by Rebecca York
He grunted. “Like that blond last night. Karen Hopewell.”
“You saw what happened to her?”
“Yeah. I was outside taking a smoke break.”
“Did you call the police?”
He gave her a defiant look. “I stay away from the cops.”
She sighed, understanding his motivation. It was a good bet that he had a record, and he didn’t want to get involved and maybe lose his job.
“Can you tell me about it?”
“They shoved her into a car.”
“More than one man?”
“Yeah.”
“What did they look like?”
“It was dark. I didn’t see much. Two big guys with broad shoulders. One of them was bald. I saw light gleaming off his dome.”
“But you’re sure it was Karen Hopewell?”
“She stands out. Lots of guys on the dance floor were looking at her.”
“Uh huh.”
“You told Ed you’re a friend of hers.”
“Right.”
He gave her a long look. “You don’t look like someone she’d run with.”
“Because?”
“You don’t wear enough makeup.”
“I do at night,” she answered absently, thinking that she needed to share what she’d just learned with Cole.
Where was he? And was it safe to go out now?
Cautiously she opened the door a crack and looked out. Although there was no sign of Cole, she spotted something that made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.
A dozen yards away, Mr. Universe was down on the pavement, and a big dog—a German shepherd it looked like—was on top of him, growling and snapping at the hand the guy had raised in a defensive move.
Or maybe it wasn’t a dog. Maybe it was a wolf.
A wolf in the middle of Baltimore? Unlikely.
The man was trying to protect his face and getting his fingers nipped. Emma had the impression that the animal could kill him if it wanted, but it was acting with restraint. Which was strange.
Maybe he saw the door open, because he looked up, and for a moment their eyes met.
That split second was enough of a distraction for the big guy to leap up and take off in the other direction like the devil was after him.
The wolf stared at Emma for heartbeats, looking like he wanted to run toward her. Instead he turned and raced off, following the man.
When he disappeared around the corner, Emma sagged against the doorframe, trying to figure out what she’d just seen.
Before she’d gone into the club, Cole had run in the other direction, and the bodybuilder had followed him. The next thing she’d seen was a big dog or a wolf attacking the man.
She was still standing beside the kitchen door when Cole appeared around the corner, running toward her, looking like he’d taken off his clothes and put them back on in a hurry. He was tugging at the hem of his shirt as he drew close to her.
“Are you all right?” she asked breathlessly.
“Fine.”
“Where were you?”
“Trying to lead him away from you.”
She nodded.
“Did he double back when he couldn’t catch me?”
“Yes,” she answered in a shaky voice. “And a big dog was mauling him—over there,” she pointed to the spot where the dog had cornered the guy.
“Too bad for him. Did you find out anything when you went back inside?”
“Yes.”
“We’d better get out of here before he comes back. You can tell me in the car.”
She nodded, fighting the feeling that he was trying to direct her attention away from the guy and the dog.
Just then her cell phone rang, and she fished it out of her pocket.
It was Frank Decorah. “Get back to the office ASAP. There’s been a new development,” the chief said.
CHAPTER FOUR
On the way to Beltsville, Cole listened as Emma told him what she’d learned from the waiter, but his mind was churning. In the club, he’d definitely detected Karen Hopewell’s scent among the rich mixture of odors. Then in the alley, he’d figured the wolf was his best chance for getting the drop on the guy who was after them, and he’d acted instinctively without thinking about Emma—or anybody else—seeing him.
When he’d told her his story, she’d looked at him strangely, like she wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth about what had happened.
But he wasn’t about to alter his version of events. Not until he was forced to. He was starting to wonder if that might happen sooner than he wanted.
They made it to the office in a half hour, and he was glad to get out of the confines of the car.
The team was waiting in the conference room.
Granada and Henderson were looking pretty pleased with themselves, but they let Emma tell about what she and Cole had learned—leaving out the unprofessional behavior in the utility closet, of course.
When she was done, Decorah turned to Stinger. “Give them what you’ve got.”
“Computer traffic from the Windward.”
“Which is?” Cole asked.
“A yacht motoring off the coast of Florida. Well, it’s outside U.S. waters. I say yacht for convenience. It’s really a decommissioned cruise ship, owned by a guy named Bruno Del Conte. His mother was German and his father was Italian. They met when Hitler and Mussolini were partnering it up during World War II. The mom did some spying for the Axis. The dad enriched himself with property confiscated from Italian Jews.”
“Nice pair.”
“The son had all the rich kid advantages. Private school in Milan. An estate on Lake Como where he could bring his college friends. And he kept up the family tradition of opportunism. His latest enterprise is a very upscale pleasure palace—for men and women who want to indulge their sexual fantasies.”
Cole whistled through his teeth. “Wait a minute. You’re saying some guy owns a whole cruise ship?”
“All fifty thousand tons. He’s rich enough to own anything he wants. Well, maybe not the Great Wall of China. But he thinks on a scale most people can’t imagine, and he’s got a beef with Karen Hopewell’s father. Looks like they were both going after a big block of shares in the same hotel chain. Hopewell made an end run around Del Conte and picked up the stock for less than it was worth.”
