetings and small retreats in hopes that giving the participants something to do would help them in recovery.

  “Her parents didn’t mention it.” Trent took the photograph back and squinted at the background. “You must’ve gone up there more than me.”

  Not entirely by choice. I’d gone with my ex-girlfriend to some of her meetings. When she was sober, she was one of the nicest people you could meet, but after a few drinks, she may as well have sprouted talons. As the drinking increased, I told her if she didn’t stop we were done, and she had put in an effort for about a month. Until a wild bachelorette party for one of her friends and her subsequent arrest for drunk and disorderly and resisting arrest. That’s when she started A.A. and I agreed to go with her—not because I thought we could work it out, but because I was afraid that without some kind of support system she’d end up killing someone.

  That wasn’t how she took it, and the next time I shut down her flirting, she ended up in trouble with the law again. I walked away after that one, and we didn’t speak again.

  “Think your ex still goes to the meetings?” Trent asked.

  “I wouldn’t count on it, and anyone else in the group is going to be tight-lipped about any of the members.”

  From the hallway, another detective tapped on the glass and motioned toward Trent.

  Trent stood and gathered the files. “Won’t hurt to try though. Raini’s going to be talking to a sketch artist, so I’m coordinating with Detective Winsor to talk with her. You should lay low in here for a few.”

  My heel tapped against the floor in a steady rhythm. It was happening again. We’d taken down part of one large organization and only left the vacuum to be filled by another.

  I sat back in the chair, fiddling with my phone to distract myself.

  As I sent a quick message to Rose, asking what she’d want for dinner, the door flung open. “I—oh,” the officer said squinting in recognition. “You’re the guy who was wondering the sidewalks in the middle of the night over on the west side a while back.”

  “One and only. If you need this room—“ I wasn’t sure where else to go, but I’d gladly give up my cell.

  “No, it’s just chaos out here and Richards sent me around to check everyone who’s waiting. Why are you in here alone?”

  “Because Trent’s questioning a girl who only knows me as a leader in an underground sex trafficking ring.” Most people in the office knew enough about where I’d been, and as long as they kept quiet about it, I’d made it a point not to bring it up myself, but I wasn’t in a mood to hide my blunt annoyance.

  His eyes widened. “You’re that guy.”

  My lips twisted together at the sour taste that putrefied in my mouth. And then I regretted the bluntness.

  “I didn’t mean anything bad by it.”

  “There isn’t really anything good to it—especially considering the current circumstances.”

  The officer put up his hands, and I squinted at his name badge, Ryan Corell. He hadn’t been in the department when I left, but he didn’t entirely strike me as a recent rookie either. He was wide chested and had his light hair trimmed close to his head. “Captain sent us on a major campaign late this afternoon. No one is going to like us tomorrow.”

  “I heard. Fortunately for me, there’s no use calling in the guy who can’t be seen on the street by the people you’re looking for.”

  “But you know more about those we’re looking for than anyone here.”

  In so many more ways than I wanted to talk about.

  “I’ve got to get back to it,” Corell said. “Want me to bring you a coffee or something, since you�
��re stuck in here.”

  I didn’t want to be catered to, but I did need caffeine. “I’d appreciate it. Black.”

  Corell reappeared about five minutes later with a foam cup filled with coffee. “I can’t guarantee it’s not lethal.”

  “I came to terms with that risk years ago,” I said dryly, staring down at the pitch black drink.

  Corell nodded and reached for the door. “Sorry we hassled you that night.”

  “You were doing your job—and the intervention was probably a good thing, since I was heading somewhere I had no business going at the time.”

  Giving me a crooked stare, he opened the door and once again left me to my thoughts.

  What the hell am I doing here? Hiding out in an interview room wasn’t police work, it was a ridiculous waste of time. Everyone involved in the ring who might have been a danger to me, was slowly being migrated to maximum security prisons upstate, but if they found out I was alive, nothing would stop them from putting a hit on me and hiring a professional to do it.

  I couldn’t hide out forever though. And, as I told Katie when I came home from the hospital, I didn’t intend on giving up my life.

  Aside from the men in prison, the remaining active participants were either scattered or dealing with their own internal crises as they all vied for control over a crumbling organization. They had bigger worries than me, but that also meant there were about to be far more girls with nowhere to turn.

  I was stuck somewhere in the middle—the cause of the fall. And now my hands were tied as far as doing any more for a large group of girls who thought of me as—what?

  The guy who took advantage of the situation and then narced on everything? I wasn’t even sure if that made me friend or foe to them.

  I sipped the thick black coffee and pinched the bridge of my nose. A vibration sent my phone fluttering across the metal table.

  ROSE: Chicken wings—something spicy.

  It was already going on seven o’clock—mostly thanks to the fact that we’d slept until after noon. I’d really been looking forward to not spending the evening here, it never crossed my mind that I’d end up here anyway, just sitting in a room and staring at the walls.

  The door opened again. Trent and Richards stepped in followed by two other older detectives, Hudson and Winsor.

  “Raini just got done with a sketch artist,” Trent said, throwing the paper on the table.

  I squinted at the image and shrugged. My brain was only half in the game, but I’d seen hundreds upon hundreds of douchebags over the last year alone. “Looks like a dozen people I’ve seen or picked up in my life.”

  “Really?” Trent asked. “Blue eyes, sandy brown hair.”

  Kirk. I took another long look at the sketch. It was the real Kirk, the man whose life I had stolen to get inside. I hadn’t even considered the possibility since I was sure he’d still be locked up on the drug trafficking charges for his last offense. “When did he get out?”

  “A couple of weeks before the raid,” Hudson said. “I just pulled up his record before we came in. Fiona says he called himself Bentley and that he and another guy who called himself Drisco approached her and Watkins as they were leaving a career workshop.”

