by Marlow Kelly
“Instead of doing this…” She pointed to the list of businesses in front of her. “Perhaps I should look for properties where they would likely be held. I know from experience abductors whisk their victims away to a different geographic location. Within hours, they could be in another state and look totally different.”
“Good point. They might still be planning to go through with an exchange, or at least use them as bait. If that’s the case, then they’d be held locally. Make a list of everywhere you think is a possible location, include warehouses, empty office buildings, and hotels. Anywhere they could stash two women unnoticed.” His screen had gone dark while they were talking. He tapped a key, and it sprang to life. Once again, he returned to his digital investigation.
She picked up the printout, grabbed the notepad that sat on Agent Morris’ desk, and got to work. She would stay close to him for as long as was necessary to assure his safety.
****
Michael rubbed his eyes. His back hurt, as did his left hip, and pain was shooting into his head from the trapped nerves in his shoulder. Common sense told him his muscles were tense and had aggravated his injuries. Plus, sitting hunched over his computer didn’t help. Although, compared to the pain he’d been in eight months ago, it was nothing except a distraction.
Finn slammed into the office and plunked a tote on his desk. “In here you’ll find two T-shirts, shampoo, toothpaste, and new toothbrushes. The showers are on the ground floor.” He headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Michael asked.
Finn stopped with a hand on the doorknob and turned in his direction. His jaw seemed to be clenched tight and his lips were pressed into a thin line.
Michael had never been good at reading body language, but even he could tell Finn was pissed. “Forget I said anything.”
Finn left without another word.
“He’s easily riled.” He stood and grabbed one of the coffees from Finn’s desk.
Sinclair sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “Really, you think it’s Finn?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I mean it’s okay. It’s the middle of the night. He’s probably just tired.”
Her eyes widened as though he’d said something shocking. “You don’t think you were out of line asking him where he’s going? He doesn’t answer to you. We have taken over his office. You were a federal agent, weren’t you?”
He nodded.
She didn’t seem angry, but she wasn’t going easy on him either. “Would you have talked about a case in front of two victims? No, you wouldn’t. The only reason he hasn’t kicked us out is because we’re his friends. I’d be amazed if his partner has any such considerations. She will insist we move, and she’d be correct.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have questioned him. I get so engrossed in what I’m doing, I don’t consider others. I’ll apologize when he gets back. We’ll have to find another place to do our research.” He closed his eyes for a moment too long and then forced them open. “I can’t think of a place to go. Can you?”
“I can’t think, period. We need rest—”
“No, we have to keep going.” He shook his head. “God knows what’s happening to them. I need—”
“No.” She walked across the room to stand in front of him, her hands on her hips in a don’t-mess-with-me stance. “I get it. You feel guilty. Well, you’re not the only one. They were under my protection.” She swallowed. It was as though she was gulping down her pain. “I should’ve been there, but Nadie insisted I go with you.” She turned her back to him. “I wanted to be with you, so I didn’t argue, but I should’ve known better.”
He grabbed her shoulders and gently turned her, but she wouldn’t look at him. He understood. He felt the same. He should never have gone off. Why did he always think his way was best? When it came to Sinclair, he was wrong more often than he was right. “We have survivor’s guilt, don’t we?”
She nodded. “I want to keep looking, but I can’t think. My head’s fuzzy, and it hurts. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Fatigue.” Symptoms included a decrease in cognitive reasoning, impaired decision making, and irritability. They could have overlooked something vital because they were too tired to think. They both needed some shuteye. Just an hour would refresh them and help their brains function.
“Come on.” She held his hand and led him to the couch. “You go first and get comfortable. I’ll fit in around you.”
He did as he was told, laying on his right side, supporting his head on the armrest at one end. Then he patted the seat, urging her to cuddle up. She fitted her body into his so they were spooning. He wrapped an arm around her waist, reassured by her presence. No matter what happened, he could rely on her to always point him in the right direction. “I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you.” Then he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ethan opened the door that accessed the sixth floor from the stairwell. He’d waited until five in the morning because he needed to scope the place out, and in his experience, this was the most likely time for lookouts to fall asleep. Unfortunately, the security surrounding this dump was top notch. He’d thought he’d be able to sneak in, but the guards had stopped him. It had taken a phone call to Lucy to allow him access. There was zero chance he’d be able to get anyone out.
But he had managed to override the CCTV camera in the room where they were being held. He had connections with several trusted individuals who worked on the wrong side of the law and were professionals, like himself. One of them was a hacker who had explained that the average smart phone had better security than web-connected security cameras.
Ethan had simply ran a program from his laptop that kept trying different passwords until it got the right one. Once he had access, all he had to do was loop the video feed to hide the conversation he was about to have with Papin’s women.
A dim overhead lightbulb showed the dirt and grime that covered the walls. If the décor and smell of mold hadn’t been an indication of how old and rundown the place was, using a key instead of a card to open the door was a dead giveaway.
