by Kate Lowell
DeGraff snorted. “Just want to know what I’m dealing with. I try not to interfere with the men when they’re working—everyone has their own style. But if it doesn’t work, I’ll pair you with one of the others for your next one, to see what he does different.”
He snapped his fingers at Ethan, and the boy jumped up from his spot on the floor in the corner and raced over with nervous speed. “Get me a beer too. And don’t drop it.” Ethan spun and headed for the fridge. DeGraff watched him for a second, then turned back to Leo, shaking his head. “Screwed the pooch on that one. We’re gonna lose money on him. How’s the other? What did you do?”
“Just roughed him up a bit, held him down and let him figure out he wasn’t going anywhere. Makes the rest of it easier.”
“Pretty simple. Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
“I had a good arrest record.”
DeGraff already knew that. The bureau had heard from their snitches and informants as soon as he started asking questions. They’d fed him the stories the bureau had put together, each one designed to add more weight to Leo’s cover. It had been enough to get Leo hired, so it was strange that he’d start pushing now, when they were both supposedly on the same side. So what did that make this low-level interrogation? Paranoia? Or suspicion?
DeGraff stared a challenge at Leo. “Then not just a cop on the take but an alley-court cop too,” he said. His tone was derisive, but his eyes were keen, watching Leo with the attention of a hawk watching a mouse under his tree.
Leo took a pull on his beer and put it down. He made both movements very deliberate, so when he set his feet on the floor and turned to face DeGraff head-on, the threat was clear. “It got the job done, and no one got hurt any more than they deserved. If you don’t bend the rules sometimes, you don’t get the results you need. The brass knew; they just pretended they didn’t, and I got thrown under the bus. You got a problem with that?”
DeGraff accepted his beer from Ethan and waved his fingers to send the young man away. “Nope.” He raised the bottle in a toast, all his good humor back again. “I can work with it. Just don’t think you can get away with trying that shit on me.”
Ah, just a pissing match…
Leo watched as Ethan retreated to the nonexistent safety of his corner, noting the bruises and brand-new welts that covered the boy’s back and legs. Hell, they’d even beaten him over his kidneys, which was supposed to be a no-no. To cap it all, DeGraff had taken his boxers from him as well, leaving the young man naked and more miserable, if that was even possible. Leo looked back at DeGraff and smiled grimly. “Nope, I understand the chain of command.”
“Good. Then we’ll do just fine.”
Leo chugged half his beer and swore he’d take DeGraff down. If nothing else in this operation went right, that was still going to happen.
* * * *
For whatever reason, they couldn’t find the football game they were going to watch, and ended up watching basketball together. DeGraff turned out to be pretty knowledgeable about the sport. “Kid used to play in school, but he was too short to go pro.”
“Didn’t know you had kids.”
DeGraff nodded. “Two. Boy and a girl. They’re at college now, burning through my money as fast as I can make it.”
“That why you got into this?”
“No.” DeGraff laughed. “I’m just a businessman who saw a need and decided to fill it. And it’s been good to me.” He raised his beer to his mouth and drank.
Saw a need and decided to fill it… Was it possible that DeGraff was the guy running this, not Carragher? No way. But maybe… Dammit, another line of inquiry to check out. “Yeah, kids are fucking expensive.” He lifted his beer and found it was empty. He started to get up again, then remembered DeGraff’s comment about Ethan. “Boy,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” Ethan struggled up from his spot on the floor. Leo guessed he was starting to stiffen up after the beating. He debated telling the young man to sit back down, but ultimately it came down to the value of a few minutes’ discomfort for Ethan versus all the work that had gone into getting Leo where he was now. The bureau had put too much into making his identity airtight. He couldn’t draw suspicion on it with a moment of ill-advised pity. “Get me a beer,” he said, keeping his tone neutral so as to not scare Ethan any more than he already was.
“Yes, sir,” Ethan repeated and hobbled off to the fridge. He was back shortly, holding out the bottle, already opened.
