The Job (Auctioned)

by Cara Dee

  I removed my shoes, shut the window enough to turn the latch again, then headed over to the patio doors where Boone waited with our gear.

  As I let him in, I drew a deep breath and registered the faint smells of wood, soap, paint, and cigar.

  “I’ll start upstairs,” I said quietly, shoving my shoes into my backpack. “You be on the lookout for anything strange down here. Holler if you see movement on the iPad.”

  “Of course. This isn’t our first time, Case. We got this.”

  I nodded once. He was right.

  After grabbing my bag, I went up the stairs and got my ducks in a row. AJ would have a home office somewhere; I was sure of it. And at the top of my list of shit to do was planting a transmitter in there so we could get an audio feed. My feet hit soft carpet on the second floor, and I looked around me.

  Interesting—there was a cross breeze up here. More windows had to be open. Two doors to the left, three to the right. The latter three were fully open and revealed bedrooms, so I veered left and hit the jackpot on the first try. The door was already ajar, and I poked my head into the room.

  This was an impressive office. Damn. The design was similar to the rest of the joint, sterile and trendy, but this was where AJ showed some personality. The wall behind his desk was filled to the very last slot with books. The wall across the room had a minor collection of photos.

  Speaking of, I had to take pictures of everything. Details could be studied later when we were home again. But first things first. I retrieved my AirPods—or one of them—and inserted it so I could get some music. I worked better when I had good tunes accompanying me.

  I pushed play on some sweet Redbone, then spent the next few minutes with my camera. I photographed the bookshelves, the family pictures, the furniture… Hmm. I paused at the coffee table between the two chairs and cocked my head. The image of AJ Lange was becoming clearer. Tiny metal figurines in various martial arts poses stood on the table, and it wouldn’t surprise me if AJ had training in that. In fact, it would make more sense than a past in the military.

  Deciding that one of the chairs was a good place to get audio, I fished out the little transmitter and peeled off the adhesive film. Then I attached it to the underside of the leather chair, on the inside at the base of one of the legs.

  I heard Boone coming up the stairs as I moved on to take more photos of the grand desk. It was the one piece of furniture that didn’t fit in. There was nothing new and trendy about it. The opposite. It looked like it belonged in a dusty old English castle. Big and sturdy, dark wood, intricate details.

  It’d be fun if there were any hidden drawers.

  “You didn’t run up the stairs, so I assume there’s no immediate danger,” I said, squatting down to peer under the desk.

  “No, I think we’re good,” Boone replied. “There’s an explanation for the open window.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He came over to me and handed me a note. “Found this on the kitchen counter.”

  I accepted the note and appreciated my brother’s forethought—and thoroughness. There wasn’t actually anything written on the note, but there’d been a message on the sheet above this one on the notepad, and Boone had used a pencil to give the paper a darker shade. It made it easier to see what AJ had written on another note.

  I squinted.

  It was addressed to an Irene, and it seemed… “Wait. Irene is from the maid service?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me too.”

  Huh. So AJ was on a first-name basis with the woman who cleaned here, and it looked like it was more than that. He sounded almost apologetic when mentioning he’d smoked a cigar in his study—but he’d left the windows open. That was hella interesting. We knew the cleaning service had been here yesterday—every Saturday at ten in the morning while AJ was at work. Because the guy didn’t have a life.

  There were instructions too, and it confirmed my suspicion about where AJ’s parents were gonna stay. Irene was told to prepare the main guest room. Who else could it be for if not his folks?

  “AJ’s still at the golf course, so I thought I’d check out the guest rooms,” Boone said. “There’s nothing else to see downstairs. I took some photos.”

  “Okay, cool. Thanks.” I handed the note back to him. “Save that.”

  He nodded and walked out.

  Well, that was a relief. Even though it made me all the more curious. It appeared AJ did have a life; he just hid it very well.

