The Willow Bay Police Department had a history of police misconduct, and even though Nessa Ainsley had taken over as Chief of Police, and was working to clean up the department, Veronica couldn’t be sure that Amber Sloan didn’t have a connection with someone inside the WBPD.
“Well, I believe you.” Veronica’s voice was firm. “And if you want to tell the police what you know, I’ll go with you to the station so you can file an official report.”
She raised a hand to quiet Misty’s objection.
“And I’ll make sure you talk to someone you can trust.”
Sensing the young woman wanted to believe her, Veronica offered a reassuring smile as she continued.
“And after you’ve filed a report you can tell me your story. That is, if you still want to. I may be able to use it in my next report. You could make a difference for other women who may be watching.”
“Okay.” Misty nodded slowly. “If you think it’s safe, I’ll do it.”
Chapter Three
The air inside the Willow Bay Police Department felt suffocatingly warm as Chief Nessa Ainsley sat at her desk and tried to ignore the queasy feeling in her stomach. She was now well past the dreaded first trimester of pregnancy, but the morning sickness hadn’t gotten the notice. Nausea had become her constant companion as she went about her business, determined to hide any sign of weakness from her team.
Pushing away the cup of ginger tea she’d been sipping with a grimace, Nessa brushed a damp red curl off her forehead. She leaned back in her chair and adjusted her jacket. She was still able to fasten the top button, but it was getting harder.
She knew from past experience that it would be at least another month before an obvious bump would appear and she could pull out the old maternity clothes she’d worn during her back-to-back pregnancies with Cole and Cooper. In the meantime, she would have to accept feeling like a stuffed sausage in all of her suits.
A buzz from the phone on her desk provided a welcome distraction, and she jabbed at the intercom button.
“Chief, you’ve got visitors up in the lobby.”
Frowning at the desk sergeant’s words, Nessa looked at the calendar and email inbox displayed on her computer screen, then back at the phone on the desk.
“I haven’t got anything on my calendar,” she said. “And I’m-”
“It’s Veronica Lee from Channel Ten,” the sergeant interrupted. “She says she needs to speak to you about something urgently.”
Nessa hesitated, remembering the last time Veronica Lee had shown up unannounced at the station. She wasn’t sure she was ready for the kind of trouble that always seemed to follow the young investigative reporter.
The sergeant spoke again in a lowered voice.
“You want me to tell her you’re not in?” he asked. “Or that you’re in a meeting?”
“No,” Nessa sighed, knowing the persistent reporter wasn’t likely to give up and go away. “I’ll be right out.”
When she stepped into the lobby minutes later, Nessa saw Veronica’s familiar figure standing next to a young woman with dark, shoulder-length brown hair and wide, nervous eyes.
“Veronica, how are you?”
Nessa injected a welcoming tone into her southern drawl. The reporter may bring trouble, but she’d also helped save Nessa’s butt on more than one occasion.
As Veronica returned her greeting, Nessa thought she saw the reporter’s eyes dart down to her midsection for a quick peek.
No use in even trying to keep a secret in this town.
Tugging her jacket tighter around her, Nessa turned her gaze on Veronica’s companion, noting that the woman’s hands were balled into tight fists by her side.
“This is Misty Bradshaw.” Veronica rested a protective hand on the young woman’s arm. “Do you have a few minutes to talk? In private?”
Nessa felt the desk sergeant’s curious eyes on her and decided any questions could wait.
“Sure, let’s talk in the back.” She motioned for them to follow her. “But I only have a few minutes.”
Leading the two women down a narrow hall, she found an empty interview room and waited for them to take a seat around a square, wooden table.
“Misty needs to file a report,” Veronica said without preamble.
“Then I’m not the one she should be talking with.” Nessa prepared to stand up. “I can get an officer in here to-”
“No, please.”
Veronica put out a hand to stop her.
“She’s seen the news…about the connection between the WBPD and the Diablo Syndicate. She’s worried the information she has could be shared with certain people who might try to retaliate.”