“Go sit,” Leo told him and took the beer. He tore his eyes away from the battered young man and forced himself to pay attention to the TV.
“You got money on this game?” DeGraff asked.
“I don’t bet on basketball. Football, a little, but mostly races.”
“You’ve got two kids, right?”
Leo nodded. “Girls.” Like DeGraff didn’t already know. But Leo wasn’t supposed to know that DeGraff had tracked his “ex-wife” down during that first year undercover.
“Both of them?”
“Yes.” He turned a cold look on DeGraff. “Why?”
DeGraff raised his hands in front of him. “Just making conversation. We’re going to be working pretty closely together. Might as well be comfortable. So, girls, huh?”
Leo turned back to the TV. “Yep. Ten and twelve.”
“Ha, good luck. The teen years are on their way. I wasn’t sure if Marta and I would both make it through, but we managed not to kill each other. She’s in her third year, doing communications. Going to write speeches for politicians.” He pointed the top of his beer bottle at Leo. “They’re sweet now, but when the hormones take them, watch out. It’s like every horror movie you’ve ever watched, come to life.” He lifted the bottle and took a drink. “Course, you’re separated, aren’t you? So the ex will get the worst of it. Kind of karmic justice.”
“I’m divorced. Papers came through last month.”
“She take you for more money?”
“Yeah. I’ll be glad when my kids are done with school, so I can kiss the harridan good-bye.”
“Hmmph.”
The game ended without overtime and without anything interesting happening.
DeGraff stretched and put his empty beer bottle on the coffee table. “We’re moving tomorrow, so you might want to grab some shut-eye. I’ll need you early to get stuff packed up. Can’t expect Consuela to do it all.”
“That’s quick. Thought we’d be here a few more days.”
DeGraff grinned. “Who wants to wait for Vegas? We’ve got a great spot there. More room. About twenty minutes from the Strip, when traffic’s good. Perfect.” He stood up. “I have to make some calls. You can put Ethan away; stick him in with that boy of yours. Or take him with you, if you need to take the edge off. You seemed a little worked up when you came back.”
Leo’s cheeks heated. “I’m fine.” He looked at the boy crouched miserably in the corner. “What’s his story anyway?”
DeGraff turned his head to look at Ethan too, which made the boy cringe. “Buyer backed out on him, and now we’re stuck. He’s got an odd set of proteins in his tissue—really good match for the original buyer, absolute shit for just about anyone else. I’m trying to find another or get him trained, but he’s slow.” He raised his voice. “Doesn’t know what’s good for him.” Then in a normal voice, “I don’t know. Fucking should be an instinct, but if I put him out anywhere the way he is, I’d never hear the end of the complaints. Just my luck to find a bad lay that can’t be fixed.” He beckoned to Ethan. “Come on, boy. Time for bed.”
Fear crossed Ethan’s face, followed quickly by hopelessness. He hurried to Leo’s side, shoulders hunched, staying close but not too close. Leo gritted his teeth and walked out into the hall, leading the boy toward the cells. He stopped outside Julian’s room and fished in his pocket. “Here,” he said, offering the boy a small white pill. When Ethan couldn’t hold back a sob, Leo pulled his hand back. “It’s oxy, that’s all. Take care of the pain, let you sleep
. You’ll stay here with the new boy. Tell him how it is; make sure he understands his situation. I don’t want to have to hurt him.”
“Yes, sir.” Ethan stared at the pill, longing and anxiety on his face—and maybe just a little bit of wonder at the small kindness. It made Leo’s heart ache and reminded him—as if he needed any reminding—why he was there.
Ethan started to reach out for the pill. “That’s really oxy, sir?” His eyes widened, and he backed away in a panic. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean it like that.” He put his hands up as if to ward off a blow and turned his face away from Leo.
“It is. I think you’ve been punished enough. But don’t tell anyone, or I might get in trouble too.” He wondered if a smile would ease Ethan’s fears or just make them worse. It was hard to say, so he opted for giving the boy some advice. “Try to do what you’re told from now on, even if you hate it. You need to learn to act. Otherwise it’s not going to get better. You understand? Can you help me help you?”