  I got behind the desk and sat down in the chair, and I started opening the drawers. There was surprisingly little inside them, so it wasn’t difficult to put stuff back the way it was. Except… I sucked my teeth and stared at the second bundle of cash I’d seen in as many minutes. A handful of crumpled fifty-dollar bills. I knew I’d said we weren’t taking anything this time around. We’d get our shot after Darius had taken over. But goddamn.

  My fingers got a little sticky.

  I only took two bills. A hundred bucks was nothing. “Okay, back to work,” I mumbled to myself.

  More pictures. Now wasn’t the time to read the folders that I flipped through—I only took pictures. All the pictures. And fuck, more money. Was he just throwing it in here? There were several hundred dollars in each drawer. Focus on pictures! And checking to see if there were any—fucking bingo! The bottom of the last drawer definitely had a secret compartment.

  Getting down on one knee in front of the drawer, I carefully lifted the bottom and grinned. Score.

  It wasn’t money—or diamonds, for that matter—but if someone put something in a hidden compartment, it meant they didn’t want anyone to see it. I retrieved the envelopes and opened them.

  I furrowed my brow and tilted my head. Tiny photos, upside down. I took one out and—immediately felt nauseated. Holy fuck. Oh holy fucking shit.

  You sick motherfucker.

  I killed the music, then began emptying the envelopes on the desk, creating a picture grid from hell.

  “Oi!” Boone hollered down the hall. “I found his safe in the walk-in in his bedroom.”

  “Be there in a minute,” I answered absentmindedly. Not all the photos fit on the work surface. Far from it. There had to be over fifty in total. I had to call Darius. Right now. Swallowing the queasiness, I scrolled down to his number and called.

  Jesus Christ, this was something else. Boone and I were no angels and rarely held the moral high ground, but this… Fuck me, it made me sick to my stomach.

  “Casey,” Darius greeted.

  I had to swallow again. “I, uh… We’re at his house. I found something. Can we talk?”

  There was some rustling in the background, and I assumed he was going to a quieter place for privacy.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  You could say that.

  “I found photos in his office,” I stated. “I’d call them mugshots, but I have a feeling they’re all innocent.” Mugshot was only fitting because of how the young men and women were posing. Half of them looked drugged. Many were malnourished. Most of them had bruises and cuts all over their bodies. “I think they’re trafficking victims. Men and women—all on the young side, maybe older teens, early twenties—beaten up, starved, holding up signs with serial numbers.”

  I was met with silence.

  I couldn’t blame him.

  Wanting to get it all out as fast as possible, I told him where I’d found the photos, approximately how many there were, that I was using gloves, and that I was currently taking pictures of them to forward to him. And I explained that I wanted to tell him right away in case he had instructions for me, because this went beyond merely casing the joint. This was damning evidence that would—hopefully—put AJ Lange on fucking death row.

  Darius cleared his throat. “If they look malnourished in the photos, it’s safe to assume their organization starts keeping records once the kids have been held hostage for a while. Maybe there’s a hub of sorts in Nevada that they go through before they
’re sold off or shipped to an auction.” He blew out a harsh breath, and I could sense his mind was spinning as quickly as mine was. The difference was, I didn’t work in intelligence, and I would be useless at drawing the conclusions he was able to with his training and experience. “I’ll have to think about this,” he said. “I’m glad you called me, though. It might change our plans a bit. Get ready just in case. Maybe you and Boone will have to go in sooner and clear the house.” He paused. “You know what—it’s great you’re taking pictures. I want you to make them good. No glares or anything—because if the evidence somehow disappears in the next several days, we’ll need you to replant it.”

  I understood. That made sense. There was definitely a risk that these pictures might move to another spot when the whole fucking family showed up, and God knew what they had planned.

  “I’ll document all of them,” I promised.

  “Good job. Send them to me later.”

  Well, yeah, but… “I’ll send them to Willow. Unless you’ve learned how to accept encrypted files that fly under the NSA radar.”

  “Uh. Send them to Willow.”

  I cracked a quick smirk. Thought as much.

  Fourteen

  This was it.

  I was in love with him. I was in love with us, with everything we shared, with our future.

