Called to Protect

by Lynette Eason

  Tears dripped and she swiped them away with a sharp flick. This was so wrong. No one should be allowed to do this to another person. And where was God in all of this anyway, that’s what she wanted to know. Didn’t he care? Or was this her punishment for being such a horrible daughter? God, if you’re there, I’m really sorry about everything. I don’t want to be angry anymore. And I don’t want to be afraid either. Please help me. Help all of us.

  “Yeah, I know. We’ll be there in about an hour,” the driver said. Rachel tuned in to the words that came from behind the curtain. “I know, man. You got the other girls?”

  He must be on the phone.

  “Tell him about the extra one we’ve got.” The person in the passenger seat spoke for the first time. Not a voice she’d heard before. She let her gaze slide to the woman who lay unconscious near the back doors.

  After loading the other girls, they’d added her. The extra one the passenger had referred to. Chloe St. John, the officer who’d been so kind to Rachel in the hospital. Hope had immediately blossomed when she’d realized who it was. They’d duct-taped her hands together, but otherwise she was free to move about.

  If only she would wake up.

  Inch by subtle inch, Rachel slid her foot across the van floor until it rested against Chloe’s shoulder. Keeping her eyes on her hands as though subdued and without fight, she pressed with her foot. Once. Twice.

  Chloe didn’t move. How much of the drug had they sprayed her with? As best as she could calculate, they’d been moving for about an hour. She waited another thirty minutes and thought she saw Chloe’s eyes begin to flutter. Rachel pressed the woman’s shoulder again and she finally stirred. Then lifted her head. Blurry eyes locked on Rachel’s and slowly cleared. Rachel knew the moment reality hit Chloe by the way she drew in a deep breath and stiffened. Rachel didn’t look away until Chloe understood she wanted to tell her something. The woman dipped her head slightly.

  Rachel slid her eyes to the camera in the corner.

  Chloe’s eyes narrowed and she rolled her head slightly, then back to Rachel. She gave another small nod.

  She understood. Rachel sighed and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes to relieve the pressure of the tears that wanted to fall. When she let her hands fall away, Chloe lay still, her eyes closed. What was she doing? Going back to sleep? Rachel knew she probably felt nauseated and was trying to keep her stomach where it belonged so she left her alone. The feeling would pass in about thirty minutes. About the time they should be arriving to their destination.

  Rachel leaned back, tried to ignore the headache building behind her eyes, and began to pray once more.

  22

  Blake slammed a fist onto his desk. “Yes!”

  A coworker looked up, caught a glimpse of the satisfied look on Blake’s face, and shot him a thumbs up. “I know where you are now, you scumbag, and I’m going to get you.”

  Linc entered Blake’s office with his own triumphant smile. “We got something off the GPS from the eighteen-wheeler involved in the crash on the bridge.”

  “And I know where Russo is.”

  “Where?”

  “Charleston.”

  Linc’s brows rose. “Well, well. Do you believe in coincidences?”

  “Not really. Why?” Blake pushed aside the sandwich he’d forgotten to eat and waited as Linc cleaned off a chair to sit down. “And why’d it take so long to get the addresses off the GPS?”

  “A bullet hit it. They basically had to rebuild it and hope for the best.”

  “And?”

  “There were four addresses in there. One was the Chapin address that we already know is a dead end. Two are in Charleston and one is the museum–slash–art gallery place you and Chloe visited.”

  “Which seems to indicate that Wright drove the truck once upon a time.”

  “Could be. But why would he need the GPS? He knows where the place is.”

  “True. Could have been someone else.”

  “How long have the addresses been in the system?”

  “Annie said they couldn’t tell. She was just glad to get them for me.”

  “Right.” Blake rubbed his eyes, his excitement growing. It felt like they were getting somewhere, and that if that was the case, it meant he was closer to finding Rachel. “All right, so we need someone in Charleston to check out these locations. Find out what they are. Businesses? Residences?”

