Now You See It

by Cáit Donnelly

  The bedroom was bleak, half-decorated—a Room in a box. Like Bed in a Bag. She spent very little time in the office, struck again by the stark orderliness of it. She would need hours to go through the file cabinet, the computer, Ned’s desk and papers. The kitchen was small—Ned never liked to cook. A faint smell of decay came from boxes of week-old take-out in the sink. Discouraged, she headed back out into the living/great room.

  On the coffee table, pushed toward the upper left-hand corner was a file folder that stopped her heart. A generic green folder, its edges framed in red tape with black stripes, marked “Secret, Eyes Only.” On the tab formed by the longer bottom edge a computer-printed label read “McGrath, Braden John.” Her heart began to pound in her hollow chest and her hand trembled as she reached for the folder.

  Brady’s federal personnel folder. She’d seen similar ones in her dad’s briefcase when he brought work home. She’d always wondered what the secrets were. She pulled it closer, opened the cover. Her vision blurred as words leapt out at her. Dishonorable Discharge. Assault. Murder. Selling information to the enemy. She barely made it to the kitchen sink in time to throw up into the container of moldy lo mein.

  She braced her elbows on the sink rim and stared at the blank wall as the water ran. How could she have been so blind? There had been clues: Nikki in the closet, the way he went straight to the piece of ginger in her fridge the day he came to the house. How had he known that was there, unless he’d been in the house before? What else had she willfully ignored in her rush to get him into her bed?

  Adrenaline speared through her as she realized the enormity of her mistake. He would be there any minute. She hadn’t seen a back way out, except to go down over the balcony. She rushed toward the door. He’d be coming in the main building entrance. She couldn’t let him see her. She hurried down the fire stairs, out the back doors, onto the street behind, her heart pounding and her breath coming short and painfully. She had to put some distance between herself and the apartment. She had to think. Too late, she realized she’d left the file in the living room, but at least she had the keys, and Brady didn’t.

  She stumbled and leaned against a building, her hand pressed to her head. God, that file. Everything began falling into place for her—Brady’s mysteriousness, his dangerous edge, his reluctance to involve himself with police or federal cops. How could Mike have been so wrong about him all these years? But Brady hadn’t told Mike the whole truth about himself.

  She raced blindly along. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t let him find her. How could she have been such a fool? A picture of his face flashed in her mind, his mouth half-smiling as it moved to hers.

  Gemma shuddered. God, she’d been so stupid! She had a real instinct for picking losers. She’d refused to see the simple truth because she was feeling so totally hot for him.

  She looked up to get her bearings. She had no idea where was she going or what she was going to do. Get safe. That was first. Get help.

  She ducked into a small café and took a table halfway down the wall, where she could see anyone approaching the door but would be hard to see, herself. She nodded when the waitress approached with coffee. The warm white china mug stopped her hands from shaking, and the coffee, hot and black, warmed the cold inside her. She didn’t know how long she sat, staring at nothing.

  The door swung open, and Gemma looked up as a shaft of sunlight struck gold from a head of blond hair. She stood shakily, nearly fainting with relief.

  * * *

  Tran grimaced and gave his head a single shake. “Like I said before, Brady, if anybody is hunting your friend, I can’t find any trace of it,” he said.

  “I believe you,” Brady answered. “I just needed to be sure. I brought you two something.” He drew a CD case out of his inside pocket. “Merry Christmas.”

  Caz leaned forward. “What’s this?”

  “I found it on Ned Carrow’s computer. There’s not enough to use in court as it sits right now, but the Task Force has the resources to crack it and uncover enough evidence to put a stop to this one, at least.” Brady gritted his teeth against a sudden surge of rage. “At least one of the men on that list is very high up in federal law enforcement.”

  “We were expecting something like that,” Tran said. “It pretty much goes with the territory—you know that, but you never get used to it. The guys at the top of these organizations need to get key people roped in so they’ll have protection when it all starts to come down.”

  “Still pisses me off,” Brady growled.

  “The women in the pictures were professionals, as I told you.” Tran sounded calm and reasonable, but then he almost always did. “Except the girl who committed suicide. We did find out she was sold to Carrow for sex games, but far as we can tell, that was to pay her passage and her little girl’s. She wasn’t in the life. We know some of the women, though, were brought here for that specific purpose. It did occur to me, when the killing and mayhem started. He paused.

  “What did?” Brady asked.

  “Maybe Carrow was more than just a one-time customer. We’ve been hearing rumors there are mainstream power players involved in this trafficking ring, but they’re unlikely to be at the top.”

  “‘Mainstream,’ meaning ‘Anglo?’”

  “Yes. They’d be tools—never trusted by the ones who really run things, but we’re thinking it’s a very strong possibility this time. Everybody ‘knows’ these slave rings are all-Asian—all one family, all Thai, or all Vietnamese, whatever. But we keep getting hints this one isn’t.”

  “A break in the pattern?” Caz sounded doubtful.

  “There would be advantages. A white attorney, somebody like Ned Carrow, would be ideal, for example. Only the people at the top would know who’s on either side of the Anglo link.”

