The Shadow: Someone is Watching (Rahab's Rope Series Book 1)

by Kimberly Rae

  “Yes, I remember.” Meagan nodded. “But he’s in jail.”

  Alexia dropped into a chair, trembling. “What if he got out already? What if he hired that guy in the store to come after you? Don’t ever get in a car with a man you don’t know!”

  Meagan’s ears started ringing. She told herself to be rational. It wouldn’t make sense for Alexia’s trafficker to target any of them. He went after pre-teens. She glanced at Kelsey and saw her own thoughts mirrored. Unless it was for revenge.

  “Brianna,” Meagan whispered, turning so Alexia could not see as she composed her face. “We need to distract Alexia. Get her thinking about something else. She’s starting to panic.”

  “She’s not the only one.” Brianna stood twisting her scarf into multiple knots. “What if she’s right? I became an intern here to help the people who were fighting trafficking, not to meet up with a real trafficker right here in the store!”

  Kelsey covered over the fear radiating from Brianna’s voice with her own calm statement of, “So, Meagan, on the chance that this man is really who he says he is, doesn’t he fit all those things you described as your perfect guy?”

  Meagan blushed. She knew they would have a hard time keeping Alexia hidden and safe if she was checked into the hospital with another panic attack, but still, could Kelsey not have come up with a better topic? “Well, I’m not sure,” she responded, trying to mimic Kelsey’s ability to look and sound casual when she felt anything but. “He was tall and muscular and really good looking, with short dark hair and amazing eyes. Did I mention all that? Oh, and he dresses well. I loved that suit.”

  Brianna and Alexia stared at Meagan for several beats. Meagan told herself the humiliation was for a good cause. “Well?”

  Alexia stopped crying. She swiped the blackened back of her hand across her miniskirt. “My pimp was short and chunky, with a comb-over.”

  Kelsey cocked her head. “I thought you said he had dreadlocks.”

  “They’re fake. He puts them on when he goes on the streets to try to look cool.”

  Meagan dropped into a chair, letting a real smile show through this time. She grabbed another tissue and wiped Alexia’s cheeks as if she were still a child, which in many ways she still was.

  “Do you think he truly is with the FBI?” Brianna asked. She looked down and seemed surprised to see her scarf in knots. She tugged at one, which tightened the knot rather than unraveling it.

  “I doubt it.” Meagan tossed the dirty tissue into the trash. “And this is a perfect example of why I don’t want you, or anyone else, trying to find me a guy.” She opened a stand-alone plastic drawer set next to the table and pulled out a worn photo album made with thick, handcrafted paper from India. She flipped through page after page of photos, each one labeled with a teen girl’s name, age, and current situation. Most said “Freed” or “Back with parents,” but the few that said “Missing” or “Returned to pimp” were still hard to view.

  She pushed the album toward Brianna. “I’ve spent the past five years hearing girls tell me their traffickers were good to them, were handsome, clean-cut, or promised them the world. The traffickers gave them jewelry or a safe place to stay. They pursued the girls, offering whatever they wanted most, until it was payback time.”

  Alexia nodded vigorously. “Yeah, that’s true. Except that mine wasn’t good-looking. He looked like a skunk and smelled like one too most of the time. But his phone icon was really cute. And he sent me the nicest texts. I didn’t know he was a skunk until it was too late.”

  “Not every guy is like that.” Brianna closed the album and slid it back across the table, then pulled her scarf from around her neck and handed it across to Meagan.

  “I know,” Meagan said. She unwound the scarf and wrapped it around Alexia’s exposed shoulders. “But I also know that emotions distort thinking and I don’t want to make a mistake that has lifelong consequences. I can know all the signs, know the patterns, but if my heart gets involved, who’s to say I won’t give it to a guy who ends up being a liar or a fake?”

  Alexia hugged the scarf tight around her and started rocking in her chair. Kelsey sent Meagan a look. Meagan winced and mouthed, “Sorry.” She scrambled for something random to say.

