Complete Mia Kazmaroff

by Kiernan-Susan Lewis

  “I’ll do it. Meanwhile, you might want to get home before our girl goes and does something crazy.”

  Our girl. The thought of Maxwell taking any kind of ownership of Mia made Jack’s stomach sour.

  “On my way,” he said as he hung up. He stood for a moment listening to the quiet hum of the dishwasher and then punched in Liz Magnuson’s number. He waited for several seconds before he got the recording that told him the line had been disconnected.

  ******

  “Joe Don, son, do we need to have this conversation in person? I’m tired of having to make these phone calls.”

  “No, sir, Mr. Dinsmore, sir. Things got a little out of hand. We had a few surprises but it’s all under control now.”

  “I do not believe that is the case, son. Did you take care of that left-over situation we have down there?”

  There was a pause on the line.

  “Joe Don? You don’t get rid of that problem, I’m going to send somebody down to help you figure it out. But I can double-guarantee you ain’t going to like it.”

  “I will take care of that problem, sir.”

  “Don’t wait too long, boy. Best get it done tonight.”

  12

  Mia wasn’t sure when they’d thrown the towel in on the downstairs office. She stood inside the front door of the storefront tucked under her condo, her hands on her hips. When she and Jack first thought about starting the business—well, when she had come up with the idea—they’d spent two full days clearing out this space to try to create a proper office environment. Then, Jack’s cheffing business took off faster than either of them anticipated and the idea of their business just sort of…lost its shape.

  She stepped into the space and tried to imagine where Jack’s desk would be and where she would sit. There were two desks facing each other and she liked the idea that they were equal—and talking to each other over every case that came in. She went and sat in the chair in front of the closest desk.

  Except so far every case they’d had was for themselves. No wonder Jack was more interested in whipping up bourbon pecan chicken than tracking down clues. He was getting paid for the one but not the other.

  Mia had spent most of the drive back to Atlantic Station trying to see things from Maxwell’s point of view. She knew he was a cop. Heck, he was the head cop. And if anybody needed to play by the rules, he did.

  She could see that.

  So why did she have this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when she thought of Maxwell that he wasn’t to be trusted? Could anything really good happen between him and her mother if Mia felt this way?

  On the far wall was the chalkboard she’d dragged down here in the middle of the first case…Dave’s murder. She stood up to approach the board, forcing herself not to remember the pain of that case. So personal, so close to home, and very nearly the death of her. She reached for a piece of chalk.

  Alright then. If we’re at square one, let’s see what that looks like.

  An hour later, she was covered in chalk dust, her coat in a heap on the floor and she had a picture of her investigation graphically displayed as a large circle with arrows indicating possible connections.

  A large circle to indicate they were going exactly nowhere.

  She tossed the chalk down and looked at what she’d drawn on the board. Off to the side she’d written Lorna? And she’d drawn a sad face next to it. Under that was written Taneka? Crazy?

  “I was wondering who was down here,” Jack’s voice said over her shoulder.

  She turned and smiled. “Hey,” she said. “Good gig?”

  He nodded and closed the door behind him. “You thinking we need to officially open for business?”

  “I think we need to start thinking like a business, yeah,” she said, sitting on the corner of one of the desks.

  “Does that mean you want the number of the lady with the cheating husband?”

  “Eventually. I went to my Mom’s this morning to try to get Maxwell to go through Ben Bryant’s SUV. And he pretty much acted like I was crazy.”

  Jack frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know somebody who’s involved in the trafficking ring. Guaranteed.” She turned and walked to the chalkboard, snatching up the chalk and crossing out Lorna’s name angrily. “And since we don’t have any other leads, I would’ve thought Maxwell would jump at the chance.”

  “Can you please back up? How do you know someone involved in human trafficking?”

  Mia was relieved to see Jack didn’t act disbelieving.

  Of course, he had shown himself in the past to be a pretty good actor.

  “The nurse at Grady? Ben Bryant? I had breakfast with him this morning and when I got into his SUV, I could tell—you know, because of my thing—that he’d used the vehicle to transport human cargo.”

  Jack looked at her with a blank expression and then said slowly, “So you didn’t go to yoga this morning?”

  She hesitated. Crap.

  “Look, Jack, I’m sorry about that but we’d had such a good time the day before…”

  “…that you didn’t want to spoil it by telling me the truth. I see that. Good to know how your mind works.”

  “Jack, don’t be like that.”

  “Of course not because that would be a major pain in the ass if I were to get upset about being lied to.”

  “I’m sorry! Okay? I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Can you please not hate me long enough to hear what I have to say?”

  “I don’t hate you, Mia.”

  “I don’t have time for this! Maria doesn’t have time for your hurt feelings.”

  “I’m getting a little tired of you breaking the rules and saying screw anybody who gets in your way.”

  “Well, maybe if just once you saw things my way instead of constantly shooting down every single lead I try to develop…”

  “So you’re saying do it my way or be prepared to be lied to?”

  “I’m not saying that.”

