by CJ Bishop
Jacob smiled at the pure, untainted innocence of the little boy. Yet his heart broke for Eli and Robby, who’d had their innocence stolen in the most brutal way. It strengthened his heart, though, the way the boys’ faces glowed in the light of Jules’ sweet jubilance.
“Can we go play?” Samson asked Jacob.
“Yeah,” Jacob smiled.
Although Robby was a little older than the other three boys, he didn’t hesitate to race off with them to Jules’ room.
“He’s energetic,” Jacob laughed softly.
Angel chuckled. “Jules is like a tiny tornado. But about as sweet as they come. He’ll keep those boys entertained for a while.”
•♦•
“You have to go?” Nina lowered her eyes, her heart sinking. She didn’t want Emmy to leave. Would she ever see her again?
“Hey,” Emmy said softly and stroked Nina’s dark, damp strands. “I’ll come back. I promise.”
Nina met her warm gaze with uncertainty. “What’re they going to do with us? Where will we go?”
“Don’t you worry about that, sweetheart,” Emmy murmured. “You’re all going to be well taken care of, okay?”
Nina swallowed thickly as her throat lumped up. “Are…are you married?”
“Yes,” Emmy smiled. “To a wonderful man named Oliver. He can be a little intimidating at first sight, but he’s just a big ole teddy bear.”
“Do you…have kids?”
Lowering her eyes, Emmy shook her head. “No,” she said quietly, anguish in her voice. “I can’t have children and…” she paused a moment, sorrow shadowing her eyes. “The first time we attempted to adopt a baby…it died. The young mother who was going to give her baby up for adoption was an addict. We didn’t know she was. We’d been so involved and excited, and when the baby died…it felt like we’d lost our own child. I guess we were too afraid to try again, for fear of going through such anguish all over again.”
Nina whispered, “I’m sorry. You must’ve been so sad.”
“We were.”
“Would you ever adopt…older kids?” Nina trembled, her heart shuddering in her chest, so afraid of the woman’s answer. “Or…or would you only want a baby?”
Tears shimmered in the woman’s eyes and she cupped Nina’s face. “All children are blessings from God,” she said softly. “It doesn’t matter the age.”
Would you want me? She didn’t ask the question out loud, but hoped with all her heart that when she did ask it…the answer would be a joyous yes.
•♦•
Dr. Perelli arrived late, due to unforeseeable delays. He performed another round of preliminary exams on the kids, the bulk of his concern focused on the smallest children, fearful that they may have sustained internal damage from their sexual abuse.
He spoke to Adrian and made appointments for all of the kids to come in for a complete examination, bloodwork, and x-rays. He left shortly after checking the kids.
“Do we have to get shots?” Robby asked anxiously after the doctor was gone. “I’m scared of needles.”
“I don’t know about the shots,” Adrian said, then smiled. “Most people don’t like needles. But getting a shot isn’t usually as bad as we think it will be.” He eyed the boy and asked quietly, “Is there a reason that needles scare you?”
Robby stared at him hesitantly then looked away and shook his head. Adrian didn’t think that was the truth. There was no telling what trauma these kids had been through, apart from the sexual abuse. How much physical and psychological abuse had they endured as well? Possible before they were taken by the sex traffickers.
Following the examination by Dr. Perelli, the smaller children—including the four youngest girls—went back to Jules’ room to play. Terri had seemed convinced that Jenny would like to go, too. Adrian was all for the young girl engaging in as much positive interaction as possible.
Before joining the men in the lounge, Adrian went the master bedroom and sat down for a moment to catch his breath. Jules’ giggles infiltrated the hall and Adrian suddenly broke down sobbing. He buried his face in his hands, his whole body shaking as all his emotions seemed to explode in one fell swoop.