  Brianna rescued her by perching on the table and saying to Kelsey, “If I stay here five years, am I going to be as cynical about love as she is?”

  “I’m not cynical,” Meagan argued with forced lightness to her voice. She returned the book to its place and shut the drawer.

  “Yes, you are. You avoid men whenever you can, like they’re all untrustworthy or bad.”

  “I don’t avoid all men.” She held up fingers to count. “There’s Kelsey’s husband, and my grandfather, and...and my pastor, and...” She looked at her three fingers and Brianna shook her head at her. “Oh! And the guy at Chick-Fil-A who always gives me an extra cherry when I order a milkshake.”

  Brianna put her hands on her hips with a laugh. “You’d go out with the Chick-Fil-A guy?”

  Meagan put a hand near her neck but grasped air. She used to twirl her hair in her fingers before it got cut off. “Well, no...”

  “See? You are cynical.”

  Alexia’s hint of a smile brought out a full one in Meagan. “Is it chilly back here today?” Meagan rose and peeked through the cracked door back into the storeroom. “I need one of those big scarves from the front window display.”

  “Shouldn’t you be calling the FBI?” Alexia asked. “Or the police or something?”

  Meagan returned to the table and put a reassuring hand on Alexia’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll call the local FBI office and check on this Mr. Cole Fleming, but that can wait until later. Right now you’re our most important priority. Let’s get you something to eat, and then take you back to the safe house so you can rest.”

  Kelsey already had her phone to her ear. “I’m checking on that parole situation. We’ll make sure that he, that your—”

  “My skunk?”

  Alexia’s slight laugh was a good thing to hear. “Yes,” Kelsey said. “We’ll make sure your skunk, even if he’s out of jail, can’t get anywhere near you.”

  Brianna slid the door open to the store. “I guess I’ll get back to work on the inventory.”

  Meagan nodded gratefully. “That’d be better than staying here dissecting my love life.”

  “Your lack of love life.”

  “True enough.” Meagan shrugged and spoke almost as if to herself. “This has been the oddest week. I’m sure glad I didn’t bust open the fire hydrant.”

  “What?” Brianna and Kelsey both asked.

  She let out a sheepish laugh. “I’ll tell you later. Maybe.”

  7

  Thursday, January 1

  12:45 p.m.

  “You know this is a bad idea, right?”

  Cole sat on one of the outdoor benches and grabbed a bite of meatball sub while Steve argued his case. “None of my ideas are bad. You said she told you to come back with ID on New Year’s Day. Today is New Year’s Day.”

  “And we’re staking out her store.”

  “Do you want to go in and shop? Stephanie would love a new purse.”

  Cole’s mouth tipped. “When was the last time you bought your wife something for no reason?”

  “About six months ago.” Steve unwrapped his cold-cut sub. “I was investigating a guy who owned a kiosk in the mall and needed an excuse to talk to the salesperson.”

  “Nice.” A gust of wind passed through the Christmas trees set up in the middle of the square, rattling their ornaments and knocking off more of their needles. If the wind kept up, those trees would be bare by the end of the day. During the warm months, the square hosted a large farmer’s market on the weekends, with vendors from all over the area, but today it was empty except for himself and Steve. Everyone else was smart enough to stay inside. “You said you wouldn’t ask me anymore to do these side jobs.” He relaxed against the back of the bench and spread his
legs out in front of him. Despite the temperature, it was nice to get out of the office. Staring at the computer all day was bad enough on the eyes, but what he had to look at was hard on the soul. He had never wanted a job like this. If it wasn’t for Sadie...

  Steve pumped his legs in a semi-jog, huffing in the cold air. “After this one. You didn’t even manage to get her in for questioning.”

  “She didn’t trust me. You know, these people fight human trafficking. It’d be a bad thing if she was okay climbing in a car with a guy she’d just met.”

  Steve talked around a mouthful of bread and meat. “Whose side are you on? You’re talking like she’s a good guy.”

  “She’d never be mistaken for a guy, and good or not, she’s headed this way.”