“Any idea how?” Emma asked.
Frank sighed. “Hopewell and I go way back. But I know he’s not above using methods the SEC might not approve of. That was five years ago, and Del Conte has been mad about it ever since.”
“So shanghaiing the daughter and asking for money would be a way to get back at Hopewell,” Cole mused.
“That’s a good bet.”
“Why would he wait so long?”
“Maybe he wanted Hopewell to think he was in the clear before striking.”
“But how do we know he’s got her?” Emma pressed.
“We don’t—not for absolute sure. But it’s a ninety-seven percent probability,” Stinger put in.
“Based on what?” Emma asked.
“A lot of factors,” Teddy answered. “Del Conte’s proclivity for holding a grudge until he figures out a creative way to get even. Like he once let a business rival buy a resort in the Swiss Alps, then burned the place down the day after the guy took possession.”
“There’s proof of that?”
“Not something you could take to court, although the signs all point to Del Conte. But back to the current situation. Yesterday, a helicopter flight landed on the Windward, and there’s no record of the cargo or passengers. Plus heightened security. Something special is going on over there.”
“Is that enough to bet Karen Hopewell’s life on?”
“Not by itself. But we also picked up an e-mail message from one of the guards on board to his pregnant wife back in Miami. After that we went back and scanned his other communications with her. He needed a job, so he signed up for ship security. Apparently he didn’t know what he was getting
into. He hates the place and wants to get another job, but he’s trapped because they need the money with the baby coming. In the current e-mail he’s explaining why he can’t come home this weekend, like he said he would. All leave was canceled because they have a special guest, and the whole place is on alert.”
“That sounds like it could be Karen,” Cole mused.
“We have a schematic of the ship. There’s a section of the passenger area that’s off-limits to everyone except the crew and trusted guests. That might be where they’re holding her. I’m hoping you can get in there and find out. Then spring her.”
Emma shifted in her seat. “But we’re building this case on supposition. What if we’re wrong? Did you learn anything from your interview with Hopewell?”
“Only that he’s worried sick, and he blames himself for putting his daughter at risk.”
“Does he think it could be Del Conte?”
“He thinks it’s a possibility.”
“But there aren’t any hard facts,” Cole muttered.
“We’re going to hedge our bets,” their boss said, reaching for his eagle coin again and starting to flip it in his hand. “You and Emma are going on board as paying guests. We’ll have a team tailing the Windward in case you find Karen. And if she’s not on the ship, we’ll keep searching for clues in Baltimore and on the Web. Maybe we can locate that goon who went after you in Baltimore and make him talk.”
“Probably he’s one of the guys who pushed her into that car,” Cole said. He watched Emma swallow.
“What do guests do on the Windward?” she asked.
“Nothing but fun. For them.”
“Oh right.”
“Which is?”
“Sexual fantasy scenarios. S and M relationships. If you can think of it, he can arrange it. He’s got a whole group of employees who play the role of slaves. Or masters if that’s what the guest wants.”
She grimaced, and Cole thought she was probably imagining the girl she’d known forced into that role. Too bad knowing Karen made the assignment more personal.
“We’re wasting time. We’ve got to bring you up to speed on everything we know about Del Conte,” Decorah said. “But one thing I want to say to the group before we break off. There are women who come to the ship from foreign countries who serve as hostesses. Some of them disappear, and we have to assume that either they were forced into a sex game that got them killed—or they were sold into slavery. Not the pretend slaves on the ship.”
Emma gasped, a look of horror blooming on her face. “Killed? How?”
“Some of the guests come to the Windward because they like to engage in questionable activities, away from the prying eyes of the authorities. The Windward is closer than some of the Asian countries where they can indulge their tastes. If one of them got carried away, he could kill his partner. Or maybe there are special girls designated for death scenarios.”
Emma’s face contorted. “That’s sick.”
“So is the human trafficking angle. God knows what happens to those women.”
She shuddered, and Cole could see that the information was churning in her mind. Suddenly the idea of sending her into that nest of vipers made his stomach knot.”
“Leave Emma out of it,” he heard himself say.
Decorah swung toward him, a surprised look on his face.
“It’s too dangerous for her. I can handle it on my own.”
Decorah’s expression turned hard. “You aren’t superman. You need a backup.”
Emma fixed her gaze on Cole. “I don’t want you taking this on alone.”
He had already said that he didn’t want her going in at all. Short of quitting, he knew he was stuck with an assignment he hated. And if he quit, he was afraid from Emma’s reaction that she would take the risk anyway.
Feeling trapped, he asked, “When are we leaving?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Karen was sitting hunched over, trying to make herself as small as possible when two burly men stepped up to the door of the cage.
When one of them punched an electronic keypad, she shrank back.
The guy stood looking at her for a long moment that made her stomach tighten into a painful knot. She wanted to plead with him, but she knew it would do no good.