  “You’re not because that would be direct and honest.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” she said heatedly. “I’m staring at a brick wall and I think you are too. If we’re ever going to work together in any meaningful way, we need to stop bickering and find a way to restart this investigation.”

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. She watched him lean over and pick up a piece of chalk.

  “Maxwell called me this morning,” he said.

  “He tell you he handed Lorna back?”

  He nodded and then looked into her eyes. “And that she’s run off again.”

  “Oh, Jack!” She covered her mouth with her hand and her eyes instantly brimmed with tears.

  “Hold it together, kiddo,” Jack said walking to her and touching her arm. “Plenty of time for tears later. Stay focused.”

  She nodded and wiped her eyes. “But now we’ll never be able to even talk to her.”

  “Don’t you have another contact through Liz?”

  Mia shook her head. “She’s doesn’t want to talk to me. What about Trey? When the hell are they going to move on the chicken farm?”

  “I’m not sure they are.”

  “What are you talking about?” She looked at him, her foot waggling in agitation where she sat.

  “I can’t contact him and I’m starting to think he may not be who he says he is.”

  “You think he’s with Dinsmore Poultry?”

  Jack shrugged. “If not them, then someone just as bad. When we collided out at the farm last week, he promised they’d work quickly to mop things up. There was some pretty ugly shit going down out there.”

  “Like what?”

  She watched him hesitate and she threw her piece of chalk at him. “We’re partners, Jack! We can’t get out of this hole we’re in without each other. Spill it!”

  “They had a couple of girls in a shack who were servicing the poultry workers.”

  Mia felt her stom
ach turn and a light sweat broke out on her brow. “Oh, Jack,” she whispered. “Those poor girls.”

  “I had my gun out and was about to break it up when Trey stopped me and said the Feds were just about to bring it all down.”

  Mia hopped off the table. “We’ve got to go back there.” She grabbed her coat from the floor and dug her car keys out of a pocket. When Jack hesitated, she grabbed his arm. “Jack, Maria could be there.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Every day in Georgia one hundred women are raped,” she said, not caring about her tears as they hung on her lashes. “Every single day, Jack. We have to go back now.”

  He nodded and she noticed he touched his holster under his jacket before turning to follow her out the door.

  *****

  The garage was freezing at night but Maria was rarely in it at night. Her nights were spent in the house and the house was kept pleasant for the patrons. She knew it was still winter outside because she and José had just celebrated Navidad only days before they left on their journey,

  Days before they were taken.

  José had a friend who told him that there were many jobs in the southern American city of Atlanta. This friend would help both José and Maria find a place to stay until they could afford their own. Maria remembered the long walk down the dusty road from the village to meet with José’s friend. She remembered how they talked and dreamed and how it felt as if every step were taking them closer and closer to their futures.

  In a wonderful new land.

  That first night, they slept in the fields but they had blankets and good shoes and happy hearts. Maria remembered her mother’s face, wreathed in tears and smiles at the same time, so sure was she that her children would return wealthy and with American mates.

  It was a wonderful fantasy and even now when Maria had trouble sleeping in the daytime over the sobs of the newcomers and the thick snores of the drugged, she would feast on the memory of the fantasy and how happy it had made her feel. Today, sleep would not come because of the truly terrible thing that had happened in the night.

  The girl, Pasha, called Passion by all the patrons and Senor, had run into the yard and down the street. It was late and the guards were asleep on the couches as they always were. Maria didn’t see it happen but she heard when Passion was retrieved.

  Her screams shook the rafters of the house for a long hour before there was blessed quiet again. Maria wondered if she would ever see Passion again.

  She pulled a thin blanket over her aching body, a blistering sore on her chin from a cigarette burn from an inattentive patron was oozing. She closed her eyes and tried to remember her mother’s face. She tried to remember the complete, incomprehensibly sweet joy in her mother’s eyes.

  *****

  It was late afternoon when Jack and Mia finally broke free of the congestion around Atlanta’s perimeter, and began to pick up speed as they headed north. Jack felt Mia’s excitement as they drove to Shakerag.

  Screw Bowers. Jack had done everything and more to play it the fed’s way. But they weren’t giving him anything in return. It was time to act. Mia was right. For Maria’s sake and for all the girls out there like her.

  “Your phone, Jack,” Mia said, picking it up and peering at the screen. “It’s Maxwell,” she said with disgust.

  “I asked him to look into Bowers,” Jack said, taking the phone and putting it on speaker. “Hey. What did you find out?”

  “I’m not sure I found out much at all. No record of a Trey Bowers. No connection to the FBI or Homeland Security or ICE.”

  “Well, is that unusual? If he’s in deep cover?”

  “What do you think, Jack?” Maxwell’s dry response wasn’t lost on Jack.

  “So you think he’s a fake?” Mia asked.

  Maxwell hesitated and Jack felt his annoyance with the man ratchet up. Is he not going to speak in front of Mia?

  “That would be my guess,” Maxwell said finally. “There’s no record of him.”

  “But if he’s using an alias?” she asked.

  “They say they don’t have any active operations in the area at this time.”