  Tan coat buttoned to the top, a red crocheted scarf hugging her neck, with a matching cap covering her short hair, Meagan Winston walked across the curved sidewalk on the opposite side of the square, then up past the twenty-eight-foot statue of a Civil War soldier in the middle, headed toward where they sat near the corner across from her store. She carried a brown paper bag flat in both hands. Cole fought a smile. She must have decided to walk to get lunch today rather than risk driving.

  “Those surveillance cameras don’t do her justice,” Steve said. He wiped his mouth. “She’s hot. You should have asked her out.”

  “Someone you suspect?”

  “Well, you said you didn’t think she was guilty. Besides, a date might have gotten me some info. You should have asked.”

  “Right before or right after she locked the door on me?”

  Cole had a sinking feeling as she approached, and it sunk further when she saw him and stopped short. He had enjoyed the Christmas song she’d been humming, but knew he wouldn’t enjoy whatever would come out of her mouth next. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Hi,” Steve interjected before Cole could respond. “Steve Campbell here, with the FBI.” He stopped jogging in place to set his sub on the bench and put his right hand out. With his left he flashed his ID, but not long enough for it to be useful. When Meagan didn’t shake his hand, he waved it toward Cole. “He’s with me.”

  Cole watched her look over at the store, then back at him. “I know you don’t work for the FBI,” she said, her chin up. “I called and checked. You aren’t with any police force in Georgia either.” He was glad when her glare moved to include Steve. “Would you like to leave now or should I call for help?”

  Steve chuckled and the woman’s eyes shot sparks. She held out her package. “Would you hold this for me a second?”

  Steve took the bag and looked inside. “Two Styrofoam containers,” he said. “Sharing today?”

  By the time he looked up, she had reached into her purse and pulled out a phone and a can of mace.

  “Whoa.” Cole dropped his sandwich onto the bench and stood, hands out. “No need for that.”

  She dialed only three numbers and held the phone to her ear. “Hello? Yes. I’m on the square in downtown Gainesville. Two men are stalking me, claiming to be with the FBI.”

  “What?” Steve held the bag out, as if he expected her to take it back. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  “Meagan,” Cole said, his hands still up. “If you’d give us a minute—”

  “Yes,” Meagan said, but she was talking into the phone. “Meagan Winston. I’m at—oh, you did?”

  She held the phone away from her ear and did a three-sixty turn. “Someone already called them about you.”

  “What?” Steve said again. He hunted around and eventually put the bag down on the bench. “Why would anybody do that? We weren’t doing anything!”

  Meagan stood in the ready position, her outstretched hand holding the can of mace that Cole noted was packaged in a perfect-sized pink carrier with black zebra stripes. Did they sell those at her store?

  Police sirens neared and Cole dropped back onto the bench, almost sitting on Meagan’s lunch. He picked up his sub and set it on top of her bag. “So, Steve, what was that you were saying about never having bad ideas?”

  A grey car pulled away from the square just as the police cars arrived. Cole turned to watch it drive by. “Hey, I remember seeing that car here before, the day I came to the store.”

  “Don’t move,” Meagan warned. “I don’t want to use this on you, but I will.”

  He shifted back to face her. “I believe you,” he said wryly.

  “This is so stupid.” Steve waved his arms around. “You’re the criminal here. Not us!”

  “Excuse me?”

  Cole stood and moved several feet away from Steve. “She’s holding a can of mace. You may not want to antagonize her right now.”

  Two officers exited the police cars and ran across the brick walkway toward Meagan, who supplied them with information about the situation while Steve protested his innocence.

  “This is ridiculous. I’m with the FBI. I’m here to take her in for questioning, not the other way around.”

  Meagan lowered her hand and with it the mace. She glanced at Cole. “But you’re not with the FBI. I checked.”

  “Not officially. I was just helping out.”

  A police officer spoke into his radio and got a reply. “This guy checks out, ma’am,” he told Meagan. “He is with the FBI, and apparently they do have reason to bring you in.”

