The party was in full swing, and Aubrey felt like a fifth wheel. Becca was in her element and had danced with so many men, Aubrey had lost count. Not that she minded. Seeing her cousin enjoy herself was a relief. After their get-together a few nights ago, it had become apparent that the breakup with Chad had hurt her cousin more than she’d let on. It was good to see a smile back on Becca’s beautiful face.
Wearing a black silk and cotton Halston cocktail dress that fit her like a glove, Aubrey had enjoyed her share of male attention. She had even danced a couple of times, but big parties were simply not her thing. She much preferred fewer people and a quieter venue.
Not that she had much of a social life. When she wasn’t working, she was sleeping. At that thought, she scrunched her nose. Her dad had always claimed she was born with an old soul. They’d had a special bond she would always treasure. Little more than a year after her ordeal in Syria, he was gone. Even though his daughter had come home alive, Matthew Starr had never really recovered from her abduction. His heart had simply given out on him.
Since his death, she and her mother weren’t as close as they’d once been. Though she never came out and said it, Elizabeth Starr blamed her daughter for her husband’s death. Aubrey understood that. She blamed herself, too. If she hadn’t gone to Paris, none of that horror would have happened.
Even though he was long gone, she often felt as though he was still with her, guiding her. On occasion, she would catch a scent of his cologne or just get the feeling that he was watching over her. She could almost feel him now, and she smiled at the thought.
There was another reason that her heart felt lighter, too. Just before she’d walked out the door to meet Becca in the hotel lobby, her phone had rung. It had been an out-of-area call, and she had hesitated to answer. The feelers she’d put out for a new backer would all come from a California area code. The last thing she wanted was some kind of sales call. Besides, considering the response she’d gotten from the people she’d contacted, she didn’t anticipate anyone in the industry funding her project.
Something inside her told her to answer the call. She was glad she had.
“This is Aubrey.”
“Hello, Aubrey, my name is Kate Walker. Lawrence Medford was a dear friend of mine.”
“Hello, Ms. Walker. I’m so sorry for your loss. Lawrence’s death was a blow to many of us.”
“Yes, it was. He told me about you…about your project. He had high hopes that you would be able to work out your differences.”
“I believe we could have. He was an incredibly talented producer and my first choice for this project.”
“I wonder if you would mind taking a detour before you head back home to Florida. I may be able to help you.”
Her heartbeat had increased. “Help me how?”
“By providing the funding for your documentary.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not familiar with your name. Are you in the film industry?”
“Not exactly.” Ms. Walker had paused for a moment and then added, “Let’s just say that funding worthwhile projects is a particular hobby of mine.”
Intrigued, Aubrey had said yes. She knew nothing about Kate Walker and would definitely research her before she agreed to anything, but a small bloom of optimism had replaced her worry.
She would fly to North Carolina tomorrow morning where hopefully she would find another backer. This could be the answer to her prayers.
“Mind if an old man sits down with the prettiest girl in the room?”
Looking up at her uncle, Aubrey gave him a wry grin. “I’m not sure which of those is the bigger lie. Not by any stretch of the imagination are you old. And we both know that your daughter is most definitely the prettiest girl at the party.”
Stooping down, Syd Green planted a kiss on Aubrey’s cheek and then dropped heavily into a chair beside her. “I’ll have to disagree with you on both those counts. You look lovely tonight. And my bones are reminding me that it’s way past my bedtime.”
“I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I couldn’t miss my daughter’s big party, but I had a meeting that ran long.”
“You work too hard, Uncle Syd.”
“Now if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, I don’t know what is.”
She couldn’t argue with him there. They were both workaholics. “You know we wouldn’t have it any other way.”
A sad, melancholy look darkened his face. “Perhaps.”
“Are you okay?” She touched his hand in concern. “Did something happen?”
She felt a certain responsibility to her uncle. Her aunt Jenny, Syd’s wife, had passed several years ago. The stroke had hit her at an early age, stunning everyone. Aubrey had still been in the hospital recovering when the news had come. Her mother’s youngest sister had been a vibrant and beautiful woman. Though she had survived, lingering for several years, she had been mentally incapacitated. She had died in her sleep only a couple of years ago.
Syd patted her hand. “Everything’s fine. Don’t you worry about me.”
“Then what’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?”
As quickly as the sad expression had appeared, it evaporated, but his eyes were still more solemn than she’d seen them in a while.
“I’m fine, my dear. It’s just been a long day.”
She could definitely agree that it had been a long day. She had spent hours on the phone, talking with her contacts about funding for her project. The halfhearted promises to consider the project had been almost as disheartening as the straightforward rejections. Money was tight, and some of those toes she might step on with this film were likely friends or at least acquaintances of these people. She understood that, but this story was too important not to tell.
The call from Lawrence Medford’s friend Kate Walker had been out of the blue. If a deal panned out, it would be in her opinion, a bona fide miracle.
But that was a worry for tomorrow. Refocusing, she gave her uncle a bright smile. “Do you have a new project? Can you talk about it?”
