Her Silent Spring

by Melinda Woodhall

  Peyton shot Marlowe an uncomfortable glance before answering.

  “Amber claims she can deliver a key contact in the Syndicate. Someone who had been working directly with Diablo to arrange shipments.”

  Turning to Riley, Nessa noted the prosecutor’s doubtful expression. It seemed like the only one in the room eager to sign the agreement was Agent Marlowe.

  “I’ve examined Amber Sloan’s record,” Riley said. “And she’s certainly racked up an impressive list of arrests. Funny thing is, she’s never actually been convicted of any crime.”

  Vanzinger spoke up for the first time.

  “Yeah, I noticed that myself,” he said. “Either she has a good lawyer, or she’s got connections in high places.”

  Throwing Vanzinger an annoyed glare, Nessa tried not to sound too defensive as she responded.

  “That’s the kind of statement that gives the department a bad name, Detective,” she scolded, then exhaled loudly. “If Amber Sloan was exonerated of the crimes she was accused of committing in the past, it’s not up to us to retry her now.”

  She avoided meeting Marlowe’s eyes, knowing he was eager to proceed with the immunity arrangement regardless of her opinion.

  “But that doesn’t mean she should get a free pass in the future.”

  Marlowe dropped a heavy hand on the table, his pretense of objectivity evaporating.

  “Amber Sloan is the only eye-witness we have willing to work with us at this time,” he said, directing his words solely at Nessa. “It may be the only chance we have to infiltrate the core of the network.”

  “Well, we do have one other option.”

  Riley pushed a thick folder toward Marlowe.

  “That’s the file on Ivan Sokolov,” she said, opening the folder to reveal a picture of a massive man with thick eyebrows arranged in an angry scowl. “He was Diablo’s cousin and second-in-command, and he’s looking at serious time, so if we’re throwing around immunity offers, he may be willing to play.”

  Ignoring the skeptical expression on Marlowe’s face, Nessa nodded in tentative agreement.

  “Sokolov must have plenty of information to share,” she added. “And he’s looking at a life-sentence, so I’d say he’ll be interested.”

  Her voice faltered as she felt her phone begin to vibrate in her pocket. Most likely Veronica was calling again, and Nessa was sure the reporter would be asking about Misty Bradshaw’s statement.

  I don’t want to be the one to tell her Amber Sloan was granted immunity.

  But Marlowe wasn’t ready to give up yet as he adopted a patronizing tone that set Nessa’s teeth on edge.

  “If there’s a chance that Amber Sloan or Ivan Sokolov can get us close to the rotten core of this organization then we should work with them both,” he insisted, slapping his hand on the table again. “We may be able to take out the whole damn network.”

  “But what about Misty Bradshaw?” Nessa asked, standing to face Marlowe. “Are we willing to sacrifice her after she put herself in danger by naming Amber Sloan?”

  Leaning back in his chair to stare up at Nessa with dark, impenetrable eyes, Marlowe was unmoved.

  “We aren’t sacrificing anyone, Chief Ainsley. We’re simply using every resource we have to achieve a higher goal.”

  He looked around the table.

  “In the end Misty Bradshaw and every other woman in South Florida will be safer once we take down this group,” he stated. “Now, does anyone else have any objections, or can we move forward?”

  Chapter Ten

  Peyton swallowed back the words of protest that filled her throat. She couldn’t let her worry for Misty Bradshaw override the task force’s need to protect the community from a threat which had already destroyed so many lives. At the same time, she had an obligation to keep Misty safe, and she wouldn’t let her down.

  I’ll just make sure Amber Sloan doesn’t find out Misty was the informer.

  Surveying the faces around the table, Peyton could see that Vanzinger and Riley weren’t going to raise further objections, either. And based on the glum look on the chief’s face, even Nessa seemed resigned to go along with the FBI agent’s plan.

  They had a chance to get to the heart of a major trafficking network, and they had to take it before it slipped away. Peyton only hoped that Amber Sloan and Ivan Sokolov would play fair.