He couldn’t trust Lucy to keep her word even though she’d given him control of the women. He was just a fixer. People like her stomped on people like him. Sooner or later, her need to dominate the situation would become more important than her promise to let him use the women to lure Papin into a trap to kill him. Which meant he probably had twenty-four hours at the most before the women were sold, and even that was stretching it. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d already made contact with the interested parties.
He opened the door to the hotel room and reached for the light switch on the wall. The punch came out of nowhere. A blow to his cheek. It stung but didn’t incapacitate him. He blocked the second jab aimed at his throat. Then he grabbed the woman’s hands and held her still. He didn’t care if he was hurting her. There was more at stake here than a few bruises. He kicked the door closed with his left foot and then concentrated on his attacker. He grasped both of her wrists with one hand and flicked on the light.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted a teen girl. She had the drawer from the nightstand above her head, ready to slam it into him. He pushed the older woman back. She bounced as she landed on the bed. Using his right foot, he kicked the young one in the knee. She went down hard.
He pulled his gun and aimed it at the daughter. “Stop, both of you.”
The daughter stilled and the mother, who had regained her footing, froze.
“I’m not here to hurt you.” He held his free hand up in a show of surrender, which meant nothing because he was still holding a gun on the kid.
“Then why are you here?” The mother fisted her hands, ready to fight.
“You were taken to use against your son, Papin, I’m protecting you. But the bitch who took you will never let you go. You’re to be sold.”
He cou
ld tell by the look on the older woman’s face that she didn’t understand. “This is a sex trafficking operation, and you are going to be auctioned off. I want to stop that from happening.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you help us?”
That was a question he didn’t want to answer. He had always enjoyed his job and had believed he was a man without a conscience, but when faced with the rape of multiple people, for profit, he realized he was human after all. It was a revelation he had yet to come to terms with, but one he accepted as true. “I kill people. I don’t abuse them.”
“You’re here to kill us?” Her stance was rigid, and her nostrils flared as if preparing for a brawl.
This could escalate if he didn’t find a way for the women to trust him. But he’d never been good at communicating. “No.” He lowered his weapon, pointing it at the ground.
He’d murdered drug kingpins and CEOs without batting an eyelash, but he’d never been called upon to murder women and children. For most of his adult life, his goals had been simple: kill and get paid. Occasionally, he’d wondered about getting some hobbies and maybe starting a normal life, but he hadn’t because he enjoyed his job and he wasn’t interested in much else. Once his work with the Syndicate was over, he’d be adrift. He pushed the thought aside and focused on the woman in front of him.
She grabbed her daughter, shoving the young girl behind her. “Are you going to kill Michael?”
“Yes. I was supposed to kill him. Papin knows the score.” Ethan suppressed a smile. There was a chance that like his friend, Morgan, Papin would’ve put up a fight. Ethan would’ve enjoyed that, but he had to let it go.
“Supposed to?” the girl asked. Her long hair was strung across her face as she collapsed onto the bed, rubbing her knee.
“I need to find him. Where would he go?”
The mother shrugged. “I don’t know. We hadn’t seen him for months. He turned up at the same time as the men—”
“Papin killed them?”
She nodded.
“How do I get in touch with him?”
The older woman lifted her chin in defiance. “Call the FBI.”
“I want a real answer.” He grabbed her by the front of her shirt and twisted it so it choked her. He might be trying to save her from a lifetime of rape, but he wasn’t about to put up with any crap.
The daughter elbowed her way between them, in an attempt to shove him away. “That is a real answer. He has a friend in the FBI, Finn Callaghan. Call him.”
He knew about the FBI friend and realized they were telling the truth. He let go of the mother and stepped back. “Do not leave this room. You’re safe as long as you’re here.” He walked to the door, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He was leaving them defenseless. He turned his Barretta in his hand so he was holding the barrel. “Do either of you know how to use this?” Giving them his weapon was a risk. They might shoot him in the back, but his instinct told him that neither of them were that coldblooded.
The older woman nodded and took the handgun from him.
“I’ll come back with food. I cannot emphasize this enough—don’t leave this room and barricade the door with the dresser after I leave. There are guards everywhere. If they catch you trying to escape, they will hurt you.”
“How will we know it’s you when you return?” The older woman was checking the cartridge to make sure it was loaded, which was something he would’ve done.
“I’ll knock like this.” He tapped out a rhythm on the door. “You got that?” He tapped it out again.
They both nodded.
“If anyone else enters, shoot them. Do not hesitate.” He locked the door after him and listened. He was gratified to hear the muffled sound of furniture being dragged across the floor. He headed to the fire exit at the rear of the hotel.
Going to Special Agent Callaghan was out of the question. He would be arrested for bank robbery and murder. If he ended up in the system, the Syndicate would suicide him for sure. They had plenty of people in the prison system who could kill him and make it look as if he’d done it to himself. It wasn’t that they had an associate in every police station, but they knew the right people, and it would be easy to hire someone to do the dirty work.
