Spectre

by Shiloh Walker

  Other than a faint flicker of her eyes, which I caught through the high-powered camera lens, there was no reaction.

  I frowned as the overweight tourist from town pulled up, both him and his wife climbing out of their car. The round guy went to the side of my would-be target, while his wife headed up to the house. I looked away, shooting a few more shots of the land and the neighboring trees, before casually looking back to see the woman sitting down next to a girl with hair the same rich, dark brown. There were other kids, too. I had noticed the unhappy one sitting on the ground by the vehicles in the large, double-wide driveway and two more had left since the woman had come out, urging the unhappy kid along in front of her.

  When she put her phone to her ear, I grimaced because there was only one logical explanation. She’d called the cops. After packing up my equipment, I’d sat in my car under the pretense of taking notes, although I still watched her and the men with her, one clearly angry, the other hovering nearby protectively. Mr. Tourist from Gatlinburg played a nice white knight.

  Still, my gaze went back to her. For a few moments, I forgot entirely why I was there. Human interaction, the play of emotions I could see over a person’s face, had always intrigued me. Emotions, and my lack of ability to fully understand them, were so intriguing. But her face, serene and remote even as she faced a man who would likely inspire rage in others, never changed.

  Another woman came into view. I’d caught glimpses of her as she shifted and moved, but mostly, she’d been hidden by the angry, aggressive man. Now she spoke to him and his obvious anger grew until I wondered if he might strike her.

  As I scanned the area once more, a car turned onto the road.

  A rare flicker of irritation roused, dying as fast as it formed. The cops had arrived quickly. Seconds later, the prick noticed and backed down.

  I found myself wondering what I would have done if he’d raised a fist to her, or even grabbed her. Would I have stayed here and watched?

  That flicker of irritation returned and burned hotter, flaring into anger before I could snuff it out.

  I was familiar with anger. It fueled the beast that lived deep inside me, one I had to keep tightly leashed. The violent emotion no longer filled me with fear as it once had, because I’d mastered it and knew how and when to let it out.

  But I hadn’t given it permission to slip its leash now, nor had I expected it to happen. A tremor racked me before I could stop it and I wrested the reins of control back from the enraged creature panting and straining for freedom, just under the surface.

  Still, the hot spear lingered as I watched the driver do a three-point turn and whip his truck around. No. I wouldn’t have watched.

  By the time the cop reached the home of logs and sparkling glass windows, the prick was almost to the end of the block. Shifting my camera to his rear bumper, I took a picture of his license plate, then lowered the camera, calmly disassembling it before packing it away.

  As I drove past the house, I allowed myself one last look.

  Tommy texted me via the secure app but I didn’t bother to pick it up.

  I needed to be somewhere private before I spoke to him. And I needed to find out more about the woman...Tia Jenkins.

  THE CONNECTION WAS buried deep enough that it wasn’t obvious at first glance, but within two hours, I had my answer.

  Tia’s brother was a cop. Not just any cop, either. He was the cop who had broken open the case that had put Tommy O’Halloran’s little brother, Brian, in prison. I read through the various articles and even obtained court documents, reading witness testimonies, and making note of certain details. Brian hadn’t been running the operation. He was too green. But several of the victims had given testimony that he’d been the one to bring them in, promising high-paying jobs, help with school, modeling prospects. One testified about a friend who’d come into the US with her. They’d traveled from Russia on work visas after being promised jobs at a modeling agency via a website. Her friend had already been getting nervous on the plane, and when she started having doubts, her friend mentioned it on a text. When they were picked up at the airport, the friend had hesitated and suggested getting a hotel to think about it for a few days.

  The driver agreed to drive her to a hotel, but first took the witness to the agency. The girl saw her friend three days later, after her body was discovered by a couple of kids twenty miles south of New York City. An artist’s rendering of her had been featured on the news. The only reason the witness had seen it was because she’d been out on her first date with an older man who had raped her six times in their two days together.