Ethan looked up at him, and the hero worship in his eyes twisted Leo’s gut. “Yes, sir.” He took the pill and swallowed it dry. “Thank you, sir.”
Leo nodded. “Get to bed. And don’t forget.”
“I won’t, sir.”
Leo slid back the bolt on the door and ushered Ethan into the room. Julian sat upright, his eyes locked on the door and then on Leo.
“You and Ethan are bunking together. Pay attention to him, and things’ll go a lot smoother for you.” He scooped up the baby monitor, closed and bolted the door, and walked away feeling like he’d abandoned both men.
THE SOUND OF the door opening brought Julian snapping wide awake. His heart pounded, and it took a few seconds before he could focus enough to recognize the shape of Leo standing in the hall.
Leo’s voice rang out, drill-sergeant sharp. “You and Ethan are bunking together. Pay attention to him, and things’ll go a lot smoother for you.” The deep, gravelly tone made Julian want to shove him up against a wall and kiss him until he begged. He filed that feeling away for later use. After they took down the ring, and they were both free to explore this. He was pretty sure that was a hard-on he’d felt earlier. And Leo hadn’t freaked out about Julian’s impulsive kiss or mentioned a boyfriend or anything like that.
Hopefully they’d be able to wrap this up soon.
Ethan slipped through the door and came to huddle on the mattress with Julian. He’d lost his boxers somewhere and seemed to be feeling their loss.
Leo closed the door, and the bolt slid home again.
Trapped. But he was supposed to be, and from what Leo had said, he guessed the plan was for Julian to pump Ethan for more information.
The guy looked like he’d been dragged backward through hell. Julian put a hand on Ethan’s knee, just about the only place on his body that didn’t have a bruise or a scrape. “You okay?”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah. I just…I can’t do it, you know? I don’t know why he keeps telling me to, because he says he doesn’t even like guys.”
“Who? Not the guy who dropped you off?”
“No, he’s new. It’s Mr. DeGraff.”
Julian had to bite off a comment about the mister. “What does he want you to do?”
“He keeps expecting me to blow him, but he shoves it in so far, and I choke. I hate it! He’s such a jerk about it. I just want to go home!” Ethan collapsed into racking sobs, and Julian pulled him close so he could rest his head on Julian’s shoulder. He put his arms carefully around Ethan, offering what comfort he could, careful of the welts and bruises. If Julian was nervous, with a partner on site, knowing he could call for help if things got too deep, how must Ethan feel, all alone and wearing more bruises than unblemished skin?
“He sounds like an asshole.”
Ethan startled away from him. “Don’t say that. If he hears you—”
“He’s not here.” Julian tugged Ethan toward the wall farthest from the door. “Tell me about it.”
“That’s what the new guy said I should do.” Ethan settled beside Julian, back not quite touching the wall. “He gave me a pill for the pain and told me I needed to do better.” He seemed to be calming down now, his breathing slower, the frantic haphazardness of his movements smoothing into something closer to normal. Julian wondered what Leo had given him.
“Don’t want you getting in more trouble.” He’d said it as a joke, trying to lighten the mood, but Ethan’s face crumpled. “Hey, I’m sorry. Come on, I’ll do it, whatever you need. I’ll help you.” He wanted to tell Ethan that he was here to help, that he wasn’t a victim, but undercover. However, Bert had impressed upon him, in gory, nauseating detail, the absolute necessity of keeping that secret. So instead, Julian took Ethan’s hand and said, “Tell me.”
While Ethan talked, Julian’s slightly lighthearted attitude toward the operation began to fade. This wasn’t what he thought he’d been signing up for. Harrow had either lied or hadn’t known. Julian had Leo to keep him out of the worst trouble, but some sixth sense told him he’d better be ready to make some hard choices. Already this operation felt like running downhill, as fast as he could go. If the slope got any steeper, would he be able to keep his legs underneath him?
