by Sheila Kell
RYLEE woke and her senses went on alert before she opened her eyes. An odd feeling of clarity filled her mind, then Devon’s image flooded her thoughts. That sick feeling in her stomach hadn’t left her and she couldn’t attribute it to the drugs. It was the loss of her husband.
For the briefest of moments, she wished the nausea wasn’t from grief but was from the possibility of life. Such a precious gift was a dream, even though she knew the chances were slim to none. Yet, she held onto the idea for just a little longer, hoping that their last time together hadn’t been as safe as they’d intended.
But, he’d always be with her. His life had been cut short way too soon. If only after she’d returned from her op, she’d sought him out as he’d requested—
A movement to her right jarred her mind back to her present situation. Realizing she lay on her back on top of a lumpy mattress, reminded her they’d arrived in Belize. She wished she had an idea of how long she’d been here. She inhaled and almost gagged. Whatever room she’d been put in smelled of urine and feces as if a toilet had long ago overflowed.
“I think she’s waking up again,” a soft female voice said from her left.
The girls. Her eyes flew open as several young women gathered around, staring down at her, making her want to feel all over to ensure she was dressed. The dim lighting in the room forewarned her not to expect windows. “Wa—” Her voice broke. “Water,” she croaked out.
A redheaded teenager scurried away, and Rylee took that opportunity to attempt to sit.
“Here.” Misty grabbed a pillow off the small cot beside them and put the two pillows beneath Rylee’s head.
Although dizzy, it was nothing compared to what she’d suffered already.
The girl returned with a bottle of water. “Here.”
She accepted the bottle, leaned on an elbow, twisted the cap and surveyed her fellow abductees while swallowing down as much as she could in one gulp. Taking in the room, she wanted to scream. It was a big square with no windows, six cots crammed close together and not a fucking thing else except a door. And, it didn’t look like a cheap door. Sighing in relief at a bit of hydration, she capped the bottle. “Misty. Mandy. I’m so glad I found you.”
“Chandra, what are you doing here?”
Oh. There was a lot to explain. “Um, my name’s not Chandra. It’s Rylee. I was undercover with the FBI when I met you.”
“You’re FBI?” a teenage girl with long blonde hair that nearly reached her butt asked with wide eyes.
Shaking her head, she quickly recognized it for a mistake. Her head wasn’t that clear. “Not anymore.”
“Then, what are you doing here? Do you know what they plan to do with us? They told us they were selling us.” Mandy shuddered.
“No one is getting sold,” Rylee said firmly. How she planned to prevent that, she wasn’t quite sure. Her hope was Kate and Jesse figured it all out from what they’d left in the cabin and sent someone for her. But, she couldn’t wait around and see. “Why don’t you tell me who all is here?”
Misty pointed at each girl as she introduced them. “That’s Holly O’Halloran.”
Red hair. Green eyes.
“That’s Natalie Thatcher.”
Blonde hair. Blue eyes.
“And, that’s Gina Keller.”
Black hair. Chocolate eyes.
And the twins had strawberry blonde hair with violet eyes. Without asking, she’d guess they ranged from about twelve to fifteen years of age. Quite the collection. Dirty fucking bastard. Speaking of dirty, the girls’ clothes could use a cleaning and by the odor of them, so could they. “Why does it smell like—”
“Shit?” Natalie cut her off with a sweet voice and a hint of a southern drawl. “Because they make us use a bucket and only take it out once a day. Or every two days, depending on the guard.”
Levering herself up so she could swing her legs over the side of the bed, Rylee kept with her information gathering, but she asked her next question hesitantly so as not to upset the girls. “How long have you been here?”
“We’ve been here the longest,” Mandy said and rushed to her side, reaching out arms to assist. “Since that night they took us from the other house.”
Her feet finally planted, she placed her hand on the bed for support, and with Mandy grasping her forearm, and she stood. Then, she swayed and fell back to the bed. “Dammit,” she said under her breath. You can do this. Remember, every moment counts. Who knows if they’ll drug you again before….
There was no time to sit and revel in the success of finding the girls because they were in a precarious situation. She’d overheard talk on the plane that buyers were on their way to the location. To include some asshole named Hogan, who thought he could own her. Fuck that!
“Okay, girls, remember I was with the FBI?”
“Yeah, but you’re not now. How does that help us?” Holly needed to dial down her attitude.
“Because I have training. We’re going to find a way out of here.”
Not surprisingly, Holly rolled her eyes. “Can’t be done.”
“I want to know everything. So”—Rylee looked around the group and her gaze stopped on one girl—“Misty, how often does anyone come in here?”
The girl twirled a finger in her hair. “Three times a day. To feed us.”
At least it was three. But, she guessed the amount of food was substantially lacking. “Okay, Mandy, how many different men have you seen?”
“Two,” she piped up, almost cheerful to be called upon.
Nodding, she thought. “Natalie,” she said, wanting to include them all, “when they open the door, do you see anyone besides the person bringing in the food?”
She shook her head. “No, and Walt is pretty clumsy juggling it all.”
“Walt?”
