by Jordan Dane
“No. Harper’s got it, allegedly.” She heard the sigh on the other end of the line. “So what do we do now?”
“It would be nice to get our hands on that laptop and find a direct link to Baker, but that’s not likely to happen. For all we know, someone in the crowd stole the computer before the cops got to the murder scene. If that happened, we may never find it.”
She knew Sam was right. The laptop was a long shot, especially with Harper going missing. But when Jess hit the lowest point of her morning, feeling like she’d been dumped back at square one, Sam came up with something new.
“Look, I got an idea, but I think I should pursue it on my own. If you get involved and Garza hears about it, you’re toast.”
“Spill it, Coop. What’s your idea?”
“Chief Keller mentioned the missing girl, Nikki Archer, has relatives who flew into town this morning from Alaska. They’re staying at a hotel in Oak Brook. Get this—she’s the niece of a former pro football quarterback, Payton Archer. They said he used to play here in Chicago, but I’ve never heard of him, have you?”
It took Jess a while to place it, but the name eventually rang a bell—and not in a good way.
“Yeah, I remember him. Media blitzed the guy, but as I recall, he deserved the abuse. He had an ego the size of Alaska coupled with a drinking problem. That’s a nasty combo when you fuel the fire with the kind of money those jocks get paid.”
She added one more thing to her recollection. “And from what I remembered, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”
“Boy, that sounds familiar.”
“Hey, watch it.”
“Well, I’m playing a hunch of my own, Jess. I volunteered to be Archer’s contact here at CPD. I’m working the case with him while he’s here, see if it goes anywhere. It might be worth a shot.”
“You what? Why would you want to saddle yourself with an egotistical media junkie like Payton Archer? He’s nothing but a prima donna in a jock strap with a penchant for grandstanding. The guy practically turned trash talk into an art form.”
“It’s my time to waste, and the damage has been done. I’ve already been assigned to the Archer missing person case. End of discussion. I’m heading to meet him now. He’s staying at the Marriott in Oak Brook.”
“Well, you just keep Jockboy away from me. Someone like Archer could be a real distraction that I don’t need right now. Don’t get me wrong. Chasing down one poor kid is a good thing, Sam, but Baker had a much bigger gig going on. And that, I’d like to sink my teeth into.”
“Guess you’ll have your hands full with chasing Harper.” Sam’s voice turned somber. “But Jess, if anyone at CPD gets wind of you nosing around Baker’s business again, it’ll get back to Garza. And he doesn’t need much of an excuse to haul you in. Don’t make it easy for him.”
“I swear.” Jess put cash on the table for her tab with the phone crooked against her shoulder. “I’ll behave myself.”
“Oh God, this is gonna get worse before it gets better. I just know it.”
“O ye of little faith.” Jess chuckled as she slid out of the booth and headed for her car. “Like things have been going good till now? How much worse could it get?” She scrunched her face. “Wait, don’t answer that, but I could use a favor.”
She asked if she could use Sam’s home computer and phone to search for Seth Harper. She had a spare key and needed a place to work since Baker had trashed her own computer. But mostly, she didn’t want to make it easy for Detective Garza to find her.
After Sam agreed, Jess ended the call with her mind tumbling around ideas on how to track down Harper. Hell, she was a Fugitive Recovery Agent. If she couldn’t find one scrawny but cute intern, she might as well land a real job. Nine-to-five.
“Yeah, right,” she said to herself. “That’ll happen.”
CHAPTER 13
Seth Harper was an enigma. Jess realized she hadn’t been far off the mark when she imagined him to be nothing more than a ghost. After conducting searches on his background from Sam’s home computer—queries she hadn’t felt the need to do when she hired him—she came up with a series of dead ends. The kid lived off the grid, a move that appeared deliberate.
He had no history of utilities registered in his name. His cell phone had been prepaid. He had no current or prior address. No credit cards. And amazingly, she struck out with DMV and insurance queries too. Even the schools he listed on his employment application had no information under the name Seth Harper. To dig deeper, she needed time and out-of-the-box thinking.
“Who the hell are you, Harper?”
She wasn’t any closer to finding her man, the guy who could serve as her alibi and help put her back on the track of Baker’s missing laptop. But as a plan B began to form in her mind, her cell phone rang. When she looked at the display, no name came up and she didn’t recognize the phone number. Taking a chance, she answered it anyway.
“I sure hope you’re not a waste of my time.”
“Depends on what you consider wasteful.” A soft chuckle. “I’m more of an acquired taste…if you lower your standards.”
It took her a moment to place the voice, but when she did, she had to grin.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Where have you been, Harper? I’ve been…looking for you.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I figured with Baker on my ass and knowing where I lived, it was a good time to lay low. I ditched my old phone number too.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
A part of her wanted to hit him with all the questions floating in her brain about his nonexistent background. And one day she would have that conversation, but more urgent needs took priority. The point was, he’d reached out to her, and if he had planned to disappear, he wouldn’t have called.
“Have you seen the news?” she asked.
“Yeah, barely. It took me most of the night to hustle out of my digs and find a new location, so I slept in. I didn’t see what happened until a little while ago. You probably thought I bailed on you.”
