“Have you told her how you feel?”
“Several times.”
“Are you sure? Men sometimes have problems talking about feelings.”
“I told her how much I like her. Like being with her. Like hearing her laugh.”
She lifted her right brow. “Like? Do you like her, or do you love her?”
He felt gut-punched. Not because of the question, but because of the answer that resonated inside him. Yeah, he’d suspected it. But now, he knew for certain.
“I could be wrong,” Flora continued, “but the odds of her changing where she will live because someone likes her are small. But for love…a person will do almost anything.”
Chapter Thirty-One
He’d even met the baby,” Brie told Eliot as she popped a cough drop into her mouth. She was definitely coming down with something. Her throat felt like raw hamburger meat. “But it didn’t matter. He said Alma’s mother had wanted her to give the baby up, too.” She picked up a teddy bear and added it to her cart. Then added three more, remembering the other kids at the foster home.
She’d spent the night at the hotel with Eliot. This morning, after getting blood drawn for the DNA test, she’d decided to go shopping for her niece. Eliot had insisted on coming.
Last night Brie had avoided talking about the meeting with her father. It hurt too much. But he’d brought it up again at the store. It felt safer talking about it in public. She was less likely to break down.
“Isn’t that what you expected?” Eliot asked.
Brie stopped pushing the cart. “Maybe, but I thought him seeing me would…I thought he’d react more. It wouldn’t have changed what he did, but I wanted to think he has regrets.” She shook her head. “He doesn’t. Not about me, Alma, or his granddaughter.”
“It’s his loss.”
“I know.” She inhaled deeply, trying to dislodge the lump of hurt in her throat. She stopped at a rack of little-girl dresses and searched for the right size. “Alma’s mother said she was too old to raise a kid.”
“You called her?” Eliot asked.
She nodded. “I don’t get how someone could just not love their own grandbaby.”
She coughed again.
“You need to see a doctor. It’s probably strep.”
“Just a cold,” she said with more wishful thinking than belief. She’d had strep more times than she had fingers. Her last doctor said she should consider getting her tonsils out.
Across the aisle, a laughing couple, holding hands, walked up to look at the car seats. The woman looked nine months pregnant. The man, attentive to her every word, was tall and blond and took Brie’s heart right to her pancake buddy.
A heaviness filled her chest. Not just because thinking of him made her heart ache, but also because she wanted that. To be a couple. How much easier would becoming a parent be if you had someone? Someone who shared in the decisions, as well as the good times and the bad.
Suddenly, it hit her. She needed a car seat, too. And a crib. And a…There was so much to do. So much to figure out. She had time, she consoled herself. She’d called CPS earlier. They said if the DNA matched it could still take up to a month to complete the paperwork so she could take her niece home.
She looked at Eliot. “I don’t even know what Alma named her.”
Her phone rang and her heart leaped, thinking it might be Connor. How pathetic was she? She’d told him it was over. But that didn’t mean she was ready to let him go. Apparently, he wasn’t ready either. He’d texted her several times this morning: Miss you. Didn’t sleep. Need u to sleep. We need to talk.
She hadn’t answered any of his texts. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t excited to see them.
She pulled out her phone but didn’t recognize the number.
“Who is it?” Eliot asked.
“Don’t know.” She answered the call. “Hello.”
“Hi, sexy.”
Her heart took another leap, only this time in repulsion.
“Who is this?” she asked, just to ding his ego.
“Dillon Armand, from the club.” He sounded dinged. “My party got moved. It’s tonight.”
“Tonight?” She swallowed; her throat burned.
“I spoke with Grimes. He is not expecting you tonight. I will pick you up at your apartment at six.”
So he knew her address? Connor’s fears had been founded. “Just tell me where and when.”
“It is hard to find. GPS gets it wrong. Best I pick you up.”
“I’m really good with directions. Just give me the address.”
He went so silent, she could almost hear him seething on the other end. She felt the fluttering of her pulse at the base of her neck. Had she ruined it? Should she have agreed to let him pick her up?
“Fine.” His tone came out curt. “I will text you later.”
“Great. See you there.”
“Who was that?” Concern echoed in Eliot’s voice.
She didn’t want to tell him. He’d worry, but she sucked at lying to Eliot.
“Armand.”
“I thought that was tomorrow?”
“Now it’s tonight.” She phoned Connor.
* * *
“I’ll do it.” Connor took the wire from the technician’s hands and motioned for Brie to move into another room at the precinct. She followed, wishing the Advil she’d taken would stop her head from pounding. She needed to be at her best.
Brie felt like warmed-over dog poo and was in no mood to play bait or to party. But she was in the mood to finally have the person, or persons, responsible for human trafficking behind bars. So she sucked it up and carried on.
Connor had pulled strings to get everyone on board for tonight’s operation. ICE and APD were working together. Armand’s text came in two hours ago, giving her an address. It was a house in one of the upper-class neighborhoods on an acre lot. They already knew the house was a rental, and had even gotten the floor plan.
For all intents and purposes, it was the kind of place Armand would host a get-together. It was also the perfect place to hold someone against their will. Which is why everyone hoped Candy was there, but if she wasn’t and Armand took Brie to another location, they would follow.
