by Jory Strong
She grinned. Well, they had a minute before they got to the coffee shop for the meeting with the Feds. Too bad she was sitting in the middle and couldn’t watch both men’s expressions at the same time. Then again, she could compensate.
Savannah turned her head slightly so she could watch Draigon’s face as she placed a hand on Kye’s thigh. Tenderness flashed through her when she saw a flicker of longing, uncertainty in Draigon’s eyes before his spine stiffened and his face became unreadable. “So have either of you ever shared a woman before?”
Kye’s thigh jerked under her palm, “No. It is not the way of—”
“I have done so with one of my brothers,” Draigon interrupted, sending a flash of jealousy through Savannah when his gaze grew heated with the memory of it.
She looked away and exhaled a long release of breath. Damn, that backfired on her a little bit. Yeah, the rational part of her mind knew she shouldn’t be bothered by Draigon’s little trip down memory lane, but…
Savannah shook her head, clearing it. She needed to get a grip. Their reactions had proven her theory. The rest would come—she snickered—the rest would cum. But as the meeting place came into view, she pushed thoughts of her love life away in favor of detective work.
The coffee shop was old-fashioned. A stand-alone building with large plate glass windows looking out into a small parking lot.
A long Formica-covered counter separated the customer area from the work area. Bar stools lined up in front of it like soldiers, the heavy metal poles topped with round vinyl seats, all of them empty, waiting for customers to arrive and take up their positions.
Kye parked the truck directly in front of the window. Close enough for Savannah to spot the man she’d seen outside her apartment sitting with the one who’d been at the bus stop a short distance from the residential hotel. “Those are our guys,” she said, watching as the strawberry-blond lifted his hand to his brow—a signal she thought at first—but then he left it there, cupped, like someone shielding themselves from a glare even though the sun wasn’t streaming directly into the coffee shop window.
Kye and Draigon opened their doors and got out, Savannah followed, but not before she saw the dark-haired man who’d been watching her apartment frown and shield his eyes also. Weird. Then again, she was starting to think this was just going to be a day full of Twilight Zone moments.
“There’s no reason for us not to join you at the table,” Kye said. “We are all professionals and clearly they have seen you with us.” To Draigon he said, I have been on this planet for one of their Earth years and only twice have I heard of humans demonstrating such a reaction as these two men are displaying—shading their eyes and squinting as though they cannot trust what their eyes are telling them. Both times the reactions were from women carrying the Fallon sequence. Women with some ability to pierce the veil of protection the Ylan stones provide and see us in our true form.
Draigon’s thoughts went immediately to his cousin and the sorrow and anger that now hovered around her, a heavy burden Zantara was unable to shake off. Have the scientists found males on this planet who carry the Fallon genes?
Not yet. But most of their efforts have been directed at locating human women.
We must gain DNA samples from these men.
Those are my thoughts as well.
Savannah hesitated for only a second before reversing her earlier decision. Kye was right. The three of them were obviously together and she had no intention of withholding information from Kye and Draigon if knowing it would help keep them all safer.
“Okay, but you two are with me, not the other way around,” she said, entering the coffee shop first to prove her point.
The strawberry-blond was Kelleher. The man who’d been outside her apartment was Vaccaro. And if the narrowed, squinting glances they kept giving Kye and Draigon were any indication, neither of them was pleased to have her bounty hunters turned bodyguards at the table with them. Well, she couldn’t help how they felt about it. It was a done deal as far as she was concerned.
Savannah introduced Kye and Draigon and stated her intention to keep them fully informed. Kelleher and Vaccaro exchanged a glance and she had the weird suspicion they were expecting as much—then she remembered the captain knew about Kye. He’d probably passed the information along to them. “What’s going on at the Easy Times Casino? Laundering drug money?” she asked as she sat.