  Every fiber of my being screamed for Ace when we left AJ’s house, but we couldn’t pick her up right away. I’d completely lost my appetite, so we went straight home and began sorting through our findings. I didn’t talk much—which Boone noticed, judging by the looks of concern he fired my way every now and then—but he left me alone while I edited the photos of the trafficking victims.

  I’d told him about them. I’d also told him I didn’t want him to see them.

  It took me three hours to work my way through sixty-two images and make them look like copies of the originals. Sixty-two faces so devoid of hope that I kinda wanted to kill myself near the end.

  Whatever Darius had in store for the Langes, I prayed at least some of these innocent boys and girls would find their way home to family, friends, and freedom again. And that the Langes died painfully.

  The moment I’d sent the files to Willow, I closed my laptop and fell back against the couch cushions with a heavy sigh. I scrubbed hard at my face, in desperate need to erase the victims from my memory.

  “Did you get it done?” Boone asked.

  “Yeah,” I muttered behind my hands. I let them fall to my sides when I heard him open the window, and I saw he’d made me a drink. Rum and Coke, it looked like.

  “I figured you needed one.”

  He figured right.

  “Thanks.”

  As I straightened in my seat and accepted my drink, he sat down on the edge of the coffee table and pulled out a pack of smokes.

  I took one. Hadn’t smoked in probably three years, but now was the time. Once upon a time, I’d been a social smoker, Boone more so than me. We’d been social about a whole lot, I guessed. Reckless weekend warriors. Parties that went on for days.

  It’d all ended pretty much overnight when Ace landed in our laps.

  Ace.

  My chest constricted. I wanted to go pick her up soon. I just needed something in between, something that created a gap between trafficking victims and our daughter.

  I took a big swig from the glass and let the rum do its job.

  “Tell me what to do to make it better.” He extended his lighter and lit my smoke, then his own.

  I coughed on the first inhale. Christ.

  The second was better. Same with the next gulp of my drink.

  I gestured toward our makeshift pinboard on the wall where we had a bunch of notes, printouts, images, and lists. I’d seen him add things to it in the past few hours.

  “Talk money with me,” I requested. “I was kinda out of it after I saw the photos.”

  I’d still been there. I’d just…gone through the motions. I’d cracked open the safe, which had made me lose more respect for AJ as a criminal, because the lock had been too easy to open without any signs of forced entry. I’d also taken more pictures, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember specifics. I’d only managed to snap out of my temporary depression to make sure we didn’t leave any traces behind when we left.

  “By the way, when did AJ get home?” I asked.

  “About two hours after we were gone.” He flicked some ashes into an old soda can. “No audio’s been picked up yet, though.”

  Good to know. Whatever audio we got from AJ’s house would be recorded and stored in one of my laptops in the closet.

  “But okay—money. There’ll be a shitload of it.” Boone reached behind him and grabbed my camera. “Presuming we won’t touch anything that’s hard to sell without leaving a trail of evidence—mainly art—we’re still looking a lot of green here. Twelve $1500 suits, expensive shoes, thirty-seven one-carat diamonds, about a dozen rare, first-edition books—so far, anyway. I’m still going through his shelves. A rough estimate of twenty K in cash, watches worth at least half a mil, kitchen appliances for about five grand, and…I don’t even know about the golf clubs yet. And I still have more photos to look at.”

  Hot fucking damn. He’d been busy while I’d edited in misery.

  Boone flipped through the images on the camera and showed me a couple on the screen. It was AJ’s collection of watches.

  Jesus. We could go nuts.

  It was going to be difficult to leave shit behind. After all, it had to look like he hadn’t been robbed to an outsider. So while we wouldn’t take the majority of the suits or clean out his kitchen or fill our vehicle with all the golf clubs, we would definitely shop till we dropped.

  Seeing dollar signs flash before my eyes did brighten my mood.

  I finished my smoke and took the camera, then pinched the screen and zoomed in on some of the watches. I wasn’t an expert, but I knew Richard Mille, Jaeger, Rolex, and Piguet. Some of these pieces started at thirty grand.