  If they give false information, or double cross us, we could end up wasting valuable time. Innocent lives could be ruined in the meantime.

  After an uncomfortable pause, Marlowe cleared his throat.

  “Okay, then if we’re all in agreement, we can go ahead and finalize the immunity deal with Amber Sloan.”

  He rose from his chair as Riley closed Ivan Sokolov’s file.

  “And I’ll approach Mr. Sokolov’s lawyer to see if they want to discuss a possible deal,” the state prosecutor said crisply.

  Marlowe made it to the door before he turned back to address Peyton and Vanzinger.

  “I want to sit in on the initial interview with Ms. Sloan,” he said with a frown. “If she’s going to try to bullshit us, I want to know it from the start.”

  Nodding stiffly, Peyton glanced at Vanzinger in time to see a flash of irritation cross his face. Her new partner looked as offended as she was that Marlowe expressed such little faith in their judgement.

  They’d both been around long enough to know better than to trust Amber Sloan, and they didn’t need him or his agents babysitting them. It went without saying that everything the informant divulged had to be treated with skepticism.

  Once Marlowe had disappeared down the hall, Vanzinger turned to Peyton and Riley with a disgruntled frown.

  “Amber Sloan’s waiting in interview room three,” Riley said, with an arched eyebrow. “And since she has dismissed her lawyer, I’m going to need a witness with me when we sign the agreement, so…”

  Giving his wife a broad wink, Vanzinger grinned over at Peyton.

  “So, it couldn’t hurt to ask her a few questions since we’ll already be in there,” he finished, heading toward the door.

  Peyton looked over at Nessa’s chair, but the chief had already left the room. Following Vanzinger and Riley down the hall, Peyton hesitated in the doorway of the interview room, suddenly sure they were making a mistake.

  “Wait…”

  But Riley was sliding the file toward Amber Sloan, who sat at the little wooden table wearing the lightweight blue shirt and baggy pants given to every female inmate booked into the county jail.

  “Sign here, and here,” Riley murmured, pointing to the signature lines on the agreement as Peyton peered over her shoulder.

  Snatching the offered pen from Riley’s hand, Amber scribbled her name on the lines indicated then dropped the pen and leaned back in her chair with a huff.

  “Okay, now when can I get out of here?”

  “I’ll get the paperwork started once I leave here,” Riley said, her voice cold. “But I want to remind you of your obligations under the terms of the agreement. You are to make yourself available for questioning at the convenience of the WBPD and the FBI.”

  Amber glared up at Riley with an impatient nod.

  “Okay, I got it,” she muttered. “Now do whatever it is you have to do to get me out of here.”

  Sinking into the chair across from Amber, Vanzinger leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table, as if preparing for a long conversation.

  “It’ll take a while before they come to get you,” he said with a pleased smile. “So, we might as well use the time wisely and hear what it is you have to say right now.”

  “I thought I was going to be talking to the FBI,” Amber protested. “And I’m not talking before I’m out of these stupid clothes.”

  Peyton moved toward the table, knowing it was too late to turn back. They’d signed the agreement and now she had to make sure Amber Sloan gave them the information she’d promised.

  “We’ll start the release process as soon as you start t
alking,” Peyton said, sitting down next to Vanzinger. “You get immunity if you provide information leading to organized crime in the area. If you lie to us, or hold something back, your immunity gets revoked.”

  Shrugging her thin shoulders, Amber pushed her thick bangs back from her forehead and pinned Peyton with a bored stare.

  “I know the guy who scheduled Diablo’s drug shipments and arranged transportation for other high-value cargo.”

  “What high-value cargo?” Vanzinger asked, taking the bait. “Are you saying this guy is involved in human trafficking?’

  The smirk on Amber’s face told Peyton that she was playing with them, and that she was starting to enjoy the game.

  “What’s the guy’s name, and where can we find him?”

  Peyton tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. She couldn’t give Amber the reaction she wanted. She had to keep control of herself and of the interview.

  “I don’t know his real name,” Amber admitted. “But his username is Mack, and he uses a message board on the dark web to arrange the shipments. If you give me some time, I can set up a meeting.”