“Adrian?” Angelo came into the room on a strong stride and sat beside him, wrapping the younger man in his arms. The man was freshly washed and gave off a pleasant aroma of soap and cologne. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
Struggling for control, Adrian whispered, “It just hit me…all of it. These kids and…” He sagged against Angelo, sobs racking him. “And Jules.” His arms went around the man and he clung to him. “They almost got our baby, Angelo…our precious little Jules.”
“But they didn’t get him,” Angelo murmured against his hair. “And they found out what happens when someone tries to steal from us.”
“You made him suffer?”
Angelo pressed his lips to his head. “Immensely.”
•♦•
The older kids were gathered at the dining room table. Adrian served them hot tea and Clint sat down across from them along with the other men. Axel took the chair to Clint’s left and his presence was welcome…comforting.
Clint directed his main focus on Jacob. “I want you to tell us how the sex traffickers acquired each of you,” he said. “And which of you, if any, have family out there searching for you.”
Jacob nodded and licked his lips nervously as he twisted his cup of tea on the table. “Samson and Susie were abducted from their parents less than two weeks ago. I’m sure their parents and the cops are looking for them.” He took a sip of hot tea. “Jenny…I don’t know where she came from or if she has family.” He glanced at Eric and the others. “Most of the rest of us don’t have family, except maybe…” Jacob looked at David. “Don’t you have a father?”
David lowered his eyes and shrugged. “He’s…he’s probably not looking for me anymore,” he mumbled. “I’ve been gone a long time.”
The boy’s demeanor told Clint more than his words ever could; his father was not a good man. “Gone? You were kidnapped?”
David shook his head and whispered, “I ran away.”
“Why?”
The boy shrugged and stared at the table. “I didn’t think he wanted me.” His tone implied there was much more he wasn’t telling.
“How did the sex traffickers get you?”
David swallowed. “I didn’t have any money or anywhere to go. They found me sleeping in an alley, half starved to death, and they took me…forced me into prostitution.”
The other kids stared at him, clearly hearing this part of his story for the first time.
“You said the rest of you don’t have families?” Anthony addressed Jacob.
Jacob blinked and looked at the older man and nodded. “We were all in an orphanage together. Some of us were there longer than others.”
Clint frowned. “So, how did you end up with the traffickers?”
Pressing closer to Eric, Jacob murmured, “They came there and…bought us.”
“What?” Axel stared at the boy. “They bought you from an orphanage? I thought those places were supposed to adopt kids out, not sell them.”
Jacob shrugged and twisted his cup. “Not that place. It wasn’t a state orphanage. It was privately owned, and I don’t think a lot of people knew about it. They pimped us out, but the customers had to come there. The place was like an old hotel or something, there were lots of rooms. The customers would take us to the rooms and…use us. If someone offered enough money, they’d sell the kids. They didn’t care who took us as long as the buyer paid them.” He blinked and looked at Clint. “Most of the people who came there to buy kids—mostly men—wanted them for sex. Either for themselves or to sell or rent to others. I never saw anyone come in there who just wanted to adopt a kid to…love and care for them.”
Adrian quietly cleared his throat, his voice thick with emotion when he spoke. “How were you treated while you were at the orphanage?”
“Not good.”
Eric laid his head on Jacob’s shoulder, tears in his eyes. “Horribly,” he whispered.
Jacob agreed. “We were abused by the few staff that worked there,” he told them. “They…they used the kids for sex whenever they wanted, day and night. Sometimes they would wake us up in the middle of the night because they…they had an urge.”
“And we slept on the floor,” Nina added quietly. “They didn’t even give us a mattress for a bed. They saved the rooms for the customers to use. And we were always hungry…they didn’t feed us good at all.”
Reining in his rage, Clint asked, “How long ago were you taken from the orphanage?”
“About six months ago,” Jacob murmured. “We’ve been moved around a lot, used by the ones who owned us and pimped out. Sometimes…sometimes the men who had us would throw orgy parties and…” he swallowed hard. “…and use all of us at the same time.” Tears formed as he looked at Eric, the pain in his eyes mounting.