“You know me. I always have five or six simmering. Nothing that’ll knock anyone’s socks off, but still some solid works. Speaking of projects, I’m sorry yours has been put on hold. I know Lawrence Medford was going to be your biggest financier.”
“He was, but I’ll get it made.”
His brows furrowed in surprise. “You have the funding?”
Since she didn’t know if things would work out, she wasn’t ready to tell him about her conversation with Kate Walker. “I have several investors I’m talking to.”
“Why don’t you concentrate on scriptwriting for a while? Maybe sell one or two of them? Then, when the purse strings loosen up, you can go back to your project.”
“It’s an important and timely story that needs to be told now. Human trafficking is more rampant than ever. People need to know.”
“Then let me help you. We’ll work on it together. I can—”
Aubrey held up her hand. “Thank you, Uncle Syd, but you’ve done more than enough for me.”
Grabbing her hand, he squeezed gently. “You’re like a daughter to me, you know that.”
“I don’t know what Mom and I would have done without you after Dad died. You’ve been my lifesaver more than once. Believe me when I tell you I love you dearly and appreciate you, but I have to do this on my own.”
He sighed deeply, squeezed her hand one more time. “I understand, but you know you can always come to me.”
“Can I steal this handsome man away for a dance?”
They both looked up into the laughing eyes of Becca. Dressed in an off-the-shoulder cocktail dress, she was the picture of health and happiness. The azure blue of her dress was the perfect complement to her white-blond hair, creamy skin, and ocean-blue eyes. The sparkle in them said she was having the time of her life.
She and Becca had wanted to be actors since they were both little girls playing dress up together. They used to put on plays f
or their families and friends, and on occasion, their efforts had been filmed. When they were teens, those old recordings had been unearthed to entertain unsuspecting guests at numerous gatherings.
Aubrey was thrilled to see her cousin’s dream come true in such a big way.
Uncle Syd rose slowly to his feet. “Chatting with my lovely niece and dancing with my beautiful daughter are the reasons I came tonight.” Holding out his hand to Becca, he said, “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s show them how it’s done.”
They took a step away, and then Syd turned back to Aubrey. “Give it some thought, sweetie.”
Aubrey nodded her agreement, but she already knew the answer. She had taken enough from her uncle. She would meet with her possible new benefactor and hopefully get this project off the ground. If the funding didn’t come through, she would find another way.
Chapter Thirteen
Bogota, Colombia
While Xavier drove, Liam sat in the passenger seat and mentally reviewed the plan for the raid. With the intel Myron had been able to give them, along with the research Serena’s team had dug up on the property, Liam knew they would be successful.
No one ever questioned why he was so focused on human trafficking. They knew the story almost as well as he did. This was his op. He was the one who’d gotten the intel. The one who’d worked the assets. He was the one with the biggest investment in a successful outcome.
A small huff came from the man driving the SUV. Xavier had been his friend long before OZ. They knew everything about each other and had no issues with speaking their minds.
“You got something to say,” Liam said, “say it.”
“You’ve been looking for her for over a decade. You know the chances that she’s still alive are almost nonexistent.”
Yeah, he knew the statistics. The life expectancy of a trafficking victim in captivity was around seven years. It’d been over twelve years since Cat had been sold. The odds of her still being alive weren’t good. But they weren’t impossible, and until he had firm confirmation that she was dead, he would not stop looking.
“You think I should just give up? Stop looking for her?”
“I think you need to get on with your life.”
“And what exactly does that look like? Getting on with one’s life?”
“This is all you do, man. When you’re not working an OZ op, you’re digging up intel on human traffickers and going on raids. You have no personal life.”
Liam gave a huff of laughter. “Hate to bring this up, Xavier, but you’re not exactly a walking, talking example of a balanced life. If I’m not mistaken, the last woman you dated was back when cellphones weighed about ten pounds and mullets were still the rage.”
His friend snorted his amusement. “Not exactly that long, but I get your point. But at least I don’t spend every free moment obsessing about a hopeless cause.”
“When there’s hope, it’s never a hopeless cause. Besides, even if she can’t be saved, others can.”
“I know, brother. And it’s one of the greatest feelings in the world to rescue a trafficked person.” He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I just worry about you.”
“Worry about your own sorry self. When are you going to tell Jazz what you found out?”
“In time.”
Liam shook his head. “You know good and well the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be. She finds out you’ve held on to that intel for months, you’ll be in the doghouse big-time. Besides, she deserves to know the truth.”
“Yeah, she does. But she’s still recovering from that fall last year. When she’s one hundred percent again, I’ll tell her.”
Liam got that. They’d almost lost Jazz—Jasmine McAlister—last year. Some maniac on a crusade to die had tried his best to take Jazz with him. They’d managed to rescue her, but she’d been out of commission for months. Jazz was just now getting her strength and endurance back.
“She’s stronger than you give her credit for,” Liam said.
“There’s no one who knows that better than me.”
“And?”
Xavier murmured softly, “It’ll break her heart.”
“And you’ll be there to help her through it. We all will.”