Connor already sent a van to case the place. And, in addition to the wire she was about to get, they’d put a trace on her phone and placed a tracker in the toe of her right shoe.
Connor shut the door. His green eyes met hers. “You look nice.”
“Thanks.” Armand hadn’t told her how to dress, so she’d chosen a simple A-line black dress paired with black high-heeled shoes, silver earrings, and a Glock strapped to her thigh.
Connor looked at the wire in his hands. “Your bra is the best place.”
“Yeah.” She reached back and unzipped her dress.
Pulling the dress off her shoulders, she waited for his touch. Even prepared, she flinched when the back of his fingers brushed the top of her breast. Both from the emotional pain his touch brought with it and because his hands felt like ice. “You’re cold.”
He touched her brow. “No. You’re hot. Do you have a fever?”
“I’ve got a cold. I just took two Advil.” She’d also taken an antibiotic she’d had left over from the last time she’d had strep.
“If you’re sick—”
“Stop. I’m doing this.”
“We could storm the place.”
“He could kill Candy if she’s there. And if she’s not, we have nothing. Not on my sister’s murder, not on human trafficking. I need to get him to incriminate himself. Put the dang wire on me.”
“If you push too hard…”
“I know what I’m doing!”
He blew out his cheeks and muttered something under his breath, but started attaching the wire to her bra. “If you need to get out of there, say…”
“Purple. You’ve told me three times.”
He looked into her eyes. “I’ll be listening to every word you say.”
“I know.” And she did. She trusted him with her life. Just not her heart.
Finished with the wire, he moved behind her and zipped her up. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “When this is over, we’re talking.” His warm breath caressed her ear.
She looked back at him. “We’ve already said—”
“No. You are going to hear me out! Not now. But when this is over.” He moved to stand in front of her. “Promise me if you get the slightest hint things are turning bad, you’ll say the word so we can get you out of there.”
“I will.”
Their faces were so close she could feel his breath. She stood completely still as he drew even closer and kissed her. A soft kiss that felt like promises. Of course, that was just her wishful thinking. Connor Pierce didn’t make promises. He’d told her that himself.
* * *
With her head still pounding, Brie pulled up to the house. It wasn’t quite dark—a blanket of bright orange color painted the western sky. Parked on the street was a white van with a plumbing logo, and two other cars were parked across the road in a driveway. She spotted two men digging up the neighbor’s lawn, looking as if they were working on a broken pipe.
A bit much, she thought, but she wasn’t running the operation.
Marcus Armand had told her to let him know when she left. She hadn’t. Why give him a warning? Grabbing her jacket, she got out of her car. The cold bit into her fevered skin. She slipped on the jacket.
As she stepped onto the sidewalk, she recognized the men digging. Connor and Mark Sutton.
Ignoring them, she climbed the porch and rang the bell.
She heard voices, but no one answered. She waited a few seconds, then knocked.
The door opened. Armand wore a black suit that somehow made him appear even slimier than before. Or maybe that was his smile. Sleazy, snakelike, and just mean.
Her heart hurt wondering if her sister had faced that smile.
“Glad you are here, but I told you to text me.”
“Oops.”
His smile tightened. “You’re a little difficult. But difficult can be fun.”
She lifted a brow.
He backed up, and she stepped over the threshold.
Voices sounded deep inside the house.
“How many people are here?” She knew what Connor and the others needed to know.
“Not many.”
His hand pressed to her lower back, and it took effort to keep from slamming her knee into his ball sack. She stopped at the end of the hall and counted three guys lounging in the living room. One was dressed in a suit like Armand, and the other two wore jeans. The tall lanky guy with brown hair, wearing a Bob Marley T-shirt, looked familiar.
“So, just four including you?” she said. “And no women? I thought it was a party.”
“We have you,” Armand said.
“We aren’t enough for you?” asked the bearded guy slouched on the sofa.
A cold chill ran through her. “Where’s the bar?”
“In the kitchen.” Armand motioned toward the right. “I’ll take your coat and purse.”
She slipped it off, and one of the guys whistled. “Keep going.” Dread settled in her gut. She’d been in situations more dangerous than this, but this one was creepier somehow.
She’d feel better if her Glock was in her hand and not strapped to her thigh. She’d feel better if her head wasn’t pounding.
As she handed Armand her purse, she forced herself to smile. “Who wants a drink?”
“I’ll take a Jack and Coke.” The guy wearing a suit spoke up. “Make yourself one, too? It’ll loosen you up.”
A loud clunk—as if something was knocked over—echoed from down the hall leading to the bedrooms. Armand frowned at the bearded guy.
“What’s that noise?” Brie asked, assuming it wouldn’t have been picked up by the wire. “Someone else here?” Was it Candy?
“My brother.” The bearded guy stood. “He drank too much.” He started down the hall.
The two other guys sat there leering, as if she was a gift about to be unwrapped. “One Jack and Coke coming up,” Brie said.
“I’ll take a beer and a lap dance,” said the man wearing the Bob Marley shirt.