  “Damn. That would explain a lot.”

  Brady thought about it a few seconds. “How closely are you working with the Seattle P.D. on this?”

  “We have liaisons,” Tran answered. “Why?”

  “There’s some information I can’t back up, but they need to factor it in.”

  “It’s good?”

  “Solid.”

  Tran sipped his diet Coke as Brady told him about Ned. “That’s the solid part. Now, we’ve been saying all along that the revenge motive didn’t play.”

  Tran nodded.

  “But if Ned Carrow’s death was a message, that changes things,” Caz said. “If the ‘Anglo link’ was Ned, then there had to be at least one other guy, or else who was the message for?”

  Brady nodded toward the screen. “The chain of custody is compromised all to hell on this.”

  Tran shrugged and smiled.

  “Another thing,” Brady said. “Doug Wheeler has a copy of my NSA file.”

  Tran’s eyes went wide. “No shit? How did he get that?”

  “Well, that’s got to be the question, doesn’t it? Cops have it, too. Probably got it from him, since he wants to convince everybody and their cousins I’m the guy that’s been doing all this. Point is, we built that file for a specific bunch of bad guys. In Asia. And they were smuggling drugs. Smuggling weapons.”

  “But it’s not that big a leap to smuggling people. You think it’s the same guys?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I think. Or somehow linked to them. And I think the Task Force needs to know there’s some kind of connection.”

  “Why can’t you tell them?”

  “What can I say? I’m not in the loop, any more.”

  Tran was quiet. He looked up at Brady. “You should be.”

  “Yeah. Maybe. Maybe one of these days I’ll re-up.”

  “I’ll pass the info on.” He held up the CD case. “It may be a big missing piece.”

  Caz leaned forward on his elbows again. “Cops know your file’s a phony?”


  “Yeah. They were heads-up enough to make a call. Which is why I’m still running around loose and not in the basement of the Federal Building with a light shining in my face.”

  Tran laughed. “We could use you back, brother.”

  Brady shook his head. “I’m out. I’m not supposed to even be in the field, remember?”

  “For a guy who’s out, you’re pretty deep in,” Caz commented.

  “Favor for a friend,” Brady said. “Started out that way, at any rate.” He looked down, then back up at Tran. “I can’t do it anymore. I know someone has to—for the victims, if for no other reason. Not anymore. I’m done. Maybe I’ll stick to the internet security business and turn myself into a genuine civilian.”

  “Your new clients know about the—” Tran wiggled his fingers in mid-air in a woo-woo gesture.

  “No. Well, Mike Cavanagh does, but nobody else. Anyway, my ability doesn’t work unless the bad guy’s got a conscience. I’m not sure what that’s about. The sociopaths of the world can sleep soundly at night in their blood-soaked little beds. So what good is it?”

  Tran put a hand on his shoulder. “If there’s ever anything—”

  “I know,” Brady said. “Same goes.”

  * * *

  Doug’s eyes went perfectly round in an astonished expression as Gemma approached him.

  “Gemma? What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Doug. Thank God. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you come in.”

  “What is it? You’re white as a ghost.”

  “Can you give me a ride?”

  “Of course. Come on, My car’s right outside.”

  As he held the door for her, she stepped through and peered anxiously up and down the street.

  He unlocked the doors and she slid in. He smiled. “Now, what’s happened?”

  Gemma bit her lower lip and shook her head. She couldn’t talk about Brady. Not to Doug. Not yet.

  “Okay. Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere safe.”

  He was quiet for a minute. “I have an idea. Best of all, it’s not far. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to get there.”

  “And it’s out of pattern,” she said. “That’s good.”

  “Out of—oh, right. I forgot your father was a cop.”

  She looked up as he pulled the car into the flow of traffic and the locks engaged. He turned left and down the hill toward the waterfront. The movement of his arm sent his scent toward her. Suddenly her senses kicked in, and she recognized his cologne from Ned’s apartment.

  Cold washed through her, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t move.

  “Gemma, what is it?” he asked. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  She forced a smile onto her lips and shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just...strung out, you know. I can’t believe I trusted him.” She glanced out the window. There was no way she could jump and survive at this speed.

  “Who? You mean McGrath? I’m sorry, Gemma. I did try to warn you.” His hand landed on her knee and she gasped, grasping onto the door handle.

  “Gemma?” he questioned, his eyes narrowing on her. “You can trust me.”

  She couldn’t even nod, couldn’t move as she stared at him with wide eyes. She felt her stomach heave again.

  He must have sensed the change in her. His whole body seemed to tighten and his face shifted. “You’ve managed this all very stupidly, Gemma. I expected better from you. That was probably foolish of me. But I’ve loved you for so long. Wanted you for so long.” He reached over to touch her face. She flinched but he didn’t react, just moved his hand back to the wheel. “It would have been so much simpler if you had just let me love you. I was angry at first. I was trying to protect you. I’d have done anything for you. And you dismissed me as though I’d been of no importance to you at all.”

  “Who killed Ned?” She swallowed acid.

  “He said you had the goods on him, and he panicked.”