He could go to Tim Morgan, but that was just as dangerous. As an ex-Ranger, Morgan considered himself a man of honor. He probably wouldn’t attack unless it was necessary. But Morgan’s skill with a blade matched Ethan’s, and he still had the scars from their last encounter. Why take the risk?
He made his way out of the building. The security guard, a plainclothes man with an AK47, waved at him, letting him know he was under surveillance. Ethan waved back and strolled along the back alley toward his truck.
An image of the pretty defense attorney, Sophia Reed, appeared in his mind. She was tougher than she looked and had a brilliant legal mind. Although he’d taken her hostage, he had also saved her from being jumped by one of his accomplices in the robbery. She would listen. He’d get a few hours’ sleep to sharpen his mind and would be waiting at Sophia’s office when she arrived for work.
He hated to leave the Syndicate. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get past the sex slavery and the horror of his own childhood. He wanted Lucy and the rest of her operation to suffer. The realization struck him like a kick to the kidneys. He didn’t just want to take them down; he wanted to hurt them so bad they would pray to be allowed into hell.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Finn spotted Kennedy walking toward him as he was leaving the Dumb Luck Café. He thrust a coffee into her hand. “Let’s talk in the car.”
“What’s going on?” She followed him across the Granite City square.
“Michael and Sinclair are camped out in the office, and I don’t want to discuss any cases in front of them.”
She frowned. “You left them alone in our office? That breaks all kinds of rules and jeopardizes the integrity of our files. You know that, don’t you?”
He put a hand to his head, knowing he was eye-blocking, shutting out what she was saying. Finally, he dropped his arm and squared his shoulders. He was conflicted, and there was no way he could distance himself from whatever was going on. “I need you to take the lead, liaise with the Granite City-Elkhead County PD, and deal with the terrible twosome up there.” He pointed to the federal building. “I will back you up a hundred percent.”
They continued on in silence until they reached the lot where his government-issue Ford SUV was parked.
She took another sip of her coffee. “This is good, but next time I’ll have sugar-free hazelnut in my latte.”
“Noted.” She never failed to keep him on his toes.
She climbed in, swiveled in her seat so she was facing him, and waited until he had closed his door. “Okay, what have you got?”
“One of the dead men from the home invasion has a Russian orthodox cross tattooed along his spine. Interpol are running him now to see if they can get an ID. The other two shooters have no distinguishing features and aren’t in the system.”
“I take it Interpol are checking them out, too?
“As per my instructions to Detective Ramirez, yes.”
“And they all died by gunshot wounds?”
“Yes. Which matches what we saw and Michael’s version of events. He shot two of them when they were trying to gain entry into the basement, and I got the last one.”
“And ballistics supports that?”
“Verbally, yes, but I haven’t received the written report yet.”
She pulled a small notebook and a pen from her cargo pants.
He pointed to the pad. “Why didn’t you get that out before?”
“I didn’t think of it.” She held her pen to the paper, ready to write. “And the break-in at Child Seekers?”
“Ramirez doesn’t believe it was a robbery. Nothing was taken. All they did was look through the files and tear the place apart. Sinclair’s documents were lying open on a nearby table.”
“
Like someone wanted them to be found?” She recorded everything in neat, compact letters.
“Exactly.” He had no idea how she managed to write so fast and yet still have tidy penmanship.
“That sounds more like intimidation than robbery.”
“Which is weird because you’d think jumping her in a back alley would be intimidating enough.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.
“Maybe they thought she would go home or use her credit card. Perhaps they don’t understand what she does for a living.”
He placed his elbow against the driver’s side window and stared out at the lot. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Kennedy underlined her notes and turned the page. “Let’s put a pin in that one and talk about the cabin. I went to the hospital like you asked. By the description Milo O’Connor gave us, I think it was the same two guys that attacked Sinclair in that back alley.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Yes. In her report, she said she hit the smaller one in the hand and she said the big one looked like an ex-fighter.”
“There’s a connection.” If this was the Syndicate, then it would make sense the same men would be present at both crimes.
They sat in silence for a moment and then Kennedy said, “You think it’s the Syndicate, don’t you?”
Her ability to read his mind always amazed him. “You don’t?”
They were both in attendance at the meeting at FBI headquarters in Salt Lake City with Special Agent in Charge Martin Deluca when they had discovered that evidence collected by Michael had gone missing.
She tapped her pen against the center console. “But why go after him now? We’re missing something.”
He tasted his coffee. It was nearly cold. “Do you know what I think?”
“No, but you’re going to tell me.”
“Michael’s not as smart as he thinks. When he was undercover at PDE, he installed a virus that hacked all their passwords.”
“Dear God.” She stared blindly out the window. “Do you think they know it was him?”
