“And they told him?”
“You were trespassing.”
“No, Patrick was trespassing. I was waiting next to the car. And Patrick thinks Lee’s not only running drugs, but people.”
Dwight looked like he’d been slapped. He stood there stunned, unable to speak.
Patrick winced. He wished Elle hadn’t said anything. Dwight was a prosecutor. “It’s better if you don’t know,” he said.
Dwight ignored Patrick and said to Elle, “You’ve been trying to get proof on Lee for running drugs and have nothing. Now you’re saying he’s smuggling people?” He shook his head.
“Kami is missing.”
“The girl you got out of juvie on Friday?”
“Yes. She disappeared yesterday afternoon, and Patrick and I tracked her down to TK but lost her trail there. Lorenzo’s people are looking for her, and that means Lee is looking for her. She’s hiding, and they’ll kill her if they know she has evidence on Lee.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your office negotiated this arrangement, and you’d have to tell them she ran from me!”
“Elle, maybe because she’s one of them.”
“She isn’t.”
“You’re going to get your heart broken, as well as your license to practice law pulled by the Bar. You’ve always been on the edge, but I think you’ve really gone over now.”
“At least I’m willing to take risks to help people!”
“That’s not fair, Gabrielle,” Dwight said.
Patrick had to step up. This was getting them nowhere. “Maybe you should leave,” he said.
“Just because you’re sleeping with my ex-wife doesn’t mean I’m the one who should leave, buddy. Is this your idea? Putting Elle at risk? Waving a gun around like you’re some sort of macho soldier?”
“Like I would let anyone tell me what to do,” Elle snapped.
“Knock it off, both of you,” Patrick said. “This isn’t helping. Kami is in trouble, and if you can’t help us, Dwight, then you need to leave.”
Dwight stared at him. “Which Kincaid are you? The mercenary? The doctor?”
Patrick was surprised that Elle had even talked about the Kincaid family with Dwight, since she’d already moved to San Francisco before she met and married him.
“I’m the former cop, current PI. I’m not here officially.” Though, Patrick thought, that might change if RCK decided that they had a better shot than law enforcement at taking down this human trafficking ring. “I’m here because I heard Elle needed help, and I was in the area.”
“Made yourself right at home, too,” Dwight said.
“Oh, shit, Dwight, we’ve been divorced for five years.”
Elle and Dwight exchanged a look and Patrick wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Then, suddenly, Dwight said, “I’ll take off my prosecutor hat for five minutes. Tell me what you have.”
Patrick didn’t know if they could trust Dwight. It wasn’t that he was part of any conspiracy, but he was an officer of the court, and legal people took that oath seriously. His former brother-in-law was the district attorney of San Diego, and he was Mr. Law and Order if there ever was one. He’d never go off book for any operation, even for five minutes. There were police investigations where he might take a judicious water cooler break just so he wouldn’t know about certain details, but beyond that, he wouldn’t have risked his career—or a conviction.
Dwight seemed sincere and worried about Elle. And he was clearly still in love with her. Patrick had walked into the middle of something.
Elle looked at Patrick and said, “It’s up to you.”
“I’m not the one risking my career.”
“I trust him,” Elle said.
“You also trust Clark Grayson.”
Her face reddened and she said, “I told you Clark is fine. Do what you want. I’m taking a shower.”
She went upstairs.
Dwight stared at Patrick. “Wow. I didn’t see that coming.”
“What?” Patrick snapped. He ran a hand over his face and helped himself to coffee. It was strong, which he needed. He hadn’t wanted to piss off Elle, but she had to see the truth before she was hurt by it.
“I never liked Clark,” Dwight said. “But he and Elle have been friends since college, before I even met her, and he was always off-limits.”
“She’s going to be devastated when she finds out he’s one of the bad guys.” Patrick wished he wasn’t going to be the one to prove it to her, because she would hate him for it. But what was he even thinking about? If she hated him, that was life. He lived in D.C., she lived in San Francisco, and last night notwithstanding, they didn’t have a future.
For some reason, that realization made him angry. He’d never been an angry person, even after his nephew had been killed when Patrick was in college. It was the attack on Lucy—watching it online, unable to stop it—that had affected him in ways he hadn’t been able to process at the time. Only a day later, he’d nearly died in an explosion, and then after brain surgery, he’d spent nearly two years in a coma. He’d woken up with the pain and rage of what had happened to his sister, not knowing if she was dead or alive, while the world had continued to function without him. While Lucy had healed, he had not.
What happened seven years ago couldn’t have helped but change him. He’d always been the most easygoing of the Kincaids. Even-tempered like his brother Dillon, but more of a joker. He used to love to play pranks on his siblings, but he hadn’t done anything, not even an April Fool’s gag, since he woke up in the hospital racked with guilt and anger he didn’t understand.
Patrick compartmentalized his anger and asked Dwight, “What do you know about Grayson?”
“I think he’s a phony.”
“But what do you know about him?”
Dwight frowned. “Nothing. It’s just a feeling. Elle always told me I was jealous because she and Clark used to go out, but that wasn’t it.” He glanced at Patrick. “If I were the jealous type, I’d be more jealous of you.”