Along with the others, the kid had been forced to watch the boy he loved get raped by filthy perverts…and unable to stop them.
His jaw tightening, Clint asked stiffly, “What’s the name of the orphanage?” His breath surged. “And where can we find it?”
Chapter 11
Callum took the older kids into the living room. Once they were gone, Cory asked, “What’re we going to do? Who knows how many kids are in that orphanage.”
“We’ll pay them a visit,” Clint said with a sharp edge to his voice. “See what we’re dealing with.” He stood up. “First, we need to deal with the buyers that are arriving tomorrow morning.” He looked at Anthony. “Did you get the information?”
Axel glanced at Anthony as the older man nodded. “Horatio called back while you were in the shower. His attorney checked into it and got back to him right away.” Anthony produced a folded note from his pocket and handed it to Clint. “This is his name and address.”
“Who’s name and address?” Axel asked. Clint didn’t immediately answer as he slipped on his jacket. Axel exchanged a look with Cory; would either of them be briefed on what was happening? Axel let the question drop. Just let Clint do his job-
“I’ll explain on the way,” Clint replied abruptly.
“On the way…” Axel frowned.
Clint nodded. “You’re coming with me.”
“Oh…” Axel wasn’t expecting that.
“Come on.” Clint touched his back and urged him toward the door. “Time is short. We need to get going.”
A shot of excitement zipped through Axel and he felt a little foolish by how thrilled he was that Clint was taking him with him.
“Call Cruz,” Clint told Cochise as they headed out of the room. “Let him know what’s going on. Tell him to have his men posted at the warehouse in the morning, but to stay out of sight unless things go bad.” The Egyptian nodded.
What was going on? Axel wondered but didn’t hold up their departure by asking more questions; Clint said he would explain.
The cowboy remained silent as they walked outside and climbed into the car. Clint started the engine then leaned over suddenly and kissed Axel, a surge of unexpected passion flowing through their kiss. Axel’s body instinctively responded—it had no other choice, not when kissed like that by his cowboy.
“Don’t ever think you’re not the most important person in my life,” Clint told him as he cupped his head and stroked his thumb over Axel’s cheek. “Or that I think you can’t take care of yourself in this world. Wanting to keep you out of it has nothing to with your ability to survive within it.” He kissed him again then faced forward, shifted the car into gear, and drove away from the house.
As soon as they were headed through the city, Clint began to explain the situation. He didn’t mention anything more about the other, but what he had said comforted Axel more than expected. He wished everything was over for the night, so they could go home, crawl into bed, and make love until morning. But important things had to be taken care of first and Axel was glad to be a part of it this time.
Without a word or even looking his way, Clint reached over and took Axel’s hand and threaded their fingers, squeezing firmly. Axel smiled and gripped him back. Just a few months ago, he would have never dreamed that a rough and rugged cowboy gangster would become the embodiment of his entire world. Nor had he fathomed that he would one day be a strong, confident person who actually liked the man he saw in the mirror and no longer lived with the demeaning voices of his brother and father in his head, insisting he was a worthless piece of shit.
He tightened his hold on Clint’s hand and looked at the cowboy. All because of you. Did Clint even comprehend what a blessing he was to others? And especially to Axel? Sometimes, he thought Clint focused too much on the violence he brought down on the “bad guys” and didn’t truly realize all the good he did. Like rescuing abused and exploited children.
Children were God’s treasures. Whether Clint believed it or not, Axel was convinced that when this life was over, Clint and Cochise and all the others like them would be greatly rewarded.
•♦•
Wil Jordan sat slumped over the kitchen table, his head sagged heavily into his hand as he stared blankly at the open file and disheveled papers. Emptiness consumed him. It all felt like a lost cause, yet he couldn’t give up. He would never give until bodies surfaced that told him it was over…that he’d lost…he’d failed. The odds of the outcome being anything else were slim to none…but he couldn’t give up. His stare shifted as he slowly raised his head and looked across the hall into the living room where Tad sat on the sofa, pushing Hot Wheels around on the coffee table while classic Looney Toons cartoons played on the TV via the DVD series.