Veronica looked over at Misty, offering a reassuring smile.
“I told her it was safe to speak to you. That she can trust you.”
An uneasy ache joined the queasiness in Nessa’s stomach at the mention of the Diablo Syndicate. She had hoped that taking down the man running the organization would stop the trafficking activity that had been plaguing South Florida for the last year.
But recent updates from the FBI trafficking task force had dimmed her hopes, and now this young woman was confirming her worst fears. Factions of the Diablo Syndicate were still out there, and they were now working within a wider network that was still operating in Willow Bay.
“The detective mentioned in the press is no longer employed with the WBPD. The team I have now is completely trustworthy.”
Nessa avoided Veronica’s questioning gaze as she spoke. She knew the reporter would want to hear that Marc Ingram was going to be prosecuted for aiding and abetting the traffickers. But the former detective was denying all charges, and with Judge Eldredge presiding over the case, she couldn’t be sure yet what would happen.
Focusing her attention on Misty, Nessa leaned forward.
“Now, Ms. Bradshaw, what is it you want to tell me?”
Misty’s eyes dropped to her hands, and for a minute Nessa thought she wasn’t going to respond. Then she squared her shoulders and looked up, her eyes bright with sudden emotion.
“I have information about a trafficker,” Misty said in a low, bitter voice. “Someone who’s been victimizing women in this town for a long time. Someone operating right under your department’s nose.”
The accusatory tone took Nessa off guard.
“Okay, and just how do you know about this trafficker?”
“I saw everything with my own eyes,” Misty said, her cheeks flushing with anger. “I was lured in and ended up at Diablo’s camp. I was held there and…well, I was one of the lucky ones, I guess. I got away. But not before they got me hooked on oxy.”
Nessa raised her eyebrows. The woman in front of her was clearly upset and angry, but she didn’t display any of the telltale signs of an addict.
“I’ve gone through the detox program at Hope House and I’m trying to get my life back, but…but I need to know I’m safe.” Misty’s voice cracked on the words. “And I need to know that she’s off the street. That she can’t hurt anyone else.”
“Who’s off the street?” Nessa asked. “Is there another woman in danger from this trafficker?”
Misty swallowed hard and nodded.
“Every woman in this town’s in danger as long as she’s out there,” Misty said. “She’s evil, and she’ll do anything to protect herself.”
Confused, Nessa looked to Veronica, then back to Misty.
“Who’s evil?”
“Amber Sloan,” Misty whispered. “You need to stop Amber Sloan before it’s too late.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The door to the briefing room was closed, but Nessa could hear Special Agent Clint Marlowe’s deep voice as she stood in the hall. It sounded as if the update meeting on Operation Stolen Angels was already in session.
Opening the door and slipping into the room, Nessa motioned for Agent Marlowe to continue as she sank into an empty seat next to Tucker Vanzinger. She ignored the detective’s look of concern and tri
ed to focus on what Marlowe was saying.
After the FBI and the WBPD had managed to take out the leaders of the Diablo Syndicate earlier in the year, they were now investigating the wider network of organized criminals trafficking in illegal weapons, illicit drugs, and vulnerable women and children.
Feeling Vanzinger’s persistent stare, Nessa looked over to see the big detective raise his eyebrows and lean forward.
“You okay?” he whispered, his gaze dropping to her stomach.
Rolling her eyes, Nessa nodded. The detectives on her team had started treating her like an invalid ever since her condition had become an open secret. She wasn’t sure who’d spilled the beans, but she was dying to find out so she could give them a piece of her mind.
“Is there something you two want to share with the rest of us, Chief Ainsley?” Marlowe’s voice was dry. “Or is it a…secret?”
Looking around the room, Nessa saw that all eyes were on her. The federal agents were openly grinning, while her own detectives struggled to keep their expressions neutral.
“Okay, fine,” Nessa said, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m pregnant. There, I’ve said it. Now can everyone just stop staring at me like I’ve grown another head and get back to work?”