  “Have you met him before?” Vanzinger asked. “I mean, have you met him in person?”

  Producing a coy smile, Amber trained her gaze on Vanzinger.

  “Well, we aren’t dating, if that’s what you mean, but, yes, I’ve met him a few times.”

  “Why’d you have to meet in person?” Peyton shot back.

  Amber hesitated before answering, her eyes drifting down to her copy of the immunity agreement still resting on the table.

  “I had to hand-deliver a special shipment,” she finally said.

  “So, this guy was actually down here in Willow Bay?”

  The question seemed to fluster Amber, so Peyton asked again.

  “Did you meet up with him in Willow Bay?”

  “Close enough,” Amber snapped, her eyes flashing.

  Leaning forward in anticipation, Peyton worked to keep her voice steady. She didn’t want to spook Amber now.

  “Where’s the guy from?” she asked. “Where does he live?”

  “I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter.”

  Amber’s mouth curled into a half-smile as she stared at Peyton.

  “He can go anywhere he wants, whenever he wants. That’s what makes him so dangerous.”

  Peyton exhaled and sat back. Amber wasn’t going to give them what they wanted so easily.

  “So, what, this guy has superpowers?” Vanzinger asked.

  “Yeah, he can fly,” Amber said with a smirk. “And he can appear and disappear when you least expect it.”

  Tired of Amber’s attitude, Peyton played her only card.

  “I think you’re withholding vital information, which automatically violates the agreement,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing up. “And that just may delay your release.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Amber studied Peyton’s face, as if calculating how serious she was. Ignoring the warning voice inside her head, Peyton held Amber’s gaze.

  “I’ve only seen the guy a few times,” Amber finally admitted. “But based on what I know, I’d say he’s from Kentucky.”

  A hard knock sounded behind Peyton, and she jerked around to see that the corrections officers had arrived. They would escort Amber back to the jail where she would be processed for release.

  As Peyton watched the uniformed officers lead Amber into the hall, she had the feeling that they’d just made a terrible mistake.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Barker and Dawson’s Investigations was only a ten-minute walk away from the police station, and Peyton found herself standing in front of the unimpressive office building before she’d had a chance to clear her head or shake off her misgiving about Amber’s release.

  Checking her reflection in the window, she ran a hand through her short pixie cut and straightened her jacket over her slim shoulders, then pushed open the door and stepped into the little office. She hoped a few minutes with Frankie would help her forget about work for a while.

  “Peyton, long time no see!” Pete Barker called out, his puppy dog eyes lighting up. “How’s it going over there at the WBPD? I hear you guys have got some new blood in Major Crimes.”

  “Yep, Chief Ainsley’s brought in a new detective to partner with Jankowski,” Peyton agreed, catching sight of Frankie’s empty desk. “A guy named Diego Ramirez. He used to work up in Atlanta. You know him?”

  The retired police detective furrowed his brow and shook his head.

  “Name doesn’t sound familiar, but if Nessa brought him in, I’d be willing to bet he’s a damn good detective,” Barker said with conviction. “She’s a smart woman. The best partner I ever had.”

  Hearing the nostalgia in his voice, Peyton raised her eyebrows.

  “Better not let Frankie hear you saying that,” she teased. “He’d be pretty torn up to know he’s not your favorite.”

  “You’re probably right,” Barker agreed. “But he’s not here, and I’m sure you’re not going to tell him, are you?”

  Heart sinking at his words, Peyton shook her head.

  “No, your secret is safe with me.”

  She stood awkwardly by Frankie’s desk for a long beat, then cleared her throat.

  “So, will he be back soon?” she asked, feeling vaguely pathetic. “I haven’t gotten to see him since you guys got back from Montana.”

  “Oh, well…I guess he didn’t tell you that he’s leaving again first thing in the morning,” Barker said. “He went home early. Wanted to pack a bag and help his mother with a few errands before we go.”

  A frown settled between his thick eyebrows.

  “I know it’s not my place, but is everything okay with you two?”