“Not me. I had complete faith.”
“Liar.”
She heard the amusement in his voice.
“Hey. I thought you should know,” she added. “The news coverage wouldn’t have mentioned this, but the laptop is missing. According to Sam, the cops never found it at the scene. It might have been stolen.”
“What?” he said. “That’s not possible.”
Jess grinned. “I never took you for gullible, Harper. Why would you find it so difficult to believe someone stole it? Granted, taking it off a dead guy is a little cold, but—”
“Jess, that’s one of the reasons I called you. I didn’t expect the laptop to be running this morning after Baker kicked it, but someone has been poking around. And they sure don’t need a road map.”
“What are you saying?”
“By the keystrokes, I could swear Baker is still alive. Whoever has his computer really knows what they’re doing. You and I need to talk.”
In the darkened room, Ethan O’Connell kept his eyes on the bank of computer monitors in front of him as he sipped coffee, freshly brewed from the kitchen. Dim lighting made the screens easier to see. He sat alone at the control center, an elevated workstation that overlooked his handpicked staff, charged with local system maintenance and data entry for Globe Harvest. The business end of the U.S. domestic operation was situated belowground in an abandoned textile manufacturing plant.
On-screen, data updated in real time, a living, breathing online entity with international connections. Behind the facade of a Web site under construction lay a vast encrypted network accessible only through proper security authorizations. Part of the system was dedicated to tracking the influx of “assets” into the existing inventory, while other aspects focused on the more complex side of the business—the disposition of inventory by myriad disposal options. The extensive on-screen display of numbers was nothing more than supply and demand in action on a grand scale.
They bartered i
n human lives, and everything had a price.
“Bidding starts in twenty minutes, sir.” A man’s voice came from below.
“Thank you,” he replied, catching a glimpse of his watch.
Bidders on an encrypted system were ready to transact after reviewing a comprehensive profile on each asset that included a current medical record. A fully automated system. The sex trade, and other more inventive endeavors, had turned high tech, protected by the obstacle of multijurisdictional borders and the anonymity of cyberspace. And with the organization compartmentalized, he had no idea how the computer system actually ran or who might be responsible for facets of the business. Anonymity had its advantages, both ways.
“Are the recent acquisitions included?” he asked. “Those medically certified, that is.”
“Yes, sir.” Another voice came from across the room. “We’re set.”
Acquisitions underwent a screening process, with recruited Internet operatives looking for the young, inexperienced, and disassociated kids who met a specific profile and wouldn’t be missed until they were in “the system.”
Enticed by exciting opportunities and money, kids with low self-esteem or a faltering relationship with their parents made for easy picking. To them, money could represent a powerful solution to their problems. And there was adventure and big money to be made during the summer at Alaskan fish canneries. Or perhaps the promise of marriage to a rich American or an international modeling job with free room and board, and pay in tax-free dollars, would be enough of a lure. The promises didn’t matter.
Once a kid became a part of the Globe Harvest system, they’d be moved again and again until all evidence of their true location was covered up without a trace. Cops had a hard time tracking kids across a multijurisdictional landscape, especially when each case appeared random and without similarity—just another runaway kid for the auction block.
“And I understand we have two new bidders. Are they operational and online?” he prompted his staff.
Markets were given unique numbers and set up elsewhere to maintain their anonymity. Once orders came through and property was awarded, he would only know certain aspects of the shipping destinations, nothing more. And if an intermediary for shipment was utilized—which many markets took advantage of—he knew even less about the final disposition of the asset.
“We have confirmation they are certified for online access. And the two new bidders are in queue, but only one is currently online.”
“Give me an update when that second bidder joins the party,” he said.
“Will do, sir.”
Once the online auction started, things would go quickly and the outcome for each asset would be determined within minutes. Handlers would be assigned and transactions executed with money wired instantaneously. All transactions took place in an automated clearinghouse, with orders filled by the end of the day. On today’s online global forums, anything could be bought. And Globe Harvest had taken this theory to a whole new level.
Business, pure and simple—but not always for him.
Ethan went to the screen posting the latest profiles. Whenever he did this, the rest of the control room melted away to nothing. Explicit photos were always a major turn-on—one of the perks of the job. He found himself getting aroused. His cock strained against his pants. On occasion he got to sample the goods as a bonus—the incentive that had lured him to the organization in the first place.
Globe Harvest fed his addiction.
“You are nothing but fox in charge of chickens, yes?”
Ethan jumped at the sound of Stanislav Petrovin’s voice coming out of the darkness. When he looked over his shoulder, the long-haired Russian stood over him, gazing down at the photos on the computer monitor.
“A fox in charge of the hen house, Stas,” he corrected. “But this fox knows better than to sample the goods, unless he has permission.”
He didn’t like the way the Russian always appeared from thin air and without making a sound.
“If this is true, you are stronger man than I,” Petrovin said.
The Russian grabbed control of a screen and looked through photos of the new additions. He muttered in his native tongue anytime he found a profile that he liked, but after a look at the man’s face, Ethan didn’t need a translation.