  “But...but...” She directed her puzzled gaze at Cole. “Who are you?”

  “Cole Fleming, ma’am, as I said. But I don’t work for the FBI. Sorry for the confusion.”

  “Confusion?” She gazed, red-faced now, at the policemen, Steve, and then him. “I thought...but...” She put a hand to her head and let out a little moan. “What has happened to my well-ordered life?”

  8

  Thursday, January 1

  1:10 p.m.

  Lucias Moore slammed his car door shut, anger surging hot within him. He had called the police to come protect Meagan, but when he drove through the square a second time to check on her, the police had left and she was walking away with the very men who harassed her. The one guy, the big one, had been to Meagan’s store before. Did he want Meagan to be his girlfriend?

  Lucias had almost lost his temper. If Meagan developed feelings for him, it would be bad for her. Lucias had to protect her from that.

  He opened the trunk and double-checked to see his briefcase was still there and intact, hidden under a well-positioned spare tire and blue metal jack. Those men messed up his plans. Meagan was supposed to work in the store her normal hours, giving him time to make it to the drop-off point and back before she drove home. They had taken Meagan away and Lucias planned to find out why, but first he had to set up another time to hand over the money and his little gift for the connection.

  Lucias drew cold air into his lungs, exhaled loudly, and decided it wasn’t such a bad thing to delay the drop-off a day or two. With a glance at the wooded area secluding his trailer from the outside world, he moved the numbers of the briefcase combination lock to 01-08-1988—Meagan’s birth date. The briefcase popped open and Lucias hungered after the stacks of Indian rupees inside. He’d get his cut, but not until the connection saw the entire amount first. Lucias had sifted two stacks from the side, just a few hundred dollars’ worth, and hidden them in the usual place. After all, he had to make room in the briefcase for the gift.

  He lifted the small glass bottle from its secure bed between hundreds of rupee notes, removed the lid, and poured an insignificant amount, just the span of a dime, into his palm. The connection didn’t know anything about this new acquisition, so Lucias could enjoy a hit or two while he waited to get his money. He returned the bottle to its safe hiding place, closed the briefcase and secured it under the tire, then shut the trunk. The grains of colored powder in his hand promised a good evening, a calming diversion from his rage at another man trying to take his place in Meagan’s heart.

  He lived to keep a close eye on Meagan, but for a while he might have to k
eep an eye on the man in the black suit instead.

  9

  Thursday, January 1

  1:30 p.m.

  Meagan reluctantly followed Steve Campbell and his partner for the day up the stairs and into the Federal Building on Spring Street. “You could have told me you were just three blocks away,” she muttered at Cole.

  “I didn’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve never actually been to Steve’s office before now.”

  “So you’re just some hunk-for-hire that he calls up when he needs someone bigger than he is to intimidate people?” Oh, honestly, when was she going to learn to think before she spoke? Her cheeks would match her red hat now. This day was getting worse by the minute.

  He grinned at her, then laughed when Steve looked back with a frown and said, “He’s not that much bigger than I am. I just asked him to do it so I wouldn’t have to go out in the cold.”

  “This may be funny to you,” Meagan said as Steve held open the door for her to enter his office, “but I’m still trying to figure out why I’m being brought in for questioning in the first place.” She sat in the chair he offered and set her multi-shades-of-red purse, recycled from sari dresses in India, on her lap. “For us normal people, getting in trouble with the FBI is kind of a big deal.”

  Cole Fleming, who was still there for some unknown reason, pulled a chair from the far wall of the office and set it next to Steve’s desk across from her. He lowered himself into it and looked her in the eye. “Steve forgets sometimes that his position scares people. He just needs to ask you some questions.”

  “And you’re here because...he needs a bodyguard?”

  Steve clicked open a document on his computer. He grunted but Cole chuckled. “If you pull that mace on him again, I’m out of the room,” Cole said. “Right now I’m only here for moral support.”

  “We don’t call people in here who have a lot of morals to support,” Steve said, pulling several papers out of the printer next to his computer.