A gasp sounded behind Nessa, and she turned to see Detective Peyton Bell staring at her with wide eyes.
“You’re expecting?” Peyton’s face broke into a delighted smile. “That’s wonderful. When are you due? Do you know if it’s-”
“Not now, Detective,” Nessa snapped, feeling another wave of nausea bubble up. “Let’s just move on with the meeting.”
The room fell quiet for a long beat, and then Nessa spoke again, this time in a calmer tone.
“I’m sorry, but we need to focus on more important things right now.” She held up a copy of the statement taken from Misty Bradshaw. “I just talked to a young woman. A victim who claims a trafficker with the Diablo Syndicate is still operating in Willow Bay.”
Holding the paper out to Peyton, Nessa tried not to think about the fear she’d seen in Misty’s eyes when the young woman had described the ordeal she’d been through.
“The perp is a woman?”
Peyton raised her eyebrows as she scanned the report, then handed it to her new partner. Vanzinger read through the statement and issued a low whistle.
“Sounds like this Amber Sloan is a real piece of work,” he said, shaking his head. “But she might have what we’ve been looking for.”
“And what’s that?” Nessa asked, worried by the sudden gleam in the brawny detective’s eyes.
Vanzinger held up the report.
“It says here that Amber Sloan had been working for Diablo, but now she’s starting to work directly with his key suppliers and buyers. If that’s true, then she may be our way in.”
Plucking the report out of Vanzinger’s hand, Marlowe read through it himself, then dropped it on the table in front of Nessa.
“We’d have to get this woman to talk,” Marlowe said. “And based on this statement I’d say she’s unlikely to be cooperative.”
“You never know until you try,’ Vanzinger shot back with a grin.
Peyton picked up the report and turned to Nessa.
“Let me and Vanzinger take this one,” she said, sounding eager. “I have a good feeling about this.”
Chapter Four
Peyton sat next to Vanzinger in the black Dodge Charger as he drove north on Channel Drive. Nessa hadn’t handed them the case until they’d both sworn not to disclose Misty Bradshaw’s identity or the details of her complaint once they managed to find and question Amber Sloan.
The police chief had stressed Misty’s fear of incurring Amber’s wrath, and based on the details she been given, Peyton couldn’t blame her. Amber Sloan sounded like an extremely dangerous person to cross.
“Turn left on Huntington,” Peyton instructed, checking the map displayed on the laptop mounted between them.
Suddenly worried her new partner might take offense at her barking commands, she looked over at Vanzinger with a grimace.
“Let me know if I’m getting too bossy,” she said, studying his profile. “I can get a little intense sometimes.”
Vanzinger shrugged his big shoulders and laughed.
“If you think that’s going to bug me you must not have met my wife,” he teased. “She wrote the book on intense.”
It was the first time Peyton had heard Vanzinger refer to state prosecutor Riley Odell as his wife, and she detected more than a hint of pride in his voice.
Her new partner had only been married a few months, and from the lovestruck look on his face, Peyton decided that Vanzinger and Riley were still in the honeymoon phase of their marriage
“We’re looking for Fox Hollow Apartments,” she said, her tone once again all business. “Should be just past Citrus Drive.”
Pointing toward a modest, two-story complex on the right side of the road, Peyton checked her notes again.
“Amber Sloan lives in Unit 124,” she said, as Vanzinger turned into the lot. “Let’s circle around the back.”
“There it is.” Vanzinger nodded toward a corner unit on the ground floor. “You know what car she drives?”
He continued past the apartment and backed the Charger into an empty space with a good view of Unit 124. Peyton tapped on the laptop’s keyboard, then nodded.
“She’s got a 2016 Toyota Camry. White with…”
Peyton trailed off when she saw the door to Unit 124 swing open. A thin woman emerged carrying a bulky backpack that appeared to weigh more than she did. The woman walked in their direction, then stopped beside a white sedan and opened the trunk.
