Savage Deception

by R. T. Wolfe

  His hand stopped on her back, only for a fraction of a second, but she didn't miss it.

  "But he wasn't the one that night. I'd never heard his name before, but... the white house is the house I escaped from. I remember the night, the room." The man. "Moody organizes parties in the white house. That's what he calls them. He doesn't always use girls. I've heard them talking about groups of women and some men they bring in. It depends on the clientele."

  She wanted to cry but couldn't bring herself to do it. The other half of her realized a sense of clarity. She could breathe. Lifting again, she gazed into the deep chocolate of his eyes, and for the first time that night noticed the specks of tawny brown that came out only when he was the most intense. They were stiffly composed, but she could see through them. Far in the back, there was pain. But he was here for her and she would use him. Crossing her legs, she faced him fully.

  "I planned it for months. He kept dogs. I used to hide some of the food they gave us and snuck it to them through the cracks in the basement windows. I kept some in the pockets of the silk housecoat they gave me to wear."

  She turned her eyes down. His fists were clenched, knuckles white. A sudden stabbing pain pierced her heart. "I can stop if you want."

  A man of few words, he shook his head.

  Letting her chest expand, she expelled a long breath. "I... got away." She stared at her hands like they weren't her own, then sniffled defiantly. "I crawled out the window. The dogs were there, but they weren't a problem. They knew I had food. I should have been caught, should have froze. I ran in the cold until I found a wrought iron fence. I climbed a tree and jumped, rolling in the snow, and then ran for I don't know how long. Almost everything was dark. I pounded on some doors, but no one answered. Until, I found a house with two police cars. I could see now they were answering a domestic disturbance call. I cried out at the door, afraid I had been followed. The beat officers almost tackled me to the snow at first. When they saw what I was wearing and recognized my age, they let me stay in the back of their car until another black and white could get there."

  Duncan swung his legs over the side of the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He buried his face in his hands. "I had him within my reach. I had his neck within my reach. I could have snapped it with my hands."

  Scooting beside him, she took his hands and pulled until he faced her. "I need you. If you end up in jail..."

  His eyes turned down to their joined hands, then up to her face. His eyes were murderous. "I'm going to shower, Duncan. Are you going to be okay? Because, I'm okay. Then, we need to debrief with Strong and Lewis. I'll call and see if they'll let us do it at the Northridge station. I'm better, Duncan." She brought his hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "I'm going to be okay. You do that to me. I love you."

  She watched as his gaze morphed from lethal to helpless. He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes, but he rubbed his thumb along her cheek. "You are my everything."

  * * *

  Nickie wanted her captain present. She wasn't sure why. This had nothing to do with him. Maybe it was so she could be that much more on her own turf. Maybe it was because Dave had been a sort of a father figure since back in the days when he was a detective and she was his assistant.

  Regardless, if the feds wanted in her head, they were going to have to do it on her terms. They went through the empty politeness of inquiries into how she was feeling. Although they were agreeable to the idea of her captain attending her debriefing, they were firm about keeping her and Duncan separate. She didn't put up a fight to the latter, only because she would have made the same decision had it been her pulling the strings.

  She'd gone over the events step-by-step, but left out the part about regaining parts of her memory. Pieces from a broken, fifteen-year-old girl didn't seem credible. Instead, she formed her knowledge into the opinions they seemed to value above all else.

  "In my opinion, Moody uses the house as a place to host mass prostitution parties. I expect he caters to more than exclusively the men and women who prefer early teens. It's likely he changes venues depending on the demands of his clients."

  "We backed you up on this, because of the previous success you've had in... this area."

  Duncan's hacking into their files or not, did they really think she wouldn't figure out why they took such interest in her knowledge? Why they came to her of all people for her expertise?

  "We've spent man hours planning, executing and paperwork on this project. We have basically nothing. What facts do you have to back up your opinion exactly, Detective?" Strong asked, moving nothing but his lips. Now they want facts?

  So, that's how this was going to be. "Exquisite house set in the back corner of a forty-acre property. Duncan testified that Moody stated he didn't allow his help to use the place."

  "Why isn't it a house for guests?"

  "With a parking lot for sixteen cars?"

  "This is all good in theory, but we have nothing concrete," Strong repeated, clearly exasperated. As if she cared.

  "Which is why we have the bugs. Now, we wait."

  Or, they could wait while she made a visit to an old friend in the U.S. Penitentiary in Terre Haute.

  * * *

  Duncan was in interrogation. The FBI could call it debriefing if that was what looked good on their books, but he knew enough to realize this was nothing less than an interrogation.

  It was for Nickie, he reminded himself. He said as little as possible and gave only facts. She would want it that way.

  "And why did Detective Savage suspect Mr. Moody's involvement?"

  What kind of question was this after the fact? "I'm not comfortable answering for her."

  "And you just happened to have a client that is a suspect in the detective's eyes?"

  Point for Special Agent Lewis. "I have high-profile clients all over the country, yes."

  Lewis pulled out a preliminary blueprint of the white house. "And these are the locations of the bugs you think you planted?"