“One beer.” Brie started toward the kitchen just as Armand’s phone rang. She hung back long enough to see him step out the back door. Moving into the kitchen, she looked around and saw three bottles of liquor on one of the counters. Not enough to qualify as a bar.
This was definitely a setup to get her here. But when were they going to make their move?
She grabbed a beer from the fridge and whispered, “Something was knocked over in the bedroom. It could be Candy. Or possibly another man. I’m going to try to investigate.”
She stopped speaking when she heard a noise behind her. The Marley-shirt guy in need of a lap dance walked in. He wobbled side to side, as if he’d already overindulged.
“I thought I’d come get to know you better.”
“Great. What’s your name?” She set the beer down and grabbed the bottle of whiskey, keeping one eye on him the entire time.
“Todd,” he said.
“A shame.” She opened the whiskey, poured two fingers worth. “That was my ex’s name.”
He laughed and moved closer. “How about that lap dance?”
“I’m just here to serve drinks.”
“Come on. I’ve seen you working at the club.”
“I serve drinks there, too.” She grabbed a Coke from the counter and poured some in with the whiskey.
He leaned against the counter. “What are you wearing under that dress?”
A Glock 9mm. “Here’s your beer and your friend’s drink. I’ll be right in.” She placed the beer and glass in his hands. “Chop, chop. Go!”
* * *
Connor slung the shovel down. “We need to go in.”
“She’s got this,” Mark said. “Let her see if she can get anything.”
“Easy for you to say, that’s not Annie in there!” Connor grabbed the shovel back up. From the second he’d watched her walk in, all he could think about was losing her. About some fucking creep hurting her. And listening to the assholes talk to her so disgustingly curdled the cream in his stomach from the coffee he’d drunk earlier.
“She knows what she’s doing,” Mark said.
Connor gripped his fist. “It’s just…”
“Hard, I know.” Mark buried the shovel in the dirt.
Connor heard Brie breathe and he pulled in a breath, too.
“Go,” Brie’s voice echoed in his ear.
Conner measured the distance to the house. How long would it take to get inside? But damn, he wanted her out of there.
* * *
Brie watched as the guy put the beer to his mouth and took a long swig. “I get the first dance.” He walked out of the kitchen.
Brie gave the guy a head start, then peered into the living room. When her shoes clicked on the tile, she kicked them off. She knew it was risky, since they had a tracker in them, but she needed to move across the hallway silently. Armand and the two other guys were on the back patio talking. As Lap Dance Dude stumbled to the sofa, his back to her, she hurried across the entryway and down the hall. She opened the first bedroom door and found the room empty. She hurried to the next and eased it open, peering in. There on the bed, tied and gagged, were two women. The one who faced away from her was blond and looked like Candy.
Brie started to move in when she heard the back door shut. Closing the door, she cut into the opened door of the bathroom on the opposite side of the hall.
“Where is she?” Armand’s question echoed as she closed the door.
“She was just in the kitchen.”
Footsteps echoed.
She flushed the toilet. “We’ve got two women tied up,” she muttered.
The bathroom door swung open. “What are you doing?”
“Duh. It’s the bathroom. What are you doing?” She frowned at
the glint in his eyes. Her gut said something was about to go down. And before it did, she needed to get him talking. “So, did you know her?”
He studied her. Brie ached to go for her Glock, but she saw he had his gun in his hand. “Know who?”
“My sister, Alma Ronan?”
* * *
Connor froze and listened for the creep’s answer. He didn’t say anything. Connor cut his eyes to Mark, who had also stopped digging, waiting to hear what came next.
“That’s why you look familiar.”
“Did you know her?” Brie repeated.
“Yeah, I knew her. I fucked her hard.” Marcus’s voice came out garbled. “Come on!”
“Did you kill her?” Brie asked. “Or did Dillon?”
“How did you know—”
“Which one of you did it?” Brie’s tone went hard, pushy, and Connor feared Marcus would guess she wore a wire.
“My cousin is too high on white powder to do anything right,” Marcus answered, proving he was as stupid as he was evil.
“Move in!” Connor looked back at two cars parked down the street. One with two ICE officers and the other car with Billy and Stan, another APD cop.
“She was hardheaded,” Marcus said. “Stubborn. Let’s see if you can stay alive longer.”
“I said move in!” Connor repeated.
Mark held up a hand, as if he wanted Marcus to say more. “Give her a minute.”
“No. Now!” Connor yelled. Brie said they had girls tied up. They could get this creep on kidnapping.
“She got to be too much trouble. I had to end her,” Marcus said. “And I will end you, too, if you don’t…”
“We got him now. Move in.” Connor heard a clunk from over the wire. Followed by distant voices and then silence. What was going on?
Connor started that way when he heard a loud motorized sound, but not just from over the wire. The garage door from the house was lifting.
Connor grabbed his lapel mic. “A van is pulling out. Stop them!”
“No,” the voice of one of the ICE agents answered over the line. “The plan is to follow them. They might have other girls.”
Connor didn’t give a fuck what the plan was. He needed to know Brie was okay. Why wasn’t she talking?
Don't Look Back Page 30