  Brian had been the one to photograph her for the agency’s website, which turned out to be a pseudo-escort site that pimped out virgins to the highest bidder. Her name was Inessa.

  After Inessa’s virginity was sold off for the sum of five hundred twenty thousand, her profile was transferred to a different escort site. Inessa had lost track of all her dates over the four years she’d been held captive. She’d stopped counting at four hundred twenty-three, a little over a year after she’d been kidnapped and forced into the life.

  Her story stood out mostly because she’d escaped. Her last, and final, date had been driving drunk on their way from dinner to the hotel, and when he’d wrecked, she’d crawled from the vehicle, bleeding, and flagged down a car, which happened to be the cop. The half-brother of the woman they wanted me to kill.

  Curious, I looked up Inessa, wondering if the O’Hallorans had put out a contract on her.

  The first internet search result had me pinching the bridge of my nose.

  Internet Icon, Sex-Trafficking Awareness Activist Commits Suicide

  One more mark against the O’Hallorans.

  My phone rang.

  The number had a Boston area code but it wasn’t the same number Tommy had been calling from. Memorizing it, I looked at the second laptop screen and opened a second tab on the secure browser and entered the number. As it got to work tracing it, I went back to reading about Brian O’Halloran.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  A message popped up on the secure app and I opened it, reading it with little interest.

  You’ve had time to consider the job. We should talk.

  I debated answering. I’d rather never talk to the man again, but decided it would be wiser to keep him on the hook for a bit longer.

  Spent some time observing her today, but had to leave early because LEOs came out. Will return tomorrow for additional surveillance.

  I smirked, thinking about how that might burn Tommy’s ass. When a text popped up a minute later, I congratulated myself for knowing him so well.

  Why the fuck were cops out there? You were supposed to be good.

  “Idiot.”

  They weren’t there because of me. I’ll finish background research and resume tomorrow, as I’ve said. Good night.

  He texted again.

  When I didn’t answer, he called.

  When I didn’t answer, he texted.

  After three rounds of this, he finally sent a tersely worded acknowledgment.

  Probably best not to be in the area if cops are sniffing around. But I expect to hear from you by tomorrow or I’m pulling other people in. You’re not the only game in town, Spectre.

  I didn’t answer. I saved each of his messages to a secure cloud account then deleted them from the phone.

  Instead of going over any more of the court case, I started a search on Mackenzie Bailey, Tia’s brother.

  I’d had limited dealings with law enforcement officers, and for good reason, but with the plan I had forming in the back of my head, it would be a good idea to know more about him.

  Chapter 4

  Tia

  “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you had an asshole hassling you at one of your classes?”

  Mac’s voice, usually so easy and laid back, bristled with irritation and my immediate response was to end the phone call and pull my blanket back up over my shoulders
and settle again into my comfort watch of Thor: Ragnarök. My favorite way to unwind after a bad day, or even a good day, was to binge watch as many Marvel films as I could. Sometimes, I even did it in order, watching the entire franchise from beginning to end.

  It wasn’t something I could finish in one evening, so I opted for a routine that would settle me without feeling incomplete—watching all three Thor films. That way, I could feast on the yumminess that was the Odinson brothers—Thor and Loki.

  I paused the movie, refusing to miss one of my favorite interactions—Thor as he argued with Loki on Sakaar after being bought by the Grand Master.

  “I had it under control, Mac,” I told him calmly. My heart bumped hard against my ribs, because there had been a few moments when I’d been afraid, but nothing had happened, so why tell Mac and upset him?

  My half-brother worried about me too much anyway. Why make it worse?

  “You had to call the cops, sweetheart,” he said, voice gentler now.

  I could visualize him easily, standing in the middle of the loft he’d bought after winning all that money at the Kentucky Derby a couple of years ago. He’d won just a little over a million. He’d tried to talk me into going with him, but I couldn’t stand the thought of that many people.