Kelleher’s eyes met hers before moving downward to a manila folder on the table in front of him. He opened it and extracted a photograph. A gray-haired man with flabby skin and an erection that was probably Viagra induced—though it was possible the girl’s lips hovering a breath away from it had been the inspiration. “Recognize her?”
Savannah’s gut sickened at the sight of the underage prostitute. The young girl’s eyes closed with the tightness of someone trying to block out what was happening to them.
The picture deepened Savannah’s desire to get involved and on either side of her, Draigon and Kye vibrated with anger. She glanced at them, her heart flooding with warmth at the looks on their faces. The desire to right a wrong so clearly demonstrated in the photograph.
“I recognize her,” Savannah said. “Her name’s Holland.”
“This involves the two policemen we encountered in your informant’s apartment?” Kye asked, making the connection between the captain’s gut feeling about something wrong in Vice and the underage girl Savannah had told him about.
“Creech and Mastrin,” she said, revisiting the moments when she got the girls and the pervert john back to the police station, viewing them through a different lens this time. Had there been a flicker of recognition in Holland’s eyes when the vice cops showed up? Fear?
Maybe. Savannah couldn’t be sure. “Does this involve Vice?” she asked Kelleher.
“Vaccaro will hit on that in a moment.”
A second photograph landed on the first, redirecting Savannah’s attention. In this one Holland was stretched out next to the man. An older girl straddled his waist, his age-spotted hands fondling her breasts as she fucked him. “What about this girl?” Kelleher asked.
“No.”
“The kid’s half-sister, Ivy.” There was no hiding the disgust in Kelleher’s voice. “Both of them have been in foster care for most of their lives. Ivy’s been out since she was seventeen. Holland’s been running away since she was ten. Always ends up wherever her sister is. The last time she ran, Social Services finally threw in the towel and granted Ivy custody. There’s an eight-year age difference between them.”
A third picture landed on the other two. Before Kelleher asked, Savannah said, “She’s one of the girls I hauled in the other day. Camryn. It looked like she was pimping Holland and another minor. I’m sure you know more about it now than I do. I was pretty much shut out once the Wrath of Vice fell on me.”
Kelleher laughed and for an instant it was easy for Savannah to forget he was FBI. He had great eyes and a smile that probably had women melting out of their clothing when he turned on the charm.
She nearly laughed out loud herself when both Kye and Draigon repositioned themselves on either side of her, crowding in on her as though they could pick up on the tenor of her thoughts. It was a welcome distraction from the pictures, though she only allowed her thoughts to drift for a moment before getting back to the business at hand. “So this is about blackmail?” she asked, knowing Vaccaro and Kelleher wouldn’t be showing her the photographs if this was only about prostituting underage girls.
Surprise flickered in Kelleher’s eyes. A glimmer of respect surfaced in Vaccaro’s.
“He’s the mayor of a small town near the Mexican border. Also co-owns a trucking company. Either of those may or may not be relevant,” Kelleher said. “Usually plays in Vegas. Blackjack and roulette. Doesn’t make a secret of his once-a-month trips there. He’s a moderate gambler, sets limits and sticks to them. To the hometown crowd, he’s a happily married man who dotes on his granddaughter, a kid who
just happens to be thirteen, same as the underage girl you hauled in.”
Savannah pushed the photo of Camryn aside, revealing the picture of the mayor with Holland and her sister. This time she studied the mayor’s face. He looked like a willing participant though she’d bet her paycheck he hadn’t known there was a camera focused on his activities.
Kelleher pulled a copy of a Social Services sheet from the folder and placed it on the table. Holland’s picture appeared in black and white, along with a birth date and a partial history. “This was sent with the blackmail shots. But there’s no way to determine who made the original copy. The girl’s file has been through a lot of hands and there were no prints to pull from the sheet that came with the pictures.”
Savannah rearranged her assumptions with these new facts. She’d thought the girls were laundering drug money, not involved in blackmail. But obviously they were—though it was always possible they didn’t know about the camera. “Since Holland and her sister are here and not in Vegas, and you guys are here and not in Vegas, I assume the mayor changed his usual pattern and came to Reno to play.”
