“How’d you find out?”
“I’ve known since I got here.” He glanced at her as he pulled into a parking slot. “Part of being not only the boss, but tasked with cleaning house. But what it means for us, if Rick wants us on this investigation, I have to pull from my squad—and that means shifting and prioritizing other cases. I don’t have to tell you we’re severely understaffed.”
Not only were they down an agent, but the Violent Crimes Squad in every FBI office had been cut back drastically when the FBI reprioritized counter-terrorism as their number one focus.
As soon as they got out of the car, Siobhan exited the hotel and ran up to them. “I just got back from the hospital. Someone broke into my hotel room and stole my computer. And my camera. But we’re going to find those bastards. I have GPS tracking on both.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marisol was sleeping in an old barn when a sound woke her. She didn’t know what time it was; she didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping. She feared she had an infection. She was hot and achy and had no energy. Everything she’d planned was falling apart. She didn’t know how long she’d walked, how many miles, but she’d found this barn after two nights and knew she needed to sleep.
Light flitted through the beams. Either the sun was rising or the sun was setting. She didn’t know which way she faced.
Two men were talking outside the barn. She froze. They’d found her.
They spoke English, clear as day.
“The damn tractor broke down again Friday. I just said what the hell, but I can’t afford a new one.”
“I can fix it, Dad. I wish you’d called me earlier.”
“You’re busy, son. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“I’m not so busy I can’t fix your tractor. What do you think is wrong with it?”
“I thought the alternator, but that’s not it. Checked the oil and fluids and all that. It turns on, but it doesn’t have any umph.”
“So technical.” The younger man laughed.
The doors of the barn opened and more light came in. Marisol didn’t move. She was partly buried under the hay; maybe they wouldn’t see her.
They were chatting, a father and son who cared for each other. Metal clanged against metal. The tractor started up. It sounded as sick as she felt. “I see the problem,” the son said. “I’ll just need to get a couple parts. I’ll pick them up tomorrow after work. Won’t take me more than an hour or two.”
“I appreciate it, Johnny. Really, I do.”
“Next time, call me before you start dicking around with the engine. I don’t mind. It feels good to get my hands dirty again.”
There was some rustling. “Dad, did you cut yourself?”
“No.”
“This is blood.”
Marisol began to shake. Oh God, they were going to find her. How could she save her sister if she was in jail? Or what if the bad police sent her back to those people? She couldn’t trust anyone. Who would believe her? Who would know the truth when the truth was so difficult believe?
“Dad.”
The voice was right there, right in front of her. She opened her eyes. Everything was blurry, but she saw him. The son. He was tall, so very tall. He dressed well, had his sleeves rolled up. There was a grease mark on his white shirt. His dad stood behind him. Also very tall. Dressed in old jeans and a faded plaid shirt.
“We’re not going to hurt you.” The son squatted. “My name is John Honeycutt. This is my dad, George.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. She used English, because she didn’t want these people to think she was an immigrant. That she needed to be deported. She wanted to be deported, she wanted to leave this country as soon as possible, but not without Ana. She couldn’t leave without her sister.
And she couldn’t leave without her baby.
“It’s okay,” John Honeycutt said.
“I’ll tell your mom to get a plate ready,” George said.
“No, I’ll go. Please, I don’t want any trouble.” Marisol sat up. Too quickly, because she felt dizzy and stumbled.
John reached out for her, but she pulled back and fell into the hay.
“What’s your name?”
She didn’t want to answer.
“You’re flushed, you have a fever. When have you last eaten?”
“I have food,” she said and glanced over at the bag that she’d been using as a pillow.
“John,” George said. The two men looked at each other and spoke without saying anything. The same way she and Ana could communicate.
“Please, I’ll leave, I want no trouble. I’m sorry, so sorry.”
“We can get you help.”
“No!” She didn’t want to shout at them, but they didn’t understand. There was no one to help. No one to trust. “I beg you, do not call the police. I—” What could she say? She couldn’t fight these men. She could barely speak. She was sick, she didn’t know what to do.
“All right,” John said, “I won’t call the police.”
She didn’t know if she could believe him.
“If you let me take you inside, give you some food and water, then you can leave in the morning.”
She glanced outside. It was dusk.
She nodded. “Can I—can I use a phone?”
“Of course you may.” He held out his hand to help her up.
She took it and winced. She was so sore, so shaky on her feet.
“What happened to you, girl?” George asked.
“Dad,” John said quietly.
“Marisol. My name is Marisol.” She looked down at her torn dress and the sweater she’d stolen from a car she’d passed near the church. She saw what they saw—the blood. So much blood.
“You need a doctor.”
“No. No. I’m okay.”
“Dad, go ahead and tell Mom we’re bringing Marisol in.”
George left. John helped her walk across the field to the house. She hadn’t realized when she arrived how close the house was. She’d come in the middle of the night … how long had she slept in the hay?