  “Fiona?” I shook my head, knowing that he meant Raini. Aliases were a funny thing—they allowed us to detach, and yet they could also tell us much more about a person than a birth name. I hadn’t bargained for learning any of the girls’ real names, even though there was probably a time when it wouldn’t have bothered me. Now, it just felt like the last year was taunting me—seeping into my real life in a not-so-subtle attempt to prove that it was real and much closer to home than I had ever bargained for.

  “What kind of history do we have on Elizabeth?” I asked.

  “None, really,” Windsor said. “She’s twenty-three, was picked up a few months ago on a drunk and disorderly, but that’s her only run-in with the law. According to her parents, she dropped out of college, so they got her into the career workshop hoping she’d be able to make some connections.”

  “I noticed the picture her parents provided had been taken out at the A.A. lodge,” I said. “I’m assuming her parents weren’t particularly thrilled with the connection she did make. Were they aware of what she was doing?”

  “Doesn’t seem so. We had no idea until we found Fiona. She said they were supposed to be working together as accountability partners throughout the course of the workshop—setting career goals and such. They met for lunch at a small restaurant a block away from the workshop, and that’s where Bentley and Drisco approached her. Fiona specifically, but Elizabeth overheard it, and contacted them the following week.”

  “So far, we haven’t been able to match the second alias with anyone,” Trent said, “but looks like we have a good excuse to call in your doppelganger and see what he’s been up to.”

  That was going to be interesting. I stared down at the pictures strewn across the table. “I’m assuming I’m supposed to stay hands-off?”

  “Why?” Richards asked. “This guy already knows who you are and his friend doesn’t really matter. I can’t keep you stowed away for good, and you have more intelligence than anyone on the folks involved.”

  I scoffed, returning my attention to my phone. I wanted this case more than almost anything, but damned if I didn’t want to get back to Rose first.

  “I don’t know a whole lot about Raini—or Fiona, I guess.” I took a running start at the icy road anyway, preparing to skid off into memories I didn’t care to explore again. “She never talked much, just did as she was told. It’s just a hunch, but I don’t imagine her turning them down if they confronted her over it. She was one of the worst off when she was transferred over—she’d endured a lot of abuse, so she’ll stick with whoever’s protecting her. We should make sure that’s us if at all possible.”

  “And you also know about the man who tried to recruit her?” Hudson asked, pointing to the sketch.

  “Kirk,” I said. “I took his place when I went undercover. Honestly, I didn’t expect him to be causing havoc on the streets so soon. That would have been brilliant to know since I’m sure he has a vendetta against me.”

  “I wouldn’t actually count on the vendetta,” Trent said with a muffled snort. “If he’s scooping up all the girls from the Retreat, it sounds like he has something going for him—not in a good way, but he probably thinks so.”

  Richards’ phone beeped and he leaned sideways to check the message. “I have the guys on the street watching for him. We might be in this one for the long haul if we want to get to the bottom of the situation—if these folks are as hooked up as suspected, we should keep things quiet until we have something solid. He’s dealt with us before, and no doubt will do what’s necessary to avoid it. Trent, you’ve been at it for a while, and James, I know you have someone waiting on you—not that you’re supposed to be here anyway. Hudson and Windsor will run with the case for now, and if anything turns up, we’ll call you in. Otherwise, you’re both dismissed for the night. I suggest getting some rest.”

  Chapter 13

  Dangerous Game

  I picked up some chicken wings and a couple of small salads, and when I climbed back into the car, a message was waiting on me.

  ROSE: I’m in the bath.

  Fuck.

  ROSE: There’s a key in the gnome by the stairs 2351.

  Anger slammed me for a moment. The fact that she had a spare key right outside her door with everything going on didn’t sit well, but I wasn’t quite sure what the code was for until I got to her house and picked up said gnome. It was heavier than a standard lawn ornament and when I flipped it over, I realized why. The entire base was made of metal with a combination lock. I scrolled each number to match the code she’d sent, and the bottom of the gnome fell open, releasing a spare key.

  Cute, I thought sardonically, shaking my head and bouncing the key in my palm.

  I opened the door and was immediately greeted by a speeding T
rapper as she rounded the bottom of the stairs and charged through the living room and kitchen before heading back up the stairs at the same frenzied pace.

  When I assumed cats were quiet relaxing creatures, I had it very wrong.

  I dusted my hand off against my jeans and dropped my keys and the bag of food on the table, reminding myself just how colossal this bad idea was.

  Stairs. Hallway. Bedroom.

  As I stood outside the bathroom door, I realized just how quiet the house had gone until I got to the bathroom door, and heard a gentle swish of water. I tapped the door. “You’re probably going to turn into a prune.”

  The door handle wiggled and it opened a few inches, causing my stomach to flip. Weeks of fantasizing about a woman I wasn’t supposed to have and then suddenly having her naked in a bathtub less than two feet away was momentarily debilitating. My eyes threatened to jump out of my head, I was torn between covering them, running away and taking in the view.

  But all I could really see was her face and neck.

  Get a grip.

  “Don’t feel like yelling through the door,” she said quietly. “I have a headache and Trapper isn’t helping.”

  “Sorry,” I rested my hand on the door handle not letting it open any further.

  She studied me through the narrow opening and smiled. Not the typical shy smile I’d expect from her in the current situation. “You act like you’ve never seen me naked.”

  “In a way....” I trailed off, caught up in the overwhelming temptation. My cock twitched, demanding attention, and I felt the rolling boil of desire sweeping through my veins. “Maybe I should wait downstairs.”

  Rose’s eyes fell closed, then she sat up and disappeared from my view as water sloshed in the tub.