“Come on,” he growled.
When she didn’t step forward, he strode into the cell and grabbed her arm. I said, “Come on.”
“Where?”
“You’ll find out.”
Never in a million lifetimes would she have thought she could end up in this situation. She’d had a wonderful life. Was the operative word had?
Were they going to kill her? Rape her? Or what? She struggled not to cry as they marched her out of the cell, past the potted greenery, down a set of stairs, along a corridor, and into a suite of rooms.
Everything was so totally different from her cell that she blinked as she tried to decide if it was real or if her mind had stopped coping with reality.
It looked like she was in the mauve and silver waiting room of an upscale beauty salon with comfortable couches and glass-topped coffee tables with current women’s magazines. Well, come to think of it, not quite like any salon she’d been in. Also on the tables were bondage magazines, judging from the covers. And big glossy books with pictures of naked men. As well as illustrated guides to tattooing and body piercing.
Along the far wall were shelves of high end hair and beauty products mixed with shelves of what looked like sex toys.
No other patrons were in the waiting room, but two women in black uniforms stood near the wall. One was a tall, willowy blond whose name tag identified her as Allison. The other was a stunningly beautiful, petite Asian woman. Her long dark hair was artfully streaked and her nails were a bright crimson. She wore a name tag that said she was Anna.
She seemed to be the one in charge. Raising her chin, she addressed the guards. “Wait outside.”
“Mr. Del Conte’s orders . . .”
“I must have complete access to our guest.”
The man glared down at the tiny woman. “The master will hear about this.”
She raised her chin. “There’s only one exit to this salon. Wait at the door.”
There was a moment when Karen wasn’t sure who would win out, the big man or the petite woman. Finally the man shrugged. When he and his companion exited the room, the two attendants exchanged glances.
“Which of us is going to stay with her?” Allison asked.
Anna shrugged. “It’s all the same to me.”
“Then you do it. I want to take off my polish and redo my nails.”
“Fine.”
The blond stepped into another room, and the Asian woman held out her arm. “Come with me.”
Karen’s mind was spinning. The guard had said, “Mr. Del Conte.” A couple of times, she’d been in the office and heard her father mention that name with either a snarl or a sneer in his voice. He was a business rival, she thought. Someone Daddy detested.
Was he the man who had spoken to her earlier? When she was in that cage. She shuddered.
Anna interrupted her thoughts.
“The master wants you to look your best.”
“The . . . the master? That’s Mr. Del Conte?”
“Yes,” Anna answered.
“What does he want from me?
“He doesn’t confide in me. I just manage the salon. And you are not here to ask me questions,” the woman said sternly.
“We’re on a ship, right?”
‘Yes.”
Before she could get any more information, Anna said, “Come. We have limited time, and I will be punished if I do not complete my assignment. ”
Karen glanced back toward the door. The two men were out there. She might knock out this woman, but then what? Allison would probably come running.
Maybe Anna saw the expression on Karen’s face because she fixed her with a steely look. “No,” she mouthed.
Karen answered with a small no
d. It looked like her only option was to cooperate for now—and hope she could escape later.
Anna led her down a short hall to a large, marble bathroom with a shower.
“I’m sure you’d like to clean up,” she said.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You will have ten minutes to shower and wash your hair.”
Anna leaned into the shower and turned on the water, then stepped toward the door.
“Get undressed. Throw your ruined clothes in the trash. Then take your shower. When the timer rings, get out and dry yourself. I’ll be waiting for you outside.”
Karen quickly took off her wrinkled clothing and stuffed it in the trash receptacle, feeling self-conscious. Someone could be watching her on a hidden camera, but there was nothing she could do about that. Anxious to get clean, she stepped into the shower.
It was wonderful to stand under the hot spray. As the water poured out of the shower head, she raised her face and closed her eyes, grateful to be alone for a few minutes.
Or was she?
A low grating voice made her jump. “No matter what you hear, don’t turn around. Keep on with what you’re doing. Some of us are preparing to escape. Maybe we can help you.”
Karen’s throat clogged. She wanted to turn, but she obeyed directions.
In a moment, the door closed, and she knew she was alone again.
Who had spoken? It had been a woman. Most likely Anna or Allison, but she couldn’t be sure which because the voice had been disguised.
As she washed, she tried to figure it out, but she simply couldn’t.
At least the hot water helped ease some of her tension, and when she opened a bottle of shampoo, grapefruit scent wafted toward her.
She longed to stay in here for hours, washing off the fear and humiliation of the past few hours, but she had no doubt that she must conform to the time constraint.
Quickly she washed her hair and applied cream rinse. She was almost finished when the timer rang. With a shudder, she stepped out, turned off the water, then dried herself with a fluffy towel, tucking it around her body as Anna came back.
“Come on. This way.”
Taking a chance, Karen asked, “Did you speak to me in the shower?”
“Certainly not!” She pointed to another doorway, and Karen saw a treatment room beyond. In it was a salon chair and a padded table.