“I’m a teacher,” John said. “I teach math and science in town. I’m not going to hurt you, but you need help. If you want to talk, I’m a good listener. So are my parents. They’re good people. We won’t let anyone hurt you. Do you believe me?”
She nodded, surprised that she did believe him. No one had shown her such kindness in years. “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning on him, surprised she wasn’t more terrified. “I have someone to call. Someone who can help. Just—please don’t call the police. Please. My sister’s life depends on it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“She can stay with us indefinitely.” Sean Rogan looked at the time—already eight at night. “Are you leaving now?”
He glanced over at Nate Dunning, one of the agents in Lucy’s office, who had stopped writing his to-do list for the wedding and was listening to their conversation.
“Noah is wrapping things up with the deputy,” Lucy said. “Processing a motel room is next to impossible—I don’t think they’re going to get much from here. Siobhan has GPS on her equipment, and we tracked them. Destroyed. We have to come back tomorrow, though. I’ll find her a safer hotel to stay in—this motel is clean, but the security is nearly nonexistent.”
“Not surprised. I have a few ideas—I’ll work on them before you get here.”
“You’re wonderful.”
“I know.”
She laughed lightly. “I have to go—I’ll fill you in on the details when I get home. I love you.”
“Love you, princess.” He hung up and frowned.
“Trouble?” Nate asked.
“Maybe. Nothing they can’t handle. It’s just the case itself—possible human trafficking. Lucy and Noah think the bastards are selling babies.”
“That’s fucked.”
“You said it. Someone left a newborn at a church last week. It may have been a young woman Siobhan Walsh knows.”
“Isn’t
she a reporter or something? The one grabbed in Santiago in June?”
“Photographer. And yes—she was used as bait for Kane.”
His brother was still recovering from his injuries. He’d had a kidney removed, but it wasn’t the organ that gave him the most trouble. Most people could function normally with one kidney. He’d also been shot in the leg, and he was only at about 90 percent three months later. He refused pain meds because he claimed they made his head fuzzy. But of course he’d gone back to work. Kane was stubborn.
It ran in the family, Sean supposed. But Sean had never worried about his big brother before—Kane was tough. This time, he wasn’t bouncing back as fast. If he wasn’t at full strength, he was vulnerable.
“They’ve all been busy today,” Nate said. “Zach has been running backgrounds and photo IDs nonstop.” Nate stood. “I think I’m good to go here. Lucy is definitely going to be surprised.”
“I hope in a good way.”
“Oh yeah.”
“She’s not big on surprises.”
“This is a good one.”
Sean smiled, appreciating the reassurance. “Thanks for your help, buddy.”
“Anytime.”
Sean walked Nate to the door then reset the security system. He went down the hall to check the guest room and make sure it had everything Siobhan would need. At first Sean had been happy that Lucy called him earlier to say she’d be home late; it gave him and Nate time to finish some last-minute wedding details. But now it was late, and he wanted to see her. Lucy had sounded exhausted.
He’d already surprised her by asking her brother Patrick to be his best man. For Sean, there had been no other choice. He could have asked his brother Kane, except Kane would show up for the wedding and disappear right after. And Duke—Sean loved his other brother, but he and Duke were just now getting along. They’d had a falling-out last year and Sean was having a harder time forgiving Duke for things he’d said than he’d realized. It had gotten better, but Sean wanted his wedding to be fun and as stress-free as possible. Patrick would be part of the festivities, he’d help with anything, and he’d already planned on coming down a week early to help pull everything together and mediate between the large Rogan family and the larger Kincaid clan. And of course, there was the bachelor party. Besides, Sean already considered Patrick his brother.
Lucy had a more difficult time picking her maid of honor. She was closer to her sister-in-law Kate than she was to her two sisters, but family meant everything to the Kincaids. It ended up that she asked her sister Carina, and Kate and Lucy’s closest friend Suzanne Madeaux from the New York FBI office were her bridesmaids. For Sean it was much easier—his brothers Duke and Kane. If Kane bailed after the ceremony, no worries. And if Liam—his other brother—got his nose out of joint, he could just deal with it. Besides, Sean didn’t think he and Eden would even show up. Fine by him; the drama that would follow his brother and sister was more than Sean wanted to deal with, especially on his wedding day.
October 29 had to be perfect.
Once he’d freshened up the guest room, Sean sat back down at his computer and went through his checklist. Everything that had to be done was done. The invitations had gone out a bit later than they should have, but they’d had less than five months to put the wedding together. When Lucy started to feel overwhelmed and talked about postponing it, Sean took everything for himself to do.
All you need to worry about is finding your dress. You could wear a burlap sack, for all I care. You’ll still be the most beautiful woman in the church.
He knew for a fact that Lucy had found a dress—she’d flown home to San Diego for a weekend, and Carina and their mother had taken her shopping. All Carina had done was text Sean a thumbs-up sign and he knew it was all good.
Not that he was worried. He wouldn’t be looking at the dress.
His doorbell rang and he opened the security panel on his computer to see who was paying him a visit.
