by Ciana Stone
“I saw the info that came in on it, but we haven’t had anything similar in Cotton Creek. Where was it they went missing?”
“The old sock factory in Taylorsville, just south of here. Two of the women went missing from there. The third disappeared from an old building near the train depot where homeless have taken to gathering.”
“Undercover when?”
“Today, if possible.”
“I’m getting the feeling that you think these people are being taken.”
“Special Forces, correct, Operator Sampson?”
“Correct, sir.”
“Then you understand the need to ensure that classified information does not get released to the public.”
“I do, sir.”
Waterford looked around the room. “Then yes, we do believe these people are being taken. People interviewed at the locations where some of the people have gone missing say they saw the victims with a giant.”
“A giant?”
“A very big man, seven feet, they claim with hands big enough to cover a person’s entire face. They’re scared. Very scared. So much that they're clustering together, which isn’t typical for junkies and street prostitutes.”
“No, it’s not. Fine. I’ll get someone to drop me off later in the day a few miles from the site.”
“Your cover is a prostitute. I’d say an addict but you’re too fit. You’re on the run though. Dillard will show up around eleven. He’ll be your john and you can report anything you see to him.”
“You want me there 24-7?”
“We do.”
“Can I take my phone?”
“I don’t see why not. Even the street whores seem to have them.”
Charli didn’t much like his tone or the phrase, but she didn’t comment on it. She was so damn bored with Grady being gone, and so tied in a knot because she knew without a doubt that wherever he was, he was definitely in harm’s way, that she needed something to take her mind off him.
This should fill the bill.
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“I’m sure you will, Deputy.” Waterford turned his attention to the Chief. “And now perhaps we could enlist you to coordinate with the Sheriff Departments and City Police in the surrounding counties?”
“Of course,” Chief Greene agreed and cut a look at Charli. “That’ll be all, Deputy. Take the rest of the afternoon to take care of any personal matters. I’ll pick you up at seven and give you a ride.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Charli left the Chief’s office and headed for her desk to collect her phone and car keys. Sleeping on the streets with a bunch of junkies and prostitutes wasn’t her idea of a good time, but at least her mind would be occupied with something besides Grady Judd.
God, even thinking his name sent worry lancing through her. Was this what it was like to love someone? To not be able to stop thinking about or worrying over them? If that’s what it was, then she honestly didn’t know if she could ever have any kind of future with him. Not as long as he did what he did.
She was certain she couldn’t go on indefinitely worrying that she was going to hear that something had happened to him. And she was dead certain that if he didn’t come back, she’d never forgive herself for telling him how she really felt before he left.
That she loved him.
*****
Chief Tom Greene waited until he was sure Charli had left before bringing up what was on his mind. “Out of curiosity, why weren’t the Rangers brought in on this?” he asked the FBI Agents.
“The Governor himself requested the help of the bureau,” Waterford replied.
“Over the disappearance of some junkies and street hookers? I don’t think so.” Tom realized he was the chief of a small town, but he wasn’t an idiot. Before he became a policeman, he was military police. Marines.
The agents looked at one another and Dillard turned away, pulling out his phone. He left Tom’s office. Tom didn’t bother to ask why. It was clear that neither of the agents had clearance to make decisions in this matter.
When Dillard returned, he gave a nod to Waterford and then looked at Tom. “It’s not just junkies and hookers. Wilbur Brandley’s daughter is missing. She disappeared from a hotel in San Antonio a week ago.”
“Wilbur Brandley?” Tom asked.
“A good friend of the Governor. He owns one of the cable networks.”
“Thus, the Governor bypassed bringing in the Rangers?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think that’s a mistake.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion, but the orders stand.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Tom picked up the phone and placed a call. “Hey, Stella Jean. It’s Tom. Is he in?”
He smiled at the agents. “Hey, John. It’s Tom. Listen, I’ve got two FBI agents here about those missing people and they said we can’t call in the Rangers. Seems to me we need all the boots on the ground we can get. Don’t you agree? Yes, sir. I will. Thank you. And yes sir, I sure will. Thank you.”
He hung up the phone and looked at the agents. “A good friend of mine and fishing buddy, the Governor, thinks it would be a good idea to call in the Rangers so I’m going to do that now.”
“Hold on,” Waterford protested. “How do we know that was the Governor you were talking with?”
“You think I’d lie?”
“No, but we don’t take orders from you and until we hear from our superiors—“ His phone rang.
Tom gestured toward Waterford’s coat pocket. “You might want to take that.”
Waterford answered and Tom could tell from the look on the man’s face that the caller was someone higher up the ladder, and probably someone who’d just spoken with the Governor. Tom watched the man leave the room, followed by his partner.
He picked up his phone to place a call to the regional Rangers’ office and was put in touch with the Ranger assigned to head the region Cotton Creek fell into.
“Zeb Childress.”
“Hey, Zeb, it’s Tom Greene over in Cotton Creek.”
“Hey there, Tom. How’s it going?”