  “Are they just trying to keep it secret?” Jack watched Mia begin to pick the hem out of her shirttail in frustration.

  “Well,” Maxwell drawled. “The Feds do like their secrets.”

  “So we’re back to square one again,” she said, looking at Jack. He shrugged.

  “Where are you two heading this lovely night?” Maxwell asked.

  Mia reached over and hung up on him.

  “That wasn’t nice,” Jack said. “After he went to all the trouble of checking with his contacts at the GBI.”

  “He doesn’t have any contacts,” Mia said with disdain. “If he did we’d have some actual answers right now.”

  “You have a point. Still, you probably need to be nice to him.”

  “Why? Because of my mother? Maybe she should open her eyes,” she said, looking out the window in a stance Jack had seen before when she didn’t want to continue the conversation.

  They rode in silence until they reached the gate leading to Shakerag. Jack parked the car under the Loblolly Pines. The dressage ring lights were on but there were no cars by the barn.

  “Someone must have forgotten to turn them off,” Mia commented.

  “Pretty slack.”

  “Half the time people out here don’t bother to lock their cars.”

  “Well, after all,” Jack said, trying to get Mia to smile, “what’s there to steal?—a moldy old dog blanket and a hoof pick?”

  She reached into the glove box and pulled out her Glock.

  “Mia, no.”

  “Then why do I have it if I’m not going to carry it?”

  “I don’t know why you have it. If you remember, I tried to talk you out of it.”

  “There were at least two guys there last time and they were both armed,” she said, opening the car door and stepping out. He watched her slide the gun, barrel down, into the back of her jeans.

  “You’re going to shoot your own ass off,” he said. “Or mine.”

  He’d been right about the rain. The walk was wet and boggy, each step felt weighted down with a load of hardened cement. Because they knew where they were going this time, they jogged across the pasture, dodging the dark shadows of horses sleeping on the ground or dozing standing up. When they reached the metal gate that marked the beginning of the Dinsmore Poultry property, it began to rain.

  Jack pulled the collar of his jacket up and slipped through the slats of the gate and then waited for Mia to do the same. There probably wouldn’t be men lined up in the rain, but you never knew. He drew out his flashlight and motioned for Mia to keep close to him. The last thousand yards were slightly uphill but he knew his beam could still be seen if he didn’t keep it low. The sound of the rain was loud against the fallen leaves and he was grateful any noise they were making in their approach would be covered.

  When they got within a hundred yards of where the main drive curved off to the two chicken production houses, he snapped off the flashlight and dropped into a crouch. Mia followed suit. The closer they got, the angrier he found himself getting that he’d let Bowers talk him out of stopping the operation last week. He should have stepped in immediately or at least come back with reinforcements. Everything that happened to those girls in the interim was on him. Six days of torture and rape that he might have saved them from…

  “Jack?”

  Mia bumped into him from behind and latched onto his jacket. “We’re going the wrong way.”

  He twisted around to get a better look behind him but they were definitely skirting the main drive. He estimated they were nearly at the chicken sheds.

  “No, this is right,” he said.

  “It can’t be.” She stood up and he grabbed her hand and pulled her back down.

  “I’m telling you, Mia, we’re close. You’ll be seen.”

  She shook off his hand and stood up again. �
�Jack, look,” she said.

  Jack stood up slowly and saw where she was pointing…where the two metal chicken huts should be. But where now there was only flat, undulating pastureland.

  “What the…?”

  They were gone. Both houses, the parking lot, the metal fences that corralled the two structures…all of it was gone. Mia held out her hand for the flashlight and he gave it to her. She snapped it on and walked to where the barns had been. Even in the dark, it was easy to see the darkened outline that indicated structures were recently there.

  A few feathers floated down from the trees where the wind had carried them.

  How can this be? he thought, his stomach churning.

  If only I’d…

  He stumbled behind Mia as she directed the light into bushes and behind rocks. He knew there was nothing to see, nothing to find. These guys had been professional. They’d packed it all up and moved on.

  Like they’d never been here.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said to himself. He stood staring into the dark as Mia, the bouncing beam of her flashlight the only part of her he could see, walked the perimeter of the property. Because he’d trusted someone, a hundred someones—how many did Mia say? A hundred a day?—would suffer and continue to suffer. He glanced in the direction of where the shed had been with the long line of men. He looked for the bush where the young girl had gone to relieve herself before being called back to work.

  He turned and retched on the ground.

  “Jack, I need you.”

  Her voice bordered on panic. He saw she’d left the area where the huts had been and was standing two hundred yards away on the far side of the complex. She was shining her flashlight onto something in the bushes.

  He turned and jogged toward her, careful not to twist an ankle in the dark over the uneven terrain. “What is it?” he panted.

  She took a step back but continued to point the flashlight beam at the ground. Jack saw the beam was shaking. In two steps, he saw the body

  “Oh, not good. Not good,” he said moving toward it. It was too early in the year for flies but even so Jack could see there was no need to take a pulse. The smell, alone, told them that. He looked at Mia, whose eyes were large with fear above the hand she’d clapped over her nose.