  He’d made even more money when a publisher had approached him about writing a book detailing the events and trial that had made him somewhat famous for a while. They’d offered to set him up with a ghostwriter, but he’d passed, saying he could handle the work on his own.

  The bright, open loft had a wall made almost entirely of glass and it offered a gorgeous view of Atlanta. On the few occasions I’d visited him, I’d loved standing there and staring out over the city. Mac had asked me to move in with him more than once, even setting up a bedroom and a studio for me in the massive loft, but I’d suffocate in the city. There was too much noise, too much chaos. I loved my mountains.

  “Tia...” His voice had that edge of frustration in it and I jerked my attention back, reminding myself to focus.

  “I called the cops so there wouldn’t be trouble. I had it under control. The parents of another child showed up a few minutes before the cops did. Even if the jerk had gotten much more out of hand, I wouldn’t have been alone.”

  “So he was out of hand!” Mac locked on that little tidbit. Typical Mac. Typical brother.

  Even as I thought it, my heart warmed. We hadn’t had each other in our lives until well past my sixteenth birthday. My mother died and I’d been forced to live with an aunt who hated me. I’d found the information about my father in a box of my mother’s papers after Auntie Tanya dropped them on the curb for the garbage collectors to pick up. I’d waited until she’d gone to work that night, then gone outside and taken all the papers out, replacing everything with stacks of newspaper from around the house. She’d been going through all of Mama’s things since she moved in and after I’d realized what she was doing, I’d grabbed as much as I could and hidden it in my room, in books, in my underwear drawer, wherever I could. A few days after I’d salvaged that particular stash from the trash, I’d found the birth certificate, and for the first time, learned my father’s name. Thanks to the computers at the library, I was able to find both my father, Michael and his son, Mac, my half-brother. All made possible by that omnipotent social media, big-brother corporation, Facebook.

  My father and Mac had arrived at my doorstep the day after I’d contacted them, sending Tanya into a rage.

  We hadn’t had much time together, but I’d had Dad in my life for a while and he’d given me a precious gift. Teachers at school had frequently requested conferences with my mom, but she’d blown them off. Tanya had done the same. My art teacher was the one who suggested I talk to my mom, then my guardian about getting evaluated for Asperger’s. Her brother was on the spectrum, she’d told me, and I first started seeing signs of hope when I read about it. But my mom hadn’t reacted well when I’d asked her, and I’d known better than to ask Tanya.

  Dad hadn’t just listened. He’d taken me to a psychologist and paid for the expensive tests out of pocket, ignoring Tanya’s threats of suing him for violating her rights as my guardian. He’d still been in the process of fighting Tanya’s claim of guardianship when he was killed less than a year later.

  That gift, though, actually having the knowledge and understanding about why I was the way I was—I don’t think I could ever make him understand how precious a gift it was.

  And I had Mac.

  He was always there for me. Even if he did live a few hundred miles away in Atlanta. Always there, always looking out for me. And sometimes, he hovered.

  “Mac, I’m a big girl. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “I’m not saying you do, Tia. I just...” He stopped and sighed.

  Closing my eyes, I rested my head on the back of the couch. “I don’t read between the lines well, Mac. You know this by now. What’s bothering you? You have to tell me.”

  “Fuck. I’d think it was obvious,” he muttered. He said it in a way that made me think he hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all.

  Still, it stung.

  “It’s not obvious to me, jerk.” Immediately after the insult left my lips, I regretted it. But I had a hard time admitting I was wrong. Hunching my shoulders, I waited for his retort.

  It didn’t come. “Tia, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve just had a rough few days. Work shit, and that asshole Brian O’Halloran has a parole hearing next week. His fucking psychotic brother is pulling his normal shit again, too. The first thing that came to mind when I got the call was that some of Tommy’s boys had been there hassling you.”

  I swallowed. “They still don’t know I exist.”