“You divorced her.”
“Because we can’t live together. We drive each other crazy.” He glanced toward the stairs.
“But you love her.”
“What’s not to love? She’s beautiful, with a heart as big as the bay. She’d give you the shirt off her back. She’s loyal, and she’s smart. But—”
“But?”
“She lacks common sense. I swear I wanted to throttle her when she’d walk right into dangerous neighborhoods. She knows self-defense and all, but still—she thinks she’s made of Teflon and bullets and knives will just avoid her. Did she tell you she was stabbed last year?”
She hadn’t said anything, but Patrick had found the scar on her stomach, right next to one of her tattoos. She’d dismissed it, made a joke about a psychotic tattoo artist, but Patrick knew a knife wound when he saw one.
“Outside the BART station,” Dwight continued, “when she was coming back late from helping one of her clients. A guy jumped out and demanded her purse. She gave it to him and still he stabbed her. Would have killed her if she hadn’t been smart enough to kick him in the balls and run. Then surgery and stitches, and three days later she’s back at work.”
“Did they find the guy?”
“No.” Dwight poured himself some coffee and dumped a liberal amount of milk in it. “Elle always makes it too strong.” He turned and faced Patrick. “Okay, five minutes, starting now.”
“I work for Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid Protective Services, a private security company that has its fingers in a lot of areas. It’s not my specialty, but RCK initially began as a hostage-rescue company working with for-hire soldiers to rescue Americans and others from captivity in countries south of the border. One of the offshoots of that was human trafficking. There were villages decimated by rebels and drug lords where all the adults were killed, the girls sold as sex slaves, and the boys forced to go to war. So RCK keeps their fingers in the business, providing federal
law enforcement with information we obtain through our work. And, often, we work with or for the government to stop it. But human trafficking, it’s a multibillion-dollar industry—plug one hole and ten more pop open.”
“I’ve heard it’s only getting worse.”
Patrick nodded. “RCK has extensive information, and our database spit out one of Christopher Lee’s companies, Chi Sun Shipping in Stockton, as a cover for human trafficking. Elle thinks Lee is involved only with Lorenzo’s drug operation, but I overhead a conversation last night that made me think they were talking about people, not drugs. That, coupled with his shipping company, makes me think his criminal enterprise is far bigger than supplying drugs to a local distributor. I made a recording of the conversation—it wasn’t explicit, but something is going down tonight.”
“I can’t listen. It’s not legal.”
“It might be. I sent it to my office because part of the conversation is in Chinese. They’ll translate it. And I took a picture of the people, hoping to get IDs, but the photo is low quality and taken from a distance.”
“And where does Kami fit in?”
“My guess? I think she left here because either she thought she was in danger or she’d put Elle in danger, or she didn’t have any physical proof against Lee like she told Elle. But now … I think she definitely has something that Lee wants, or he thinks she has something. It might just be information, but if it’s the information about his shipments, he wouldn’t want her talking. Everyone is looking for her—Lee, Lorenzo, and us. Elle refused to let me call the police last night because of the deal she made with your office about Kami’s testimony—I was a bit unclear on the details, but there’s also a social worker breathing down her neck.”
Dwight swore under his breath.
Patrick continued. “I met Grayson last night. He’s the only one who thought I was a cop, and I let him believe it. When I talked to some of the kids at the center, I specifically told them I was a private investigator. Yet when Lorenzo’s people came in and tried to harass Elle, they said they’d heard about the cop from out of town. That had to have come from Grayson. Elle doesn’t believe it—she says I look like a cop, so any of the kids I spoke to could have assumed it.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“He’s manipulative. He was trying to get information out of her, but I’ll admit he’s good. Very subtle. I know he has a sealed record.”
“When I brought that up with Elle years ago, she had a fit. How can young people who make mistakes ever be able to get beyond their pasts, yada yada. Elle had her own record as a youth.” Dwight glanced at Patrick. “You probably know that.”
“Yes. But disturbing the peace and organizing a rave is a far cry from drug dealing or assault.”
“Is that what Grayson did?”
“I don’t know. It’s sealed. Elle knows?”
He nodded. “And she doesn’t care.”
Patrick assessed the situation. “Okay, I’ll make sure she keeps Clark at arm’s length. But this is what I need from you—how close are you with law enforcement?”
“Good.”
“Something is going down tonight, but according to Elle, Lee has elected officials on the payroll, and she implied some bad cops as well.”
“If Lee’s guilty, he would. He has the resources. I just—why would he? He has successful businesses all over town, owns several multimillion-dollar properties, why would he need to do this?”
“I have people at RCK looking into his finances, but it’s going to take time to pull together.” Legally. “But human trafficking is about money and power. Where did he get his money in the first place? How did he amass so much wealth? Is he using his businesses to launder money? RCK dealt with a case a few years ago, before my time, where the FBI shut down a major human trafficking network in Sacramento by tracking their financial crimes.”
“Like Al Capone.”
“Exactly.” Maybe Dwight did understand. “If I need help, from good cops, can you get the message to the right people?”