  Think? Playing the game, he turned his eyes to the markers he'd written on the prints himself. His façade of patience was classic. "Yes." They'd had him mark the audio bug with a green marker and the visuals with red. Prints that were side shots showed close ups of the windows and shrubbery. They'd had him mark the exact locations on these also.

  He wanted to ask if the bugs were up and running and what they had seen, but he could find that out on his own later.

  "What made you think Moody was onto you?"

  "I never said that."

  Lewis smiled. "Was it you who came up with the cover of drunken artist coming to find his client?"

  "Yes."

  "Did he seem to fall for it?"

  Nope. "I don't know."

  It went on like this for an hour and a half. Duncan was ex-Army. He had enough endurance to last a day and a half.

  * * *

  Strong turned his eyes away from Nickie and down to his file before he asked her, "Why did you suspect Moody's involvement?"

  Nickie glared at him and scowled. "You should probably check your notes, Strong. And it's a little late for reviewing motive."

  He smiled. "It's procedure, Detective. You know that."

  She wasn't about to reveal the pictures of Moody at the press conference announcing the return of the Maryland Monticello's runaway daughter. Or the one of him over fifteen years later announcing her transfer to the Northridge police force. "His need to share an aversion to crowds in order to explain his absence from his state's high-profile celebration of the New Year in Time's Square." She leaned back and crossed her ankles in front of her captain's desk. "The large number of photos, many recent, showing him at said crowds that weren't necessary, needed or beneficial to his career.

  "He was lying and he was covering," she continued. "When Mr. Reed discovered Moody's lack of grounds employees, the size of the warehouse that housed his supposed grounds employees, and the random exquisite home in the far corner of his property, suspicions
were enough for recon, but not enough for a warrant."

  "And what should I write regarding how Mr. Reed happened to have a client that is of suspicion to you?"

  Pushing her chin to the side, she cracked her neck, then again on the other. "Mr. Reed has prestigious clients all over the nation."

  "You suspected Moody was onto you, yet you didn't share this with us."

  It wasn't a question.

  Strong leaned back and rolled his pencil between both hands. "Why did you suspect Moody was onto you?"

  "I didn't." Duncan did. She just agreed is all.

  "But you sent Mr. Reed in with bugs. That indicates you thought you wouldn't find what we were looking for on Moody's property and that you wanted to get something out of the operation."

  "Sending Mr. Reed in with bugs was smart detective work. I'm sorry if it confuses you."

  His face fell. Too damned bad. She was tired of jumping through federal hoops. She had cases on her desk, leads to catch up on and a horse waiting to be ridden.

  "Whose idea was it to put on the drunken façade?"

  It made her smile, and she reminded herself to stick as closely to the truth as possible. "It was Duncan's idea."

  It was time to turn the tables. "I'm going to visit Tanner about it."

  He lifted his brows at the mention of her now-incarcerated former captain.

  "I want to see what I can get out of him. I need some leverage, just in case he's on the fence, deciding whether or not he feels like sharing with me. What can you give me?"

  He took a deep, exaggerated breath. Her lips ached to smile, but she kept a straight face.

  * * *

  They still had a few hours of daylight. Duncan watched as Nickie rode in front of him through the thinner parts of the well-worn trails his brother and Rose had created from exercising their horses. Nickie rode his Abigail as if she hadn't taken a fifteen-year hiatus from riding. Her long hair bounced behind her as she led the way through ancient trees and miles of white. The lower heels of her brown boots dipped behind her stirrups. He wondered if she wore shoes with flat heels anywhere other than the gym.

  Pausing, she directed Abigail onto a spot of virgin snow that led to their favorite resting spot. They hadn't visited the spot since early fall, and it surprised him she would be up for it in the cold. Winding between the trees, she didn't miss a turn and pulled to a stop when they reached the clearing.

  The air was cold against his cheeks, but otherwise he was warm in his winter riding gear. The air was crisp and clean. It gave him a sense of cleansing and renewal. He could only hope it did the same for her. Comfortably, she swung her leg over Abigail and set her boots down in the snow. "I brought matches," she gloated.

  The comment took him aback. "You want me to make a fire?"

  "No." She smiled and tied Abigail on the outside of the large circle of fallen logs. "I'm doing it."

  He tied his horse near Abigail and took some treats from his coat pocket for them. "Really," he said as a statement.

  "Don't say that like you think I can't. I've been watching you."

  In warmer, dryer weather, he thought.

  She had discovered parts of her childhood she had repressed for years, repressed for a reason. She was drilled through her lunch hour by the same people who claimed to want to work with her, and she wanted to build a fire in the snow. He was in love with this woman.

  He worked on brushing the snow from some of the bigger sitting logs as she cleared the area between the small circle of rocks. Lying back on his preferred, flatter log, he crossed his ankles and enjoyed the show.

  She knew to remove the snow and the first few layers of foliage to find the dryer leaves and sticks beneath. Knew to make a tepee shape out of the smaller twigs before adding a layer of thicker ones. And she made a pile to the side of bigger sticks and a few of the logs she'd uncovered from the bottom of the pile of wood left from last fall.