  “You found me because Dad’s name was on your birth certificate, honey. We call each other all the time. I visited you a few months ago. If he got somebody digging around in my history long enough, or trying to uncover my phone calls...”

  “If you’re trying to scare me, you’re doing a good job, Mac.”

  “I’m not...” He groaned, frustrated. “I don’t want to scare you, honey. I just... I want you to be careful.”

  “Maybe I should get a dog.” The thought came to mind out of the blue but once the words were out there, hanging between us, I liked the idea. “Not a puppy though. Puppies are hyper. Like babies. I don’t know how to take care of a baby.”

  “A dog wouldn’t be a bad idea. Maybe I could dig around some, see if I can’t locate somebody who has a trained dog who could be a companion and still act as a decent guard dog.”

  “I don’t want some mean Doberman around here that would scare the kids, Mac.” I frowned thoughtfully, trying to remember what I knew about dogs. It was very little, really.

  My mom had been allergic.

  My aunt had owned a mean little Chihuahua she’d called Princess. Princess bit my ankles and toes so often, I’d developed the habit of wearing socks and shoes if I wasn’t in bed or in the shower. One of the bites on the back of my right ankle had been deep enough to leave a scar. It had gotten infected, too, even though I cleaned it three times a day. My gym teacher had found me cleaning it in the locker room and sent me to the school nurse who had then called my aunt and demanded I go see a doctor. By the time I got to the doctor’s office late the next day, I had a fever and the bite was inflamed and swollen. My aunt had yelled at me the entire way there for faking it, then bitched the entire time to the pharmacy and on the way home, blaming me for not taking care of it. Now that I was thinking about it, maybe a dog wasn’t a good idea.

  I told Mac.

  “Is this because Princess bit you?”

  “Yes.” I rubbed my finger over the bite scar, wondering if that mean old dog was still alive. She’d been four when my aunt had moved into this house. I knew that because my aunt had celebrated the dumb dog’s birthdays. Just after her sixth birthday, I’d turned eighteen and had asked my aunt if she and Princess would be moving out. She’d slapped me. The
next day, I’d called Mac from my art teacher’s phone and asked him if he could help me make my aunt move out, since the house had been left to me.

  She’d left less than a week later. I haven’t seen her since.

  “Princess was a spoiled little shit, and a mean one. Exactly like her owner. We’ll find you a well-trained dog who likes people, and one you like.”

  The calm confidence in Mac’s voice soothed me, but still. “If the dog likes people, how can he be a guard dog?”

  “Because that’s what a guard dog does.” A clicking noise came over the phone, followed by a sigh a few seconds later. “I have to take this call, Tia. Call me soon?”

  “On Thursday, like always.” I kept rubbing the scar, but the anxiety about a dog had lessened again. I’d research it tomorrow, then think about it. If Mac thought it was a good idea, it probably was. Right? “Good night.”

  “Good night. Love you, Tia.”

  A nervous knot tightened my throat, but I said the words. “I love you, too, Mac.”

  “You still sound like you’re on your deathbed, confessing. You don’t have to say it every time, sweetie.”

  “You do,” I said stubbornly. Mama had been a queen when it came to weaponizing emotions, but I wasn’t going to let her affect my relationship with Mac. As hard as it could be to say it, I’d damn well do it. “Good night.”

  Then I ended the call before he could say something else that I’d have to respond to.

  The relationship thing could be draining.

  But, as I snuggled back in to finish watching Thor and Loki, I found myself smiling. A little. Mac made me feel safe. Nobody else had ever done that. Not even my mom.

  I DIDN’T HAVE CLASSES on Wednesdays. I had a routine that I’d kept since graduating high school. I went to the aquarium in town. It was a giant tourist trap, filled with loud, boisterous kids, and sometimes, obnoxiously rude people, but it also had amazing fish and one of my only friends worked in the kids’ area. Bianca always took her lunch break at twelve-fifteen and we walked across the street to the busy Mexican place.