Kelleher gave another mouthwatering smile. “Got it in one. He arrived compliments of the Easy Times Casino marketing program. Found the girls thanks to a helpful floor worker, who now can’t be found to answer questions.” The smile dimmed. “And neither can the girls. We’re interested in the sisters plus Camryn.”
“What about the other underage girl I hauled in?”
“Back on the street. Stayed one night in the shelter then ran. We’ve talked to her, but she claims not to know where the others went.”
Thirteen going on a hundred. Hardened. Savannah had been a cop too long to believe everyone could be helped. She looked down at the blackmail pictures. “So where were these taken? The Easy Times?”
Chapter Eleven
“No,” Kelleher said. “An apartment around the corner. The camera setup was gone but we caught a break. The place wasn’t rented out and hadn’t been since the girls used it, so we got in without a warrant. Ivy paid cash and used a fake ID, but the manager picked her out when we gave her a choice of pictures.”
“Any prints?” Savannah asked.
This time it was Vaccaro who laughed. A husky sound to go with his dark good looks. “Yeah, two different sets. An out-of-state police chief and an oil company executive with a military record, which is why there were prints on file for both of them.”
Savannah grinned. “Let me guess, they both got complimentary stays at the Easy Times Casino and didn’t think twice about it since just about every casino in Vegas and Reno has a marketing plan offering comp packages.”
“You’re right,” Kelleher said. “But if they’re being blackmailed, they’re not talking.”
Savannah’s attention moved to the folder. It looked like there were additional 5x7 glossies in it. “So who’s behind the blackmail? The girls?”
Kelleher emptied the rest of his coffee cup then pulled out another photograph. “We’re not sure. This is Becky Jaworski Traynor. As of a few days ago, missing, either voluntarily or involuntarily. It’s not widely known, but she runs an escort service with a clientele that’s exclusive to the men who stay and gamble at her husband’s casino. We’re fairly certain she knows about the underage girls, though it’s not clear whether or not they’re officially on her payroll. When her girls are on the clock they usually go back to the hotel room with the men they’re escorting around Reno. As far as the blackmail goes…” he shrugged and pushed the file over to Vaccaro, “we don’t know what she knows.”
The dark-haired agent set the photo of Becky Traynor aside and spread two new ones out in front of Savannah, both of well-dressed men exiting the Easy Times Casino. He followed those up with three Wanted posters. “Just so you know what you’re getting involved in.”
Vaccaro tapped one of the glossy photos. “Errol Abrego, Psycho I.” His fingers moved to the next one. “Jose Abrego, Psycho II.” With a glance he indicated the three Wanted posters. “The Cousins. The Guzman brothers—though at this point in time we’re not sure which side of the border they’re on. They’re all bad news and should be considered armed and extremely dangerous. Especially The Cousins. They’re wanted for a wide range of crimes, including murder.”
“They’re drug dealers?” Savannah asked.
“More like enforcers and lieutenants.”
The captain’s comment about this somehow involving Vice stirred in Savannah’s thoughts. “Is Vice working this?”
Vaccaro and Kelleher shared a look. “No,” Vaccaro said. “They’re out of the loop.”
“Why?”
Another glance between the two Feds then Vaccaro shrugged. “The couple of times an informant has lived long enough to get something to us about the Abrego brothers, Psycho I and II have been tipped off somehow.”
The earlier queasiness returned. “You think someone in Vice did it?”
“Could be coincidence,” Vaccaro said, his tone telling Savannah he didn’t believe it. “And right now, we’ve got another angle to pursue.” He glanced down at the photographs. “The Abregos are regulars at Traynor’s casino. Come in a couple times a day, convert cash to chips, gamble a little while then put the rest of their chips in the vault where at some point they disappear.” Vaccaro placed a final photograph on the table. “Carlos Dominguez. Lives in Mexico City and is suspected of running an operation to smuggle drugs and people across the border. So far we don’t have anything on him. Plays it smart and keeps plenty of insulation between his legitimate businesses and his criminal interests. Comes to Reno once a month.”