“I’d say that’s her,” Vanzinger muttered.
He gestured toward the photo displayed on the laptop’s screen. Amber Sloan’s driver’s license showed a young woman with frizzy bangs falling over dark eyes.
“Looks like she’s getting ready to make a delivery,” Peyton said, feeling her pulse jump. “You want to follow her?”
“Oh, yeah,” Vanzinger said, his blue eyes following Amber as she climbed in the Toyota. “I want to see what’s in that backpack.”
Once the Camry had pulled past them, Vanzinger steered the Charger out of the lot and followed at a distance. They’d only gone a mile down the road when the Camry turned into Bayside Municipal Park. Vanzinger drove past the entrance before making a U-turn at the next light.
By the time they got back to the park, Amber was out of her car and talking to two young girls sitting on a bench.
“Looks like she’s already looking for Misty’s replacement,” Peyton said, leaning forward to get a better look at the girls.
“They can’t be more than sixteen.”
Vanzinger’s voice was incredulous. He ran a big hand through his red crewcut, his forehead creasing into a deep frown as he watched Amber unzip her backpack and reach inside.
When she slipped something into one of the girl’s hands, Peyton looked at Vanzinger and raised her eyebrows.
“You ready to do this?” she asked.
“Hell, yeah,” Vanzinger agreed, already opening the door.
Jumping out after her partner, Peyton adjusted her jacket over the holster on her belt and followed him across the parking lot.
One of the girls caught sight of the big detective approaching and recoiled, causing Amber to turn around. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Vanzinger’s broad shoulders under his jacket and the edge of the holster wrapped around his narrow waist.
Peyton hurried up beside him and held up her badge.
“Willow Bay PD,” she said, keeping her eyes on Amber.
Smirking at the badge, Amber lifted her hands in mock surrender.
“I give up, officer. Now what is it I’m supposed to have done?”
Vanzinger ignored Amber’s sarcastic remarks and faced the girls. Up close they looked even younger than they had from a distance. Peyton noticed that one of them still had braces, and that t
he other was fighting a losing battle with acne.
“How old are you two?”
Vanzinger’s voice was hard. He nodded at the girl with braces who had something clutched in her hand.
“And what’s that you’ve got there?”
Before Peyton knew what had happened, the girl spun around and ran, dropping whatever she’d been holding behind her. The second girl darted after her friend. Neither Peyton nor Vanzinger made a move to follow as the girls reached the edge of the park and disappeared around the fence.
Bending over to pick up the small baggie the girl had thrown down, Peyton wasn’t surprised to see that it held a dozen or so little blue pills.
“Those aren’t mine,” Amber said automatically when Peyton held the bag up. “I’ve never seen them before in my life.”
“And I suppose you don’t have a backpack full of little bags just like this one in your trunk?” Peyton asked, unable to keep the disgust out of her voice. “Little bags of pills you can sell to little girls?”
Vanzinger frowned and shook his head.
“Oh, I don’t think she was selling these.”
He stepped closer to Amber. His jaw clenched as he met her defiant scowl with his own assessing gaze.
“I think you were giving them away.” His voice was low and hard. “Isn’t that how you get girls like that hooked? Isn’t that your game?”
Not waiting for Amber to respond, Peyton moved toward the white Camry parked by the curb.
“I’d say that baggie gives us probable cause to search her vehicle.”
The Toyota was unlocked, and Peyton glanced into the interior, noting a half-empty water bottle in the cup holder and a pack of Juicy Fruit gum. She didn’t smell smoke and the ashtray was empty of cigarette butts or drug paraphernalia.
Moving to the trunk, she popped it open. The bulky backpack Amber had been carrying sat on top of the spare tire. Peyton leaned inside and saw that the backpack’s main compartment was unzipped. Her heart jumped as she saw the jumble of baggies and pill bottles inside.
She lifted the backpack by one strap and held it up.
“I’ve never seen that bag before.”
Her Silent Spring Page 3