I can’t lose hope.
Tears distorted his vision as his eyes drifted to the Christmas tree adjacent to the sofa…and he thought about another home with another Christmas tree, beneath which were placed brightly wrapped gifts of hope…hope that they would be opened come Christmas morning.
Wil lowered his face into his hands and sobbed quietly. Please, God…please help me.
The doorbell rang.
Wil flinched and raised his head. He grabbed a napkin from the holder on the table and wiped his eyes then walked out of the kitchen. Tad perked up from the living room. “Who is it, daddy?”
“I don’t know.” Wil cleared his throat and smiled at his son. “I’m not superman, I can’t see through the door.”
Tad giggled. “You’re super daddy.”
Wil blinked as fresh tears tried to rise; he didn’t feel super at all. Just the opposite…weak and helpless.
He passed through the short entry hall, opened the door—and froze in shock at the sight of the large man looming on the porch stoop, stern face shadowed by the brim of his cowboy hat.
The cowboy.
Before he could veil the recognition, the cowboy caught it and Wil’s fear escalated. Still, he struggled for obliviousness. “Yes?” His voice quivered and there was nothing he could do about that. It was common knowledge that few came face to face with the cowboy and lived to tell about it.
“Wil Jordan?” the cowboy queried, his tone neutral.
Wil trembled. “Yes?”
“Do you know who I am?”
Wil started to deny it, then nodded silently, his fear escalating. “I-I don’t know what you want,” he whispered. Tears that hovered close to the surface filled his eyes as fear for his son’s life took precedence over all else. “Just please…don’t hurt my son.” His weapon was in the bedroom…he couldn’t protect Tad from the cowboy.
A younger man—less threatening in appearance—stood quietly beside the cowboy and Wil cast him an uncertain look.
The cowboy spoke again, his southern drawl thick as he stated, “We’re not here to harm you or your son. We need to talk.”
Wil frowned, confused. “Talk?” he asked doubtfully. “About what?”
The cowboy dragged his hand over his mouth. “About your current investigation, detective Jordan, a
nd the twins you’ve been looking for…Samson and Susie Morgan.”
Wil went still, his heart shuddering to a halt, barely beating as a new fear invaded his bones. “Are they…” his whispered words fell away; he couldn’t say it…didn’t want it confirmed…didn’t want his “Christmas gift” to the Morgans to be that they would never see their babies again.
“They’re alive and well,” the cowboy said. “And ready to go home.”
•♦•
The instant the man had opened the door, Clint knew he’d been recognized. His face wasn’t a mystery, so it wasn’t surprising that the man knew him on sight. His weak attempt at pretending not to know who Clint was had been betrayed by the stark terror in his eyes—eyes that had been damp and slightly bloodshot when he’d answered the door; he’d been crying recently.
The fear in the detective tapered off some as he stepped back and invited Clint and Axel inside. Clint acknowledged how unnerving it must be for the detective to have “the cowboy” in his home; they were at opposite ends of the law and Clint was aware of his reputation with the cops. He was certain that most, if not all, of the NYPD, had him branded as a ruthless, cold-blooded killer. Maybe he was.
Wil Jordan maintained caution as he led the two men to the kitchen. As they passed the living room, Clint spotted a young boy, maybe five or six, playing with some toy cars on the coffee table. Clint’s momentary focus on the child visibly unnerved the detective and he ushered them on into the kitchen.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” the detective murmured, visibly shaken by Clint’s news of the children…or simply Clint’s presence in his home.
“No, thank you.” Clint looked at the papers spread out on the table; photos of the Morgan twins clipped to the flap of the file folder. There was a compassion in the detective’s eyes and Clint suspected that his former tears were due to this case and his inability to locate the children. As a detective, the man had to know that the odds of finding the kids alive and untouched once taken by child sex traffickers were not in his favor.