  “You know what this means?” I paused at a picture from the kitchen. Mom would love that juice press. “We can buy a house.”

  Boone joined me at my side and pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  I smiled a little and took my first easy breath in hours.

  “Daddy, you’re hugging me a little too hard.”

  “Am not.” I gave her another squeeze before I reluctantly let her go.

  Ace snickered at me and returned her attention to the TV.

  I shouldn’t push it. I was getting exactly what I needed tonight, a movie night with Boone and Ace, all in PJs for the special occasion, under the covers, snacks all around. In our family, pajamas were sacred for Christmas and nights like this one, and it was why we each had two sets. Well, Boone and I. Ace had countless. But on Christmas morning, even Boone and I donned flannel PJs and Santa hats. For movie nights, Boone had his Hulk pajamas, and I had a set with the blue Care Bear printed all over.

  Our girl had picked them out for us.

  I found ways to look at Ace more than the movie. Not that Brother Bear wasn’t a masterpiece by Disney, but today had really taken its toll on me. I felt overprotective and needed reassurance that everything was okay. That she was here, free, happy, safe, parked in the middle of the pullout with Boone and me on her flanks.

  She laughed at something that happened in the movie and threw a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

  “He reminds me of you, Dad!” She giggled at Boone and pointed to the TV, where a big bear did something funny. “He’s a goof.”

  “I’m not a goof.” Boone pretended to be offended and reached for two Cheetos that he stuck up his nose. “I’m the most serious person I know!”

  I grinned.

  Ace didn’t know what to do with herself, she was laughing too hard.

  “Why are you laughing at me?” he demanded. “Huh?”

  “You’re so silly!” she guffawed.

  I wanted more memor
ies. Grabbing my phone from the table next to the couch, I said, “Lemme take a picture of you.”

  “Okay!” Ace scooted closer to Boone, and she didn’t stop there. She stuck two Cheetos up her nose too. Then I had the two of them, Ace halfway up on Boone’s lap, smiling goofily while I took a photo.

  Perfect. My new home screen.

  “You look a little serious, but we can’t have it all,” I said.

  Ace peered down her nose and pursed her lips, then breathed out until the Cheetos popped out.

  I laughed softly. “They don’t go back in the bag.”

  “Yeah, no. Gross.” She deserted the popcorn bowl and crawled over me to drop the snacks on my plate from dinner. The ribs had been delicious once I’d showered off the day and listened to the two clowns engage in a tickle war while preparing for the movie night. And if I got lucky, I’d hear their laughter in my dreams tonight instead.

  On the way back to her seat, Ace nearly kneed me in the balls and rubbed her nose against mine.

  “Boop!” she chirped.

  “Yeah, boop,” I chuckled through a grunt. Fuck, close call.

  Oblivious to how she’d almost crushed the family jewels, she plopped back on the mattress and declared we needed more popcorn. So I guessed that was my job.

  “Comin’ right up.” I grabbed the bowl and left the bed.

  In the kitchen, I dug out the last Jiffy Pop from a cupboard and put it on the stove. It’d been BOGO at Walmart a few weeks ago, so I’d stocked up. Evidently not well enough. Ace had a severe popcorn addiction.

  “I’ll be right back,” I heard Boone say.

  “I’ll miss you,” Ace sang.

  I smiled and leaned back against the sink.

  Boone appeared in the kitchen doorway a couple seconds later with the remnants of the amusement from Ace’s comment in his eyes. Seeing him in higher spirits still gave me the best feeling. In retrospect, I must’ve been affected by his depressed state for longer than I’d known, because it seemed every smile mattered.

  “I need your help with something.” He closed the distance between us and landed his hands on the counter behind me, effectively caging me in. I raised a brow in question. “Maybe you can figure this out.” He kept his voice down, which intrigued me. It meant he didn’t want Ace to hear. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Everything you do turns me on or makes me wanna kiss the daylights outta you. I can no longer imagine spending a night without you next to me. I want a future with you—a house, road trips, camping in the desert, fuckin’ bake sales, and soccer games.”