“Yeah, we will.” He shrugged. “She’s got a physical eval coming up soon. If she passes, I’ll tell her.”
“She’ll pass.”
“I know.”
Liam let it go at that. He knew Xavier would do the right thing. Jazz was special to all of them, but Xavier had a bond with her that went beyond mere friendship. Something everyone just accepted.
Just as they accepted that Liam had spent over a decade searching for a woman he’d never seen and knew only by a name that most certainly was not her own.
The day they’d escaped from that prison had been one of the worst days of his life. Not being able to find Cat had been hellish. When he’d left, he’d felt as if he were abandoning her, though there had been no reason to stay. She wasn’t there. And then the helicopter had crashed, almost killing them all.
Six of them had survived the brutal trek across the desert. They’d formed a bond that he would’ve sworn couldn’t be broken. Until Hawke.
“You know Olivia came to see Ash a few months back?” Liam asked.
Though he didn’t respond, the tense set of Xavier’s shoulders told him all he needed to know. Xavier wasn’t ready to forgive.
“She’s working for Last Chance Rescue now.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Of course he would. Not much got by his friend. But the man was beyond stubborn about some things, such as forgiveness.
Olivia Gates had been an OZ operative. She’d been married to Nick Hawthorne, and they’d seemed like the perfect couple, the perfect OZ partners. When things had gone south, they’d gone all the way to the bottom. Hawke had been killed, and Olivia had been lucky to leave OZ without being shot by one of her fellow operatives. That had been one of their darkest times.
Even though he understood why Olivia had made the choice she had, it was still hard to conceive that she’d actually made it. And many on the OZ team, including Xavier, would likely never forgive her.
“I’ve talked to her a few times for intel on a possible lead. Last Chance Rescue focuses a lot on human trafficking. She and her boss, Noah McCall, have been a big help on a couple of leads.”
Silence. Liam let it sit there. He couldn’t say he agreed with what Olivia had done, but refusing her help would never be an option. Her intel had saved a life—that trumped hard feelings every single time.
“Liam, you copy?”
Putting his finger to his earbud, Liam answered Gideon. “Roger that. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a problem. We’re at the surveillance house. Our target house looks empty.”
“What? How is that possible?”
“Hell if I know. We got here about half an hour ago. Everything looked fine. Lights off, everybody asleep. Night crew reported nothing unusual.”
“Then what makes you think it’s empty?”
“Lights are still off. The past three days they’ve come on promptly at six thirty. It’s a quarter past seven. My gut says they’re gone.”
Telling Gideon that maybe they’d overslept would be ludicrous. The man’s instincts were never wrong. So where were they?
Sean, Serena, and Jazz had been the night crew. Highly trained and extremely capable operatives. No way would they have missed a mass exodus of the entire household. Something was way off here.
“We’re about ten minutes away. Hold tight.”
“Copy that,” Gideon said.
Liam shut down his comm and cut his eyes over to Xavier. “This stinks big-time.”
“I agree. Sean and Serena wouldn’t have missed them leaving.”
His mind raced with what could have happened. Pulling up schematics of the mansion, Liam examined them again. He’d reviewed the layout numerous times over the last couple of days. Could’ve drawn the
damn thing by heart. There were two back doors, two side doors, and one front door. They had cameras on every exit. No way a group of eleven could have left without someone noticing. Unless…
He peered closer. “There’s got to be a tunnel under the house.”
“But where? And why would they leave? They were there yesterday. How would they know we were coming?”
His gut twisting, Liam grabbed his phone and punched Myron’s number. Getting his voice mail was no surprise. Myron rarely answered his phone. “Myron, it’s me. Call me back ASAP.”
He ended the call, but his mind already knew the truth. They’d somehow gotten to Myron. And even though the man was no saint, Liam knew he wouldn’t have given up his secrets if he hadn’t been forced to do so. Question was, had Myron survived?
The trafficking house belonged to the elusive Mafia kingpin Hector Gomez, well known in the trafficking world. Rumor had it that Gomez was a frequent visitor to the house. As much as Liam had wanted to bust down the doors and rescue the victims, nabbing Gomez would put a substantial dent in the trafficking industry in this part of the world.
With the full backing of the Colombian government, Liam and his OZ teammates had watched the house for three days and nights. Men and women arrived and left at all hours. Armed men guarded the perimeter, trying without much success to conceal their weapons beneath their jackets. None of the men fit Gomez’s description.
Liam had made the decision to wait no longer. The plan was to go in tonight. Now it appeared he’d waited too long.
Inwardly cursing himself, Liam mentally reviewed the op. Their intent had been to strike a couple of hours before dawn, after the entire household had quieted down for the night. It had been a good plan and should’ve worked. Now they’d need to regroup and figure out what had gone wrong.
They pulled into the private drive of the mansion they’d taken over. Its three stories made it easy to keep an eye on the house across the street. Xavier drove around to the back. Both Gideon and Eve were waiting at the door for them.
“I texted Jazz, Sean, and Serena,” Eve said. “They’re headed back here.”
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