He knew Petrovin didn’t always abide by the rules when it came to the handling of assets. What the Russian wanted, he took without permission, leaving him to clean up the damage. He suspected Stas had been granted sanction from a higher authority, but he was too afraid to challenge the man. One look in the dead eyes of the Russian gave Stas all the authority he’d need, as far as Ethan was concerned.
Leaning over the console, Petrovin scrolled through the photos and kept his eyes on the screen as he talked.
“Lucas Baker is no longer problem. His laptop…it is in our hands.”
“Yes, I heard you brought the computer back. It wasn’t hard to imagine what happened to Baker. The bag had blood on it.” Ethan slouched in his chair and swiveled. “My people are going over it now, to see if it’s been tampered with.”
“Yes, good. But we have another situation,” Petrovin added, turning his intense focus on Ethan. “I must eliminate another threat from the Baker incident. A bounty hunter and two others, but one is a cop.”
“A cop?” He leaned forward in his chair. “Do you think that’s wise?”
“Baker left me with no choice in the matter. Anton agrees.” When the Russian noticed the worried look on his face, he added, “Don’t worry. I know how to make it look like hazard of job, but I may need your…cooperation.”
Petrovin’s understated style made him a difficult man to read. He maintained a somber expression, part of his nature. Yet now, Ethan noticed a subtle change in his demeanor. Cool under fire, the man never panicked. So when Petrovin asked for help, his request came with a certain sense of urgency.
“Whatever you need,” Ethan said, “consider it done.”
The Russian crooked his lips into a smile, the humor never reaching his eyes. At times Ethan found himself mesmerized by the awkwardness of that expression, but most days, he wished to block the man’s face from his mind altogether. He slept better that way.
Downtown Chicago
Midday
Located on the “Magnificent Mile,” the Peninsula Chicago on Superior Street was one of the city’s most luxurious and sophisticated five-star hotels, set in the heart of the city’s exclusive shopping scene. In contrast, the posh hotel stood beside the historic Water Tower, a uniquely eye-catching and ornate limestone structure that looked more like a small chapel at first glance—the old and new set in perfect harmony.
Jess had driven around the block three times before she decided to avoid the grand porte cochere entrance with its intimidating display of flags, uniformed valets, and couture-dressed patrons. Instead, she parked down the block and hiked back, contending with a brisk wind. When she got to the hotel, the stiff breeze swept across the front entrance like a wind tunnel, buffeting her clothes and hair. Sensitive to her disheveled appearance, she regrouped once she made it to the valet station outside the main entrance.
Yet again Seth Harper had surprised her with his new digs. And he’d promised to meet her in the lobby since his accommodations required card-key access to the secured floors.
“Card-key access, my ass,” she muttered under her breath as she pushed through the revolving glass door, running a hand through her tousled hair. Once inside, she searched the lobby for her enigmatic boy genius. When she spotted him, Jess did a double take, unable to contain her grin.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” She raised an eyebrow and cocked a hip.
Nice dark slacks and a blue open-collar, button-down shirt had replaced his Jerry Springer tee and worn jeans. He’d even combed his hair for the occasion. Harper was a damned chameleon. If not for the bruises on his face and for his cut lip, she might have mistaken him for someone else. With her arms crossed, she waited for
him to come to her.
As she got a closer look at his face, she grimaced and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. My macho pride took a beating, but you know what they say. Anything that doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
“That’s just another way of saying, ‘Man up and get over it.’” She took a good long look at Seth from head to toe. “Well, I have to say it. You clean up nice, Harper. But I’m still reporting you to Springer. Where’s your loyalty, man?”
Harper didn’t bat an eye. He opened a button to reveal a Jerry tee under his shirt.
“Never question my sense of loyalty, Jess. I may surprise you from time to time, but some things about me never change.”
“I’m beginning to appreciate that fact, Harper.” She smiled. “Lead the way, uptown boy.”
Seth escorted her to the top floor and into the most fabulous suite she had ever seen. Jaw dropping gorgeous. Massive windows in every room offered stunning panoramic views of Lake Michigan, the Water Tower, and Chicago’s historic Gold Coast district. Without waiting for her reaction, he headed for an impressive study, leaving her to explore—something she couldn’t resist.
Painted in gold tones and creamy ivory, the suite had two living areas, one casual and the other more formal. If a patron ever got confused about which was which, the grand piano served as a focal point to the formal one. She had no idea if Harper played, but nothing would surprise her about the guy anymore.
The rest of the upscale quarters had fireplaces everywhere and a private exercise room. But the most amazing sight was the outdoor terrace with its ornamental garden and hot tub, a relaxing oasis in the middle of Chi-town. She walked onto the terrace and gazed across the cityscape with the warm sun on her face and the hum of traffic below. The breeze rustled through the small trees and shrubs of the terrace garden and messed with her hair again. Yet despite having to contend with Mother Nature, she enjoyed the view at the top of the world. To the west a dark bank of clouds loomed on the horizon. A storm building its case. The sun wouldn’t last, but from Seth Harper’s spectacular vantage-point, he’d soon have a prime seat for the unfolding drama.