“And stays at the Easy Times?” Savannah asked.
“No. But he gambles there and always wins big. The money gets wired to an offshore account. All nice and squeaky clean. He’s also married to a woman Steven Traynor went to college with. So there’s a connection there.” Vaccaro scooped the photographs into a pile then placed the last item from the folder on top of them.
Savannah recognized it immediately. Ricky Nowak aka The Ferret’s rap sheet. Which brought them full circle as to why she was being pulled in. Not to investigate—Vaccaro and Kelleher seemed to have most of the pieces or knew what they were missing—but then she wasn’t surprised by that. “So you want me to show my face, ask around and see if Ricky surfaces.”
“Exactly,” Vaccaro said. “You’ve already stumbled on the link between him and Becky Traynor. The car bomb and the search of his place say to us that he knows something. We’re guessing that in addition to whatever he was trying to pass on to you, he probably knows where she is too. We need them found. Preferably alive and talking.”
“What about the rest of the investigation?” Savannah asked, waving a hand over the photographs, knowing what the response was going to be but wanting a shot at the action anyway.
Kelleher and Vaccaro shared a look. Kelleher said, “You’ll get glowing praise in your personnel file for assisting. Maybe enough of it to tip the scales and get you into detective work. But basically your part in this is to make contact with Ricky Nowak and either bring him in to talk to us or, second choice, find out what he knows and pass it on. The only reason we’ve shared the bigger picture with you is because of your captain.” Kelleher’s eyes narrowed. “Apparently he has ties to your family. He insisted you know going in what you might be up against.”
Kelleher began gathering the photos and putting them back in the manila folder. Savannah put her hand on the Social Services sheet with Holland’s picture on it. “You’ve got another copy of this, right?”
“Yeah, you can take it. You can take the picture of the friend as well. For obvious reasons I can’t give you the ones with the mayor in them.”
Savannah pulled the photograph of Camryn to her side of the table and Kelleher added, “Same thing goes for the girls. You find them, you call us. We need to figure out what they know.”
Vaccaro leaned forward, directing his comments to Draigon and Kye. “Any word about this
investigation gets out and your wings get clipped nice and short by the Bureau. Trust me, you don’t need that kind of grief.”
The slightest tensing of the muscled thighs against her own was the only indication Draigon and Kye gave of being bothered by Vaccaro’s comment.
“Savannah’s safety is our only concern,” Draigon said, his voice smooth and confident and sending a bolt of warmth straight to Savannah’s heart. “If we find you are withholding information or purposely placing her in jeopardy by making her a target then we will seek retribution.”
“I think we all understand each other, Draigon,” Savannah said, putting her hand on his forearm and squeezing, frowning at seeing identical squints on Vaccaro and Kelleher’s faces again.
“I will add my warning to Draigon’s,” Kye said, his face serious, his body posture threatening. “We don’t get mad, we get even.”
Kelleher shook his head and abruptly got to his feet. “We’ll be in touch,” he said, pulling out a wallet and tossing several bills on the table next to his empty coffee cup, then taking out a business card and writing on the back before handing it to Savannah. “Call the cell number right away if Nowak makes contact or if you find the girls.”
Vaccaro also stood, still squinting. He dropped some cash on the table and handed Savannah a card with a number already scribbled at the bottom. “Same instructions as Kelleher’s. Call me even if you’ve called him. Only call me at least once a day to check in, more often if you hear anything useful.”
She pocketed the cards as the two left, then turned to Kye. “We don’t get mad, we get even? Not exactly the kind of words you want to throw at Feds.”
Kye grinned. “I have grown fond of the saying. Perhaps it will become the motto of our house.”