  All in her lower-heeled brown boots and snug, brown denim pants that made him want to scrap the whole idea and take her to bed.

  Before lighting the first match, she ran her hand over the top of her hair and glanced at him. Swinging his legs to the ground, he sat and let his forearms rest on his thighs.

  The leaves smoked, but no flames offered appreciation for her tedious work.

  "Can I—?"

  "No." She answered before he finished.

  The sun would set soon. He would hate it if she did all this work only to turn around and have to leave without a fire. He nearly insisted on helping her before a small flame flickered. She blew too hard, creating another smoke signal to the wildlife in the trees.

  One more flame and she blew again, but gently this time. The flame grew, licking the twigs before catching them all on fire. The noises that came from her mouth were nearly more excited than the ones she made when they had sex. It was enough to make any man question his abilities.

  Adding the bigger sticks, she walked around the fire like an all-star wrestler who won the heavy weight title. "I made fire! I am the king!" He saw pieces of the little girl she was never allowed to be, a carefree skip in her step she would never let anyone else witness.

  The heat began to reach him where he sat. His knees first, then his toes. Heat rose in his pants that had nothing to do with the fire.

  Swinging her hips, she approached and straddled him like he was Abigail. She linked her fingers behind his head. "You are one lucky man, Duncan Reed. You have a genius winter fire starter wrapped around your little finger." The kiss was long and confident. Any coherent retort escaped him.

  He splayed his gloved hands on her backside and tugged. The heat from the fire was nothing compared to the heat between them. If it were six months from now, he would take her there on the forest floor.

  "Wrapped?" he asked without taking his lips from hers. "I could use that."

  "Hold that thought." She swung her legs off him and went to add some smaller logs. The flames grew as quickly as his desire.

  When she came to him, she sat between his legs, facing the fire instead of him. Tough luck.

  Taking his coat, she pushed the sleeve of his left arm, exposing the tattoo on his forearm. He had to assume the fire she just created with her hands made her think of it. The blacks and grays were meant to be as symbolic as the fire that licked up his skin.

  "You did that yourself." She shuddered, and he was certain it wasn't from the cold. "I have to admit, it looks like your work, even if the... canvas is a different material."

  She took off a glove and ran her fingertip along the veins in his arm as they twined and mixed with the flames. So much of his life had to do with fire. Not happy fire, one worth circling in a dance of conquer, but fire of destruction.

  "I'm going to visit Tanner," she said.

  Chapter 20

  Duncan's lungs stopped moving at the change in subject. He knew this, but still couldn't get them to move. The sounds of the forest around them that had helped create their moment disappeared in a breath.

  She craned her head to face him, turning her gray eyes from one of his to the other. She was reading his reaction. He had no idea what she saw.

  "I can go alone," she said.

  "I know you can." It came out as a bark and was too late to retract.

  "But you're coming with me anyway."

  He tried to soften his voice this time. "I am."

  "They won't let you in."

  "Where is in, exactly?"

  "The United States Penitentiary in Terre Haute, Indiana. Don't you have work or meetings?"

  "I'm the boss." He took her bare fingers to his lips and kissed them. "And isn't Indiana State in Terre Haute?"

  Her eyes took a circle before she answered. "Yes. I think it is."

  "Nice place to put a top-security prison," he said sarcastically.

  She shrugged. "I wonder what happened to him in prison to earn the transfer. Inmates don't like child molesters." Her smile was from ear to ear.

  "I assume you'r
e bringing the picture of Zheng."

  "You assume right."

  "It might cause a leak that you know about Zheng, that you're looking for him."

  "Exactly."

  He used to like the way she enjoyed living dangerously. Now, it just made him crazy.

  * * *

  They'd taken Duncan's private plane. Nickie had to admit, it was damned convenient. She enjoyed threatening him with his life if he told anyone about it.

  And he couldn't have simply chosen the most fuel-efficient sedan rental or at least a car that was big enough to be considered remotely safe. Instead, they drove to the prison in a silver BMW. Ostentatious was an understatement.

  He knew enough to dress down for the occasion. Dressing down for Duncan was a cotton button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to three-quarter length, boots that might be considered work boots, and a pair of dark blue jeans.

  Making it only as far as the first waiting room, he found a small table and opened his tablet. She sat next to him for a moment. He lifted his brows at her quizzically.

  "You sure you're okay?" she asked.

  "This isn't my first time as a visitor in a big house."

  She remembered. "I don't know how long I'll be."

  He didn't lift his eyes from his tablet this time as he responded. "I have work. Take your time." Most people would think it was rude or dismissive. She knew better. He didn't want her to be pressured or to think of anything except what lay ahead of her.

  The prison employees were expecting her, but she still had to wait. She carried no lasting animosity toward her former captain. She was over it. She'd thought Tanner was an upstanding captain. He duped her. End of story. That's how she worked.

  There were plenty of nerves, however, surrounding the purpose and possible outcome of her visit, good or bad. She checked her file for the tenth time. The 8 ½-by-11 photos that involved Jun Zheng were tucked neatly inside. In the pictures, he was mostly somber, blending in as an observer in the background. She remembered him differently.