“Yes. I know who to call.”
“Thank you.”
“Why not bring them in now?”
“Because if Lee’s moving a shipment—of drugs or people—tonight, and they have someone inside, it’ll tip them off. We’re also trying to get ICE involved, but they have no active investigation into Lee. That means I need something more to give them. Like this.” Patrick showed Dwight the fuzzy picture of the people who’d been meeting with Lee last night. “The woman was clearly in charge,” Patrick said.
“I have no idea who she is. Can they even get anything from the photo?”
“RCK is working on enhancing it, and we have a contact at ICE. If any of these people are involved in human trafficking, we’ll know soon enough.” It was nearly eight. Dwight had been here almost an hour.
Elle came downstairs. Her hair was wet and she was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She looked ten years younger than her age. Dwight walked over to her and hugged her tightly. “Listen to Patrick, okay? I don’t want you hurt. I’ll let you know if I hear anything about Kami.”
“Thanks,” Elle said, a quizzical expression on her face. She walked Dwight out, then turned around and questioned Patrick. “What was that about?”
“It was about our concern over tonight. We have a lot to do today.”
“Like find Kami.”
“Like figure out what’s happening tonight.”
“You promised.”
“Yes, we’re going to look for Kami. But we have preliminary work to do. I need information about the people Lee was meeting with, and I’m waiting for a call back from my contact in ICE. Just give it a couple hours.”
“I can go out now, you can meet me later—”
“No. You heard the recording—Lee sees you as a threat. You’re not safe.”
“He’s not going to hurt me. But what about Kami?”
Patrick stepped closer to Elle. He didn’t know if these protective instincts were from training, or because of something more … but he dismissed the emotion. Emotion was dangerous in an operation like this; he needed to focus on protecting Elle and finding Kami. “Trust me, Elle. I know people like Christopher Lee. He will kill you if you interfere.”
She nodded slowly, and Patrick relaxed. He kissed her. It was spontaneous, but felt right. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He didn’t want to let her go. He’d been craving emotions again, emotions other than the anger and pain that had driven him for the last five years. With Elle, he’d found the part of himself that had been buried since Lucy’s attack. He finally remembered who he’d been before his coma, before his life had been irrevocably changed.
She tilted her head back and frowned. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. He wanted to say something more, something about them, but for now, he was going to have to be satisfied with feeling again. The rush of complex emotions was dizzying.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” he said. He smiled. “I’d ask you to join me, but you’d be a distraction.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m hoping Dean will call before nine, and then we can make a plan.”
“Dean?”
“Dean Hooper. He’s the assistant special agent in charge of Sacramento FBI, and a good friend of RCK. He also used to run one of the white-collar-crimes divisions in Washington—if anyone can follow a money trail, it’s Dean.” At least legally.
“Okay. I’ll make some breakfast.”
“You don’t have to,” he said.
“I want to. You earned it.” She smiled and kissed him. “Towels are in the closet behind the bathroom door. And if you really miss me, just call.”
Elle waited until Patrick was in the shower, then she hastily wrote out a note. She didn’t try to explain. Either Patrick understood that she had to find Kami, or he didn’t.
She’d let Doreen down last year, she couldn’t let Kami down. While she trusted Patrick,
she couldn’t just sit around and wait. She had to get them herself. Once she found Kami, she’d do anything Patrick wanted. Once she knew Kami was safe, she’d be able to breathe again.
While the shower was running, she called Clark. “Can you meet me at the coffee shop around the corner from Granny’s Kitchen?”
“Of course—what’s wrong?”
“I need your help to find Kami. You’ll help me, right?”
“Of course I will. What happened to your friend from San Diego?”
“He’s doing something else,” she said, and glanced up the stairs. Maybe she shouldn’t do this. Maybe Patrick was right.
He was right about a lot of things, but not Clark. She’d dated Clark for over a year. They’d been best friends forever. Guys like Clark didn’t sell people. She would have seen it.
But she would definitely keep her eyes open. She added a PS to her note as she said to Clark, “Twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
She heard the shower turn off as she slid the door closed behind her and left.
CHAPTER 10
Kami woke up, not from the cold, wet concrete, but from the sobs in the cell next to hers. She opened her eyes. Blinked, her head aching. The one bare lightbulb didn’t help her see much except a crowd of girls. The stench of urine and vomit penetrated her pores, worse than any night she’d slept on the streets. She’d have preferred a cardboard box next to a Dumpster to this basement full of despair and hopelessness.
“Kami, thank God you’re alive.” It was Ashley. She was holding her hand, but Kami was so numb she didn’t feel it.
“I’m fine.”
“He hit you and I thought he’d killed you.”
The night before came back to her in a rush. She hadn’t forgotten, but she wanted to.
She’d tried to run, but they caught her. Hit her over and over, and she thought she was going to die. Like Doreen. She only vaguely remembered being carried into the warehouse, past the COLD STORAGE sign, into the basement with a hundred young women, locked in this cell, a prisoner. Or an animal. She felt disoriented, unable to understand most of the women around her because they must not speak English. Except Ashley.
Cold Snap Page 9