Listening to Ethan pour his heart out in the circle of Julian’s arms, he thought he’d take a few falls if it meant getting Ethan and anyone else suffering here to safety.
Shipping
DeGraff knocked on Leo’s door just before six in the morning. “Truck’s here.”
Leo looked up from putting the last of his clothes in his bag. “Be right there.” He tossed a pair of socks in, then checked all the drawers and under the bed one last time.
DeGraff snorted in the doorway. “Come on! It’s not like you can’t afford to replace anything you forget.”
Leo looked at him coolly. “But why should I?”
“You must have been a right bastard when you were a cop.” DeGraff raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll get them started. Not like any of them are going to make a fuss. Once you’re done checking in here, you can make sure Consuela’s finished packing up the kitchen, and tell her to get her ass down to the dock.” He left, shaking his head.
Once Leo was sure DeGraff wasn’t coming back, he reached underneath the bedside table and pulled out a digital recorder and a microphone. His contact had slipped them to him at the track the day before they’d picked up Julian. The plan was to install it somewhere he could record the goings-on in the warehouse; it was lucky they were moving before he’d had a chance to put it in place here, or he’d likely have had to leave it behind.
He rolled the equipment up in a pair of jeans and stuffed the bundle halfway down the messy bag, then zipped it and threw it over his shoulder. Anything else he was missing, he could afford to leave.
His footsteps echoed sharply off the walls as he walked the corridor. Past the open doors of the four cells they kept the victims in, then past two finely appointed bedrooms. The difference between the luxurious spaces for the trainers and the tattered mattresses on the floor of the victims’ rooms was like night and day. Leo examined one room. Julian’s room. He didn’t think he’d learn anything, but an opportunity to look around unsupervised was not to be passed up.
He was right—he didn’t learn anything. There weren’t even names or dates scratched into the walls. It was blank, searingly uninformative, except for the sense of fear and despair that seemed to ooze out of the walls. The room weighed on Leo’s mind and heart as he turned to leave, and he continued on to the kitchen in a foul mood.
Consuela was stacking the last of the boxes in the living room. Anything fragile was wrapped in cardboard and bubble wrap, everything else in newspaper, all of it piled neatly in heavy cardboard boxes. Leo poked his head in. “Everything ready?” he asked in Spanish.
She looked up, fear in her eyes. A new bruise shone deep purple on her cheek. “Sí, señor.”
Leo thought she was a trafficking victim too. It wouldn’t surprise him—she
never left the building except to buy food, hurrying back in with a hunted expression on her face, worked all hours of the day and night, and twitched every time someone looked at her. He didn’t, however, believe she was a failed prostitute. She wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t young enough. But if you were trafficking people for sex, what was one more to wash your clothes and scrub your floors?
He’d raided a farm in Florida, back in his Hostage Rescue days, where they’d kept fifty-seven men and boys captive, shipping them around from farm to farm in containers to harvest produce for corporate farms. Strong men had stepped out of the way to vomit when they opened the first container, ripe with the smell of unwashed bodies, human waste, and the sharp reek of infection. One of the victims had told the investigators later that the women who had come across the border with them had all been taken elsewhere. During the trial, it was revealed that the women had been sold all over, to businesses and households, to clean and look after children and work assembly lines and sewing machines.
Leo had enjoyed testifying at that trial, and even more listening to the verdict as the perpetrators had been sentenced to forty years in prison.
Consuela added another layer of questions to the ones he was still trying to answer. Was there a branch of this organization that dealt in domestic slavery? Was she a victim of chance? Or was she purchased or traded for from another organization out there, separate from this one?
That thought alone made his head ache. He pushed the thought away and nodded to her. “Good. We’re leaving soon. You’re wanted at the dock.”
She ducked her head, hastily piled the last of the kitchen goods next to the other boxes, and scurried down the hall like a kicked dog.
He walked back down the hallway, anger tightening his fingers around the handle of his bag. How far did this organization stretch?
The door to the office stood open. He poked his head inside in the vain hope that he might find something useful, but he was too late. The computer—and everything else that might have been in there—was already gone.