He stared.
Her blond hair had darkened with age, and instead of hanging long and straight down her back it was cut into a sassy shoulder-length bob, but Madison McAllister had not changed in the thirteen years since Sean had last seen her.
* * *
Campus security stood inside his dorm room. Sean was required to pack up his belongings and be escorted from campus before five p.m. that day. It was Sunday and he’d spent the last three days in jail. He was angry and humiliated and he considered emptying his bank account and disappearing. He would never forgive Duke for cutting a deal with the feds. They should be giving him a fucking medal for exposing the pedophile, not putting him on probation and expelling him from Stanford.
“I called in a favor. You’re going to MIT.” Duke stood in the corner of the dorm room, arms crossed, because Sean told him not to touch his stuff.
The damn feds had already seized his computer equipment.
“Fuck you.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
“You had no right.”
“I’m your guardian. For two more weeks, at any rate. You have no idea what you’ve done here. You haven’t even apologized!”
“There’s nothing to apologize for!”
“You had other options. You could have come to me.”
“Right. Because we know the system always works.”
“I would have helped you.”
“Then no one would have realized how flawed the FBI security program was.”
“You embarrassed your university, the FBI, and yourself.”
“I’m not embarrassed. I did the right thing. I accept the consequences.”
Duke threw his hands up in the air. “If you’d accepted the consequences you would have been in prison!”
“Trial by jury, brother. No one would have convicted me.”
“Your looks and charm aren’t always going to save your ass, Sean. And frankly, I don’t find you very charming right now.”
Sean sensed more than saw someone in the doorway. He whirled around, ready to unleash his anger.
Madison.
She stared at him, worry in her eyes. “Is it true? You’re really leaving?”
Duke glanced from Madison to Sean. “I’ll be downstairs,” Duke said.
He left, and Sean looked over at the campus security guy. “Hey, Joe, can I please have five minutes of privacy?”
Security wasn’t supposed to let him out of their sight, but Joe liked him. He could tell. Joe winked and closed the door.
Madison ran to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He hugged her back. Damn, this situation was so fucked.
“Hey, sit down.” He pulled out his desk chair for her. He sat on his bed and held her hands. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Maddie.”
“I tried calling you and you never answered. I saw the police take you away in handcuffs, and everyone was saying you were going to jail and … is it true? Did you hack into the crime symposium? And expose Dr. Smith as a pedophile?”
“Yes.” It was easier not to explain everything. Madison was smart, but she didn’t understand technology. She could barely use her cell phone even though her daddy bought her the best tech out there.
“And they expelled you? Are you really going to jail?”
“Yes and no. I’m sorry I couldn’t call and explain what happened.”
“I understand.”
But he could tell by her tone that she didn’t.
“Hey, Maddie, it’s going to get better.”
“But it’s true.”
“So? Smith is an asshole. He had hundreds of child porn videos on his computer. I don’t regret what I did.”
“But you were arrested!”
“Probation. That’s it. Well, and the university didn’t really like the fact that I didn’t tell them first.”
“I—Sean, I—”
“Hey, I’m going to be okay.”
“Where are you going?”
“Duke pulled strings and got me into MIT. Banishing me three
thousand miles away. What do I expect?”
Sean had probably complained to Madison far more than she wanted to hear about Duke and his heavy-handed ways. His brother had been his guardian for nearly four years—ever since their parents were killed—and Sean couldn’t wait until the end of the month when he’d be eighteen and finally on his own. Control of all his money—most of which he’d earned himself, but couldn’t access. Control of his inheritance. Control of his life.
He’d give MIT two weeks, but if it wasn’t for him, he’d walk. Liam and Eden would take him in. They were living in London now, and Liam was always telling Sean that he could use someone with his skills. Sean hadn’t even seen his brother and sister since their parents’ funeral, though Liam called him all the time for tech help.
“You don’t have to go. You can stay here.”
“Maddie—I care about you so much, you know that. But I can’t stay. Stanford expelled me. Being on the East Coast is probably a good thing. Get away from here, away from my brother.”
“But didn’t you say you hated college? That you could get a job at a start-up company in the Silicon Valley?”
He had said that, but he didn’t really hate college. He didn’t like some things about it. But he’d started school a year early. He wasn’t even eighteen yet. He had never really fit in—he’d been younger than nearly everyone, and smarter—and maybe he’d acted it. It was hard to deal with the pompous jerks on a campus filled with smart people when he knew he could run rings around most of them.
But Madison had helped. When he started dating her six months ago, she’d kind of legitimized him, in a way. He’d made friends. Found a place to belong.
Until he blew it.
“After this, I don’t know if anyone would hire me.”
And he didn’t want to work for anyone else. If he was going to work for a start-up, he was going to start it himself. He had plenty of ideas, plenty of smarts, and could raise the capital necessary or write another video game. He didn’t particularly enjoy writing game code, but he was good at it, and he could sell the code for a small fortune.
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