“We’ve got a little situation here, Zeb and I just got off the phone with the Governor who said I should bring in the Rangers.”
“Tell me.”
Tom quickly gave Zeb the details. “I’ll be there in three hours,” Zeb said when Tom finished. “Don’t send in your deputy until I’ve had a chance to speak with her. I’m going to call the Bureau and Headquarters and get the ball rolling on this for you.”
“Thanks, Zeb. See you soon.”
Just then, the FBI agents returned. Tom could tell from the look on their faces that they weren’t thrilled with whatever they’d been told.
“Okay, so the Rangers will take point on this.” Waterford said. “But we’re to be kept in the loop all the way.”
“Of course.” Tom agreed. “I have your numbers. I’ll let you know as soon as the Rangers get things set up and I’m guessing they’ll have their own people as a point of contact for Charli.”
“Fine,” Waterford agreed. “We’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
“As soon as I know anything, you’ll know it.” Tom assured them and meant it. He wasn’t trying to cut out the Feds, he was just trying to make sure that the missing people got the very best chance at being found and he fully believed that would be accomplished by bringing in the Texas Rangers.
Now he needed to decide whether to call Charli back in to meet with Zeb or wait and have Zeb ride with him over to her place later.
He decided on the latter. Charli was a pro; she’d deal with the change in leadership and if Tom was any judge of character at all, she and Zeb would work well together. They were carved from the same block of wood when it came to this kind of thing. They meant business and God help anyone who got in their way.
That old saying about the Rangers always getting their man held true for Charli Sampson as well and Tom wasn’t sure which of them—Charli or
Zeb—was the most lethal.
*****
Across the Atlantic, in the Mediterranean Sea, Grady stood on deck of the Arleigh Burke-class guided missile destroyer, watching the sun sink into the horizon. He’d left home eighteen days ago, and not a day had gone by that he didn’t keep count of how long he’d been away. Not a day had passed that he hadn’t found himself wishing he’d had the balls to tell Charli the truth before he left.
Honestly, he left feeling the same as always when he was called upon the serve. That he could well walk out of his home for the last time. Survival was never guaranteed, no matter how brave or skilled, how accurate your Intel or how capable your team.
Now, eighteen days later and at the end of what could only be classified a success, he and his team were returning home heroes, albeit faceless ones. There would be no press waiting for them upon their return, no reporters shouting questions.
Sure, there would be news reports on how an elite team of Navy SEALs had taken out not one, but three of the world’s most powerful and influential terrorists. Their praises would be sung for striking a blow that would severely cripple the terrorist organizations for some time.
But their names would not be mentioned, and that was okay. It’s what they signed on for, and what they expected. What he personally had never learned to come to terms with was a duty he had to fulfill upon his return to the states.
He had to inform the family of one of his teammates that their husband, father, son, brother would be returning in a casket. Grady knew there was not a member of his team who didn’t grieve Johnny’s loss. Grady couldn’t help but think how excited and happy Johnny had been over the birth of his daughter.
Now that child would never know her father. That tore at Grady, and surprisingly, had him questioning his own life and career.
“Sorry about your loss.” A voice behind him had him turning his head.
The XO of the ship, Grant Carmichael, was an old friend. “Thanks. Me, too.”
“I guess it falls to you to notify the family.”
“No, but they don’t deserve to hear it from a stranger, or someone who wasn’t there.”
“Still, it’s never easy.”
“God help us if it ever is.”
“Amen to that, brother.” Grant looked out at the sky and sea. “You ever think about giving it up?”
“Not until recently.”
“Because of Johnny? You’ve lost men before.”
“I have, yes. But no, it wasn’t just that.”
“No.” Grant’s tone of voice had Grady looking at him. “Well, I’ll be damned. I never thought I’d see it. You knocked down that wall and let someone in.”
“Like hell I did.” Grady didn’t see the need to lie. “This woman blasted that thing all to hell.”
Grant laughed. “That must be some woman.”
“She most certainly is.” Grady said and smiled. “Charli Sampson, ex-Delta and current Cotton Creek Deputy. Five foot ten and a half inches, one hundred and sixty-five pounds of kick ass, drop dead gorgeous woman that makes me weak in the damn knees just by looking at me.”
Grant laughed and clapped Grady on the back. “What say you and me have a drink and you can tell me more about this Amazon? I’ve got a bottle of bourbon I’ve been saving for a special occasion and brother, this seems as good a time as any.”
“Sounds good to me.” Grady agreed and turned to accompany Grant. Eighteen days and counting. In ten more, he’d be home and then he’d talk to Charli. He’d tell her he loved her and wanted a life with her and if she said yes, he’d say goodbye to the Navy.
What scared him more than the thought of leaving the Navy was wondering if she would say yes.
Chapter Fifteen
Charli was surprised when she opened her front door. She’d expected Tom, but not the tall, handsome man in a white Stetson, who stood on her front porch. “Chief,” she greeted Tom as she stepped aside. “Come in, please.”
Tom entered and gestured toward his companion as the man stepped inside. “Deputy Charli Sampson, Ranger Zeb Childress.”