  Linc shot him a tense smile. “Annie’s already on that. One is an export business. A warehouse full of cars waiting their turn to get shipped out of South Carolina.”

  “Cars, huh?”

  “Looks legit too.”

  Blake frowned. “A lot of things can look legit without being so. What reason would human traffickers have in visiting a car export business?”

  “Haven’t figured that out yet. Want to take a chopper to Charleston? We’ve got agents on the ground there, of course, but this is my case. I want to be there so I’ve got the chopper lined up and waiting.”

  “Absolutely. I was just going to let my boss know I’m heading that way.”

  Linc stood. “Works for me.”

  Blake grabbed his phone. “I need to let Jo know too. She can cover for me where it’s needed.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Still sore, but you know Jo. Nothing keeps her down for long. She’s still at home, but wants to be kept in the loop.”

  “Of course.”

  “And Chloe. She’ll want to go.”

  “Call her.”

  Once they were settled in Linc’s SUV en route to meet the helicopter, Blake called Chloe. When her voicemail picked up, he frowned. “Linc’s got a lead,” he said after the tone. “Heading to Charleston and wanted to pick you up. Call me.” He hung up. “Should we just go on?”

  “Yeah, she must still be busy at the museum. We’ll fill her in later.”

  Blake didn’t like it, but agreed they didn’t need to delay.

  The chopper was warmed up and waiting when they pulled into a parking spot near the landing pad. The pilot waved them over and they ran for it. Only once seated with belts buckled and headgear pulled over their ears did Blake draw in a deep breath. His phone buzzed.

  Frank

  Please, Blake.

  His brother. Once again pleading with Blake to visit their father. Blake sighed and dropped his head back against the headrest. The chopper took off and he shoved his phone into the clip on his belt. Would Frank hate him forever if he didn’t at least put in an appearance before his old man’s death? His younger brother meant everything to him, next to Rachel. Blake had taken more than one beating for him as a teen. If he could do that, why was it so hard to join him and support him while their father lay dying?

  He didn’t have an answer to the question. It just was.

  Shooting a text to Chloe provided the distraction he needed.

  Where are you? Still at the museum?

  The helicopter ride passed quickly. Blake pulled his phone off his clip and checked for messages. Still no response from Chloe. “Chloe’s still not answering,” he said.

  Linc frowned. “That’s kind of odd. She always answers even when she’s on a case. It’s imperative that she keep her phone close by.”

  “No kidding. Which is why I’m concerned. I know she was at the museum. Maybe she got a call.”

  “Call her lieutenant and see if he can tell us where she is. I want Hank to be there should we need him.”

  Blake used the headphone jack to connect his phone in order to hear and dialed the number. Finally, he was put through to Chloe’s boss.

  “Sir, I’m looking for Chloe. Can you tell me where she is?”

  “I sure wish I could. We found Hank and her vehicle outside the Palmetto Museum. Chloe’s nowhere to be found. Can’t raise her on her phone or her radio.”

  Chills swept him. “That’s not like her, sir.”

  “Of course it’s not. And she sure wouldn’t let Hank loose.”

&
nbsp; “Loose?” Blake shouted. “I thought you meant someone found him inside the vehicle.”

  “No, looks like she remotely let him out. An officer passing by saw the door open and Hank jump out. He couldn’t see where there was a problem, but called it in and started looking around. When he gave me the address, I sent him inside the museum to investigate. He initially didn’t see anything that alarmed him but kept searching and found an office that looks like someone put up a struggle.”

  Not good. Very much not good. “What did they say happened?”

  “Chalked it up to an irate buyer who lost out on the painting he wanted.”

  “They file a police report?” Blake asked.

  “Nope. Said the man stormed out, and because of the computer smashed on the floor, they don’t have access to his information to give us.”

  “That has the stench of a lie.”

  “Pretty much. The museum director stated they didn’t want the negative publicity and they wouldn’t be pressing charges.”

  “I don’t buy that either. Chloe’s in trouble.”