  His fatherly tone brought a glimmer of tears to Peyton’s eyes. It had been a long time since she’d had a father to count on, and for the first time in a long time, she felt the grief well up and threaten to spill over.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say something wrong.”

  Barker jumped up and circled around the desk, grabbing a napkin from under his coffee cup and handing it to Peyton.

  “It’s okay,” she sniffed, dabbing at her eyes. “I guess I’m a little stressed with work and…well, everything.”

  “Frankie told me you moved back to Willow Bay to take care of your mother,” Barker said, his voice gentle. “Is she doing all right?”

  Wadding the napkin into a ball, Peyton tossed it toward the trashcan by Barker’s desk and shrugged.

  “She’s doing as well as can be expected,” she said. “We’re taking it one day at a time and all that, but it’s…well, it’s cancer so…”

  A shadow fell over Barker’s eyes, and he nodded.

  “My wife Caroline died of cancer,” he murmured, swallowing hard. “Watching her go through that…trying to be strong for her. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  The raw pain in his eyes scared Peyton.

  Is that how I’ll feel once Mom is gone? Will that be me in a few months?

  Panic began to brew in her stomach, and the need for a stiff drink surfaced as if on cue. Peyton had managed to drink herself through all kinds of trauma and pain over the years, but she was sober now, and she couldn’t afford to lose herself in a bottle.

  Her mother needed her. The trafficking victims she was trying to help needed her. She looked at Frankie’s empty chair with a mixture of regret and relief.

  At least Frankie doesn’t need me. At least I won’t be letting him down.

  Giving Barker a sad smile, Peyton crossed to the door.

  “Tell Frankie I stopped by,” she said. “And tell him to stay safe.”

  “Oh, he’ll be fine,” Barker said, sinking back into his chair. “Sky Lake is a pretty small town, so I imagine we won’t get into too much trouble.”

  “Sky Lake?” Peyton asked. “Where’s that?”

  Barker hesitated, as if maybe he’d said too much.

&n
bsp; “It’s in Kentucky,” he finally admitted. “We’ve got a lead in a missing person’s case, but I shouldn’t say anymore.”

  As Peyton stepped onto the sidewalk and headed back toward the station, she tried to convince herself that it was just a coincidence. Frankie going up to Kentucky on a case could have nothing to do with Amber Sloan’s claim that her darknet contact is from Kentucky. Could it?

  Of course, I never did put much faith in coincidences.

  Chapter Eleven

  Frankie leaned forward in the passenger’s seat of the rental car, eager to see the little Kentucky town that Donovan Locke had called home. The plane ride up had been nice and smooth, unlike the flight to Montana, and Frankie considered it a positive sign that the trip would go just as smoothly.

  “Look, there’s the Sky Lake Sheriff’s Office.”

  He pointed out the window at a single-story brick building topped with a massive flagpole, and Barker put on his blinker and slowed to look for parking along the busy, two-way street.

  Easing the compact car into an empty space by the curb, Barker shut off the engine and turned to Frankie.

  “Let me do the talking,” he said, putting a heavy hand on Frankie’s arm before he could jump out of the car. “I know how these small-town departments work. They don’t like smartasses.”

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Frankie replied with a mock salute. “If they prefer dumbasses, you’re their man.”

  Frankie shook off Barker’s hand and climbed out onto the sidewalk. His long, skinny legs had carried him halfway to the front door of the building when Barker caught up to him.

  “I mean it, Frankie,” Barker puffed. “Let me take the lead.”

  Pushing through the glass double-doors, Barker stepped into a small lobby. The young, uniformed officer behind the reception desk looked up as they approached. He gave a curt nod at Barker’s greeting but didn’t seem very happy to see them.

  “I’m hoping to talk to Sheriff Holt.” Barker’s voice was gruff. “We’re investigating a case and have a few questions for him.”

  The officer’s eyes rested on Barker, then flicked to Frankie, who kept a straight face, deciding it was best not to smile. He didn’t want to ruin Barker’s tough-guy routine.