“It’s an honor, sir,” Charli extended her hand.
“Zeb will do and the pleasure is mine, Charli. You don’t mind if I call you Charli?”
“Not at all. I’m a bit surprised. Have there been new developments since I left the station?”
“More like a reorganization,” Tom said. “The Rangers will be heading up the case, and will call upon federal, state, and county assistance as needed. Zeb will be the point man on this.”
“Ten-four.” She gave Zeb a nod. “Am I still on undercover detail?”
“With one small change. I’m going in with you.”
“You are?” Tom asked.
“I am. And let me clarify. I won’t be with Deputy Sampson but I will be in the immediate area.”
“Because you think I need protection or because two sets of eyes beat one?” Charli asked.
Zeb reached up to scratch his chin. “Deputy I’m willing to bet you don’t need protection, so I’ll go with the latter.”
Charli smiled. “I appreciate that, but we all need to know someone has our back. And it goes without saying that I’ve got yours.”
“Indeed.” Zeb smiled. “So, where’s a thrift shop when I can find some different clothes?”
“The church thrift shop on Third Street,” Tom answered.
“Then we’ll swing by. But first, Charli, are you ready?”
“I need to change. Can you give me five minutes?”
“We can.”
She hurried to her room and changed into a pair of worn jeans, a concert T-shirt from a show she’d seen in Chicago a few years ago, old sneakers, and an old leather jacket she’d had since she enlisted.
Charli had a pillowcase filled with clothing—socks and jeans and T-shirts and underwear, along with a couple of books, a hairbrush and toothbrush and a charging cord for her phone, along with a wallet with no ID and twenty-two dollars. There was also a box of ammunition for the gun she had stuffed into the waistband of her pants.
She headed out of her room and slung the pillowcase over her shoulder. “Okay, let’s ride.”
When they were all outside in the car, Charli reached across the back of the seat and handed her keyring to Tom. “Would you hold onto this for me?”
Zeb looked over the seat at her. “You do much undercover work in your law enforcement career, Charli?”
“No, sir.”
“Do I hear a ‘but’ in there?”
“No, sir.”
Zeb looked at Tom. “Something I’m missing here, Chief?”
Tom looked up at the rearview mirror to catch Charli’s gaze. “Yeah, there is. Charli’s ex-Delta.”
Zeb looked back at Charli. “So, you know that if you go in packing, you’re liable to give yourself away?”
“Unless you’re packing an unregistered weapon with the serial numbers filed off and one that’s obviously old.”
“Lemme see.”
She handed him the weapon and Zeb whistled. “Damn, she is old, but a beaut. Where’d you get her?”
“My dad. It was his.”
Zeb nodded and returned the weapon to her. “Then make sure no one takes that from you, hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Talk turned to operational matters that didn’t involve her so Charli let her gaze turn to watching the passing scenery and her thoughts turn to the man who’d left eighteen days ago, carrying her heart.
Come home, Grady. Please. Come home.
*****
Charli wandered the territory, looking for anything that might be of use and generally just watching. It hadn’t taken her long to see other women who had laid claim to a back room in a derelict building at the end of a block of buildings that had obviously been vacant for some time.
The women had turned a storage room into a dorm of sorts. Charli was impressed at what they had accomplished. There were six twin beds with blow-up air mattresses. Beside each bed w
ere homemade nightstands made of plastic or wooden crates stacked upon one another.
There was a long table fashioned from cobbled together sawbucks and boards for a top that sat on the opposite side of the room and acted as a dining table and a workbench. Some of the women gathered scraps of cloth and old clothing and cut them up to make quilts. They sold what they could and gave away what they couldn’t sell.
Charli admired them. Even in such dismal conditions, they were willing to help others. It reminded her of how much she had and how she had not taken time to give to those less fortunate. She resolved to do better. Starting now.
Since she couldn’t sew, she volunteered to scout for discarded clothing and food. That also gave her an excuse to move around the section of the city that had been taken over by the homeless.
It was surprisingly large, three square blocks. She’d never really dealt much with the homeless and found herself a bit ashamed to have thought less of them. Sure, there were the addicts and alcoholics who just couldn’t hold down a job or keep it together enough to pay rent, but there were also good decent people who were just down on their luck.
Charli had spent the last four days wandering the streets, talking to people, and getting a feel for things. She and Zeb hooked up every evening and already a couple of the women in her building thought she had a crush on the handsome drifter who played the harmonica, had a smile that rivaled the sun, but also a look that could chill a man to the bone.
She let them think what they wanted. If it provided an excuse for her to meet with Zeb and compare notes, it was good enough. Thus far, all they’d been able to determine was that three women had gone missing in the last month. One every ten days.
No one saw it happen and no one had been asking questions. That was about to change. Charli and Zeb agreed they would start questioning everyone they’d connected with and if lucky, maybe they’d get a lead.
She hoped so. Three women were missing and two of them had children who were being cared for by others in the street community. Charli wanted to find those women and get them back to their kids.