  “Goods? You mean that picture? It proved he was sleeping around, and I’m not sure that’s news to anybody. Why should he—”

  “That’s what you had? A photo of him with another woman? Christ.” Doug started to laugh, but he didn’t sound amused. “The idiot was afraid you’d divorce him and blow everything out into the open. So was I, when he finally told me. He decided killing you was a neat way to solve all his problems. No nasty divorce, no ugly rumors, no publicity. You didn’t know that, did you? He would have done it, if I hadn’t gotten to him first.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe you. You’re not capable of that kind of butchery.”

  “Not with my own hands. Don’t be so literal. You know better. I just dropped a word to a few concerned parties. It would have gotten too much attention for me to kill him.”

  “Attention? Jesus, Doug! This has been a total media circus.”

  His fist slammed the wheel so hard Gemma jumped. “Do you have any idea what it was like for me?” His voice was too loud for the confined space and it was making her head ache. “After everything I’d done for you? And you were so uninterested, so blasé, so quick to dismiss me. You wouldn’t even let me hold your hand. Did you even realize that? You wouldn’t let me touch you. Every time I tried, you shrank away from me.”

  She tried logic. “Did I ever give you reason, in all these years, to believe I felt any differently? Would ever feel any differently? You’re an attractive man, Doug, intelligent, handsome, sophisticated. But that’s not what I want. What I need. I never led you on. I never thought of you that way.”

  She might as well not even have spoken. “I’m so disappointed in you,” he said. “You were a shining star. My shining star. I would have loved you, cherished you. Given you the setting you deserve. I thought you were everything. But in the end, you turned out to be no better than the women Ned bought as playthings. Tell me, Gemma, what does it take to reach you? Attract you? What would I have to be?”

  “Brady.”

  He backhanded her without warning, and returned his hand to its casual driving position as her head slammed against the passenger side window.

  She felt unreal. Weak. Floaty. When she looked over at him, he seemed a complete stranger. The smooth socialite was gone. His mouth turned down in rage and his nostrils flared—a different man altogether. Colder. Angrier. Much more dangerous. A lot scarier. She cautiously moved her right hand toward the door latch.

  He didn’t look at her. “I have a gun, Gemma, and nothing to lose. Shooting you won’t cause any more trouble than your diving out of my car in the middle of traffic, so you may as well sit back and stop wasting your strength.”

  * * *

  Brady jogged up the four flights of stairs to Ned’s apartment, too impatient to wait for the elevator. He hated to be late. He especially hated to be late to meet Gemma, because it was just that much more time they couldn’t spend together. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to going through Ned’s place, except she’d be there, and they’d have time to talk. There were things he needed to tell her, about himself, about the past. A lot he couldn’t tell her, but he could manage enough, maybe, to help her understand some of the undercurrents.

  He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He rang the bell, knocked again. Still nothing. He looked at his watch. It was only a couple of minutes after twelve, no big deal.

  On the other hand, he didn’t want to wait around in the hall until she got there with the keys. He tried the door a last time, and when there was still no answer, he shielded it with his body and popped the lock. He grinned as he let himself inside.

  He turned to shut the door behind him and his smile faded quickly as he felt Gemma there, her shock, her terror. He raced into the living room, saw the papers spilled on the floor, and stopped cold when he re
cognized the green folder with its lurid borders and “Eyes Only” stamp. “Oh, shit!’

  His cell chirped. He didn’t have time for this. He quickly retrieved and scanned the text message from Mary Kate: “Mike-911.”

  * * *

  Gemma recognized the area they were driving into. Decaying warehouses and huge orange cargo cranes formed their own kind of urban blight between the elevated Alaskan Way Viaduct and the South Seattle waterfront. Doug pulled into one of the more solid-looking buildings and stopped the car.

  Gemma folded her arms across her chest and refused to budge.

  He pulled a gun from the door well.

  She faced him dead on, and hoped her voice wasn’t shaking too much as she said, “You’ll have to kill me right here, because I’m not going in there.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said in that patronizing tone she hated.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he hit her lightly with the pistol, just hard enough to make her head reel and open a cut along her cheekbone. He came around to her side of the car and dragged her out by one arm. “Walk.”

  She wasn’t quite unconscious. She felt the blood begin to trickle down her cheek and wiped it away with the back of her hand.

  “And don’t think you can leave a trail of blood smears,” Doug said nastily. “If I catch you trying, I’ll have to make you very sorry.”

  His voice was so cold, she believed it. She remembered the boneless way Cinda had dropped to the floor. But he had given her an idea.

  As he pushed and chivvied her ahead of him through the maze of cartons, she pretended to be dizzier and more disoriented than she really was, and took care to stumble against as many crates as she could manage to touch.

  At some time in the building’s history, walls had been thrown up to create an office in the center of the vast floor. It was an unusual arrangement, made more complicated by the inclusion of the pipes, valves and gauges that should have gone into a machine room. Large cartons were stacked on the room’s perimeter, around and on top of a rickety-looking pressed woodwork table. Doug prodded Gemma inside. “Go ahead and scream,” he said. “No one can hear you.”