  “I agree, now let me go so I can get back to looking for her.”

  Blake hung up and found Linc watching him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Chloe’s missing,” Blake said.

  “Missing? What do you mean, missing?”

  “I mean she’s missing and whoever has Rachel probably now has Chloe.”

  He wanted to throw up.

  Chloe drew in a breath of fresh air when the back doors opened. It chased the last bit of nausea from her system, but she didn’t let on to the masked man, who grabbed her by the forearm and pulled her into a sitting position, then out of the van. “Come on, you can sleep later.” Neal’s voice. Interesting. The other girls must not be able to identify him. Otherwise, why bother with the mask?

  “Feel sick,” she mumbled and let herself sag against him.

  He gave an exasperated grunt and lowered her to the ground. “Puke on me and you’ll regret it. The drug should have worn off by now anyway.”

  “Tell that to my stomach.”

  He let her sit there while ordering the other girls off the truck. She used the moment to take inventory of the surroundings.

  Seagulls squawked overhead. A cold wind scented with salt and sand brushed her face.

  They were near the water.

  The door to a nearby warehouse stood open. A yawning black hole, waiting to snatch and swallow those who dared enter. Or were forced to.

  Rachel walked past her without looking, her right hand clasping that of the girl she’d been sitting next to in the van. Chloe took a closer look and realized it was Lindsey. The others filed past and into the warehouse without fuss. Chloe wondered if she’d left enough of a message behind for someone to realize she needed help. Certainly, the fact that she’d remotely let Hank out would be a big red flag. If someone found him.

  And before they’d sprayed her, she’d managed to knock everything off the desk, overturn the lamp, kick over the printer, and toss the laptop against the far wall. Then the biggest security guard had tackled her, knocking the breath from her while his partner sprayed her in the face. After that, darkness.

  Neal gripped her arm once again and yanked her to her feet. A dozen self-defense moves came to mind, but she waited. “I know you’re a cop,” he hissed in her ear. “That doesn’t matter to me. You’re young and you’re pretty. You’ll bring a good price. Now go.” He gave her a hard shove and Chloe stumbled toward the door.

  She reached for her weapon, not because she thought it was there, but because it was habit. And, of course, the gun was gone. Probably the first thing they’d taken once she was knocked out.

  Neal shoved her into the dark interior of the warehouse. A quick glance at the contents brought a frown. Cars?

  A hard hand on her shoulder snapped her head around. “This isn’t a tour. Keep walking,” Neal said.

  Biting her tongue, Chloe did as ordered, taking in as much detail as she could while she walked. “They’re looking for me by now, you know.”

  “Probably.”

  The absolute unconcern in his voice sent chills skating up her spine.

  “They’ll find me. They’ll find all of us.”

  “No. They won’t.” He pointed her to the door and gave her another push.

  Chloe wanted to punch him. She flexed her fingers and curled them into a fist. Growing up with three brothers had taught her how to fight. Most importantly, how to fight dirty. And when to make her move.

  23

  The chopper set down in the designated landing pad. Linc pointed to the waiting vehicle and, after shouting their thanks to the pilot, they raced for it.

  Linc slipped into the driver’s seat and Blake snapped his seatbelt on. The keys were in the ignition. “How far away are we?”

  “Not sure, but we’re following those guys.” He pointed and Blake spotted the two vehicles.

  “The feds in the unmarked cars?”

  “Yep. And we’ve got more meeting us at the port. There’s a team scouting the building right now and they’re supposed to report in. If the girls and their traffickers are in there, I don’t want to go in with sirens blaring and have them panic and start shooting or something.”

  “Yeah.”

  Linc pulled in behind the first dark sedan and they raced toward their destination—and hopefully Chloe and Rachel. Within ten minutes, Linc stopped the car. “We’re on foot from here.”

  Together, they made their way down to the side of the warehouse where a SWAT member met them, looking decidedly unconcerned. “So far, there’s no activity that we can find.”

  Blake nodded to the white van parked off to the side. “Who does that belong to?”

  “Not sure.”

  Linc sent a text. “Annie will run the plates. So, there’s no one inside?”

  “No. The place is empty. We’ve already cleared it.”

  “What about the other address?” Blake asked.

  “No one there either.”

  Deflated, Blake walked over to lean against the wall. “I had really high hopes for this place. I don’t get it. This was the address in the GPS. If they’re not delivering girls here, what are they delivering?”

  “Cars?” Linc said. He didn’t believe it any more than Blake did.

  Blake stepped inside the building and the first thing he noticed was the scent of the ocean. The second thing he took note of were the rows of cars. Row after row. He moved quickly, not completely convinced they weren’t in the right place.

  Linc followed him. “This address was in that GPS for a reason.”

  “Yep. I’m not ready to pack it up and go home yet.”

  “Me either. What do you think it is about this place and not the other one?”

  “I did my research while you were driving.” He reached the end of the rows of cars and stopped. “And this one has a boat dock.”

  The water lapped at the sides of the empty area where a very large boat—probably a yacht—could sit. Linc’s phone buzzed. He checked it and drew in a breath. “And guess who that boat dock belongs to?”

  “Let me see if I can get it in one. All the Wright Exports.”

  “You win. Belonging to Henry Wright.”

  “Let me hazard another guess. Uncle to one now deceased Ethan Wright–slash–Carson Langston?”

  “Yep.”

  Blake huffed out a breath and planted his hands on his hips. “Now what?”

  “We see if a boat left here recently—what time and who was on it.”

  Chloe sat at the back of the room on the bench. At least it wasn’t a cage.

  “A yacht,” she whispered. “Of course.” It made perfect sense. When she’d first entered the warehouse, she’d thought they’d reached the end of the line, but they’d been herded past the cars to the multimillion-dollar yacht sitting at the dock. “Everyone on board,” Neal had called out. “One at a time.”

  They’d filed on board and been locke
d in the room. That had been an hour ago. A spread of food had been left on the table. Fruits, cheeses, deli meats, and bread.

  And the PDM for Rachel to check her blood sugar and give herself insulin. Chloe rose and went to the closet. She pushed the pocket door to the side and found a wardrobe worthy of a queen. Dresses, short shorts, sequined tops, impossibly high-heeled shoes. No jeans, T-shirts, or anything remotely comfortable—or warm. She grimaced.

  No doubt they would be required to pick something out to wear for the auction. She pressed a hand against her churning stomach and turned to walk to the window. Looking out, she could see blue water, other yachts, and a lot of sailboats. No shore. At least on this side. How far out were they?

  The door opened and Neal stood there. This time he hadn’t bothered with the mask. “Time to eat, ladies. The festivities will begin in a couple of hours. So, let me explain how this works. You will eat, shower, whatever. Then change into the clothing that was chosen for you back at the house. Thelma and Louise will be here to do your makeup and hair. When you’re finished, a number will be pinned to your shoulder.”

  Chloe gave a silent gasp. The number. She was willing to bet the number would match up to one of those paintings at the museum. Somehow there was a code. Each girl was matched to a painting and the buyers perused the “merchandise” in advance. Then bid on the “painting.” Checks and balances. An audit would show paintings sold. Not girls.

  She tuned back in. “. . . one by one you’ll be led to the auction viewing area. The men bidding on you are doing so remotely. Once the bidding is finished, you will be taken to a pickup area where you will meet your new owner.”

  Chloe seriously thought she was going to hurl. A quick look around said she wasn’t the only one. Real fear hit her. What if she couldn’t protect them? What if she couldn’t protect herself? What if they really weren’t found in time? She honestly hadn’t given that question consideration, because it never occurred to her that things would get this far. Except they had.

  “Now, any questions?” His eyes met the gaze of each girl before locking onto Chloe. “No funny business or I’ll just kill you, understand?”