“Oh yeah. Walt and Ricardo. That’s the names they gave us when we pestered them.”
Interesting that the men would allow a familiarity with the girls. That could work to their benefit.
“Of course,” Holly began snidely, “it took both of them to carry you in.”
“Well,” she said, biting her tongue, “that’s good to know they might be together. How long before they bring our next meal?”
Half of the girls shrugged, and Rylee could sympathize since she saw they weren’t wearing watches. Hell, they might not even be fed on a regular schedule. Since they were such a prize, she thought Robert would run a tighter ship. Then again, she never understood the demented mind.
Natalie, the eldest by the looks of her, answered, “Maybe an hour.”
Her heartbeat sped up in anticipation. She had an hour to prepare them for their escape.
WHEN THEY REACHED Baltimore, the remaining men of HIS were present and loaded. Beside them stood crates of what Devon knew to be their weapons stash. The men weren’t fucking around. Ken did a great job pulling the team of law enforcement and military men together. And, one woman when you counted Kate.
He figured they didn’t know Rylee, except maybe the ones who’d once been FBI, and they probably didn’t know he and Rylee were married. Still, they’d come off their break to do this, and he knew they’d give their lives if necessary to save his wife. Hell, they’d lost one HIS member saving Amber. We miss you, Les. These men knew the risks and took them without fail. He couldn’t be prouder to have them as part of the team.
They taxied to the hanger near the men and after they halted and the plane powered down, Jess spoke with the pilot about flight plans and other shit Devon didn’t care about. A flash to his right caught his attention and he watched a refueling truck hauling ass to meet them. Damn, how did Jess do it? Shrugging, he met the men as they began to board.
A tall blond stepped onboard. “Trent?” he said in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
The blue-eyed man, who the men had termed “God’s gift to women” and was half-brother to the Hamiltons, smiled. “I’m here for family.” He reached out his hand and shook Devon’s. Givin
g him a hug of any sort, even the manly slap on the back was out of the question. The man was recovering from multiple skin graft surgeries on the back of his body. “Don’t read anything into it,” he rushed to add. “I’m out of here afterward. But, for now, let’s bring your wife home.”
So they knew he’d married her. Kate. He shook his head. The woman couldn’t keep her mouth shut to save her life. Good, he wouldn’t have to explain why he’d kept it a secret.
Trent stalked past him to allow the remaining men—Steve, Rob, Danny, Kevin, Jamaal, Joe, Mike, Neftali, and the two men they’d recently hired—enter, carrying various items. No one spoke, only small head nods and fist bumps with AJ were used to communicate.
Jess strolled back to the crowded cabin and everyone’s eyes darted to him. “We’re going to have an extra passenger with us today, and I don’t want to hear shit about who it is.”
A few low groans were heard because even though they didn’t know whom yet, that speech meant the men wouldn’t like their guest.
He continued, “I want our asses covered there. Believe me, getting approval—”
“Fuck approval,” Devon spat out. They were already wasting fucking time. Everyone was on board, which meant he was ready to go get his wife.
Jess narrowed his eyes at him, challenging him to say more. “As I was saying, we wouldn’t be the first chosen to go in on this, but I finagled the job, which means you’ll get paid and we have the right US backing should the shit hit the fan. Which,” he scanned the group, “won’t happen.”
A sick feeling formed in Devon’s stomach while the men hoorayed. Somehow, he knew who their guest would be. If allowing Arthur to fly with them, and cozying up to him, was needed to rescue Rylee, he’d be first in line, even though he’d hate every minute of it.
Ducking his head, Jess looked out a plane window. “Here he is.”
Devon craned his neck and sure enough, a black Town Car drove close to the plane and Arthur Hall, Deputy Director of the FBI, stepped out in his snappy suit with a briefcase and navy duffel bag.
A thought suddenly occurred to him. How many fucking people did they have on the plane? “Uh, Jess,” he said hesitantly, “where the hell are we going to put everyone?”
His brother hoisted a thumb over his shoulder. “Jump seats.”
Meeting the man at the door, Jess shook his hand. “Thanks for helping us on this.”
Devon frowned. Shouldn’t that be what the FBI said and not his brother? That forgiveness shit had gone to Jess’s head.
“Believe me, I want this bastard.” Arthur scanned the plane, his gaze resting on Devon. “It’s not just Rylee we think he has.”
The plane began to power its engines and Ken went to the door to pull up the stairs and close it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please prepare for departure,” a voice said through the speakers.
“Everybody grab a seat so we can get our asses to Belize.” Jess moved to the cockpit with Steve following him, while everyone searched for lap belts and buckled himself or herself in safely.
The plane lifted smoothly from the ground and in no time, they were informed that they were free to move about the cabin. Devon had no idea where the hell they would go. There was barely enough room for legs and feet while seated. It was definitely lucky Jess hadn’t picked the smaller plane he sometimes commandeered for missions. They’d have never fit.
Jess entered the cabin. “Get comfortable. We have about seven hours of flight time.”
Normally the men would’ve been digging in their packs for headphones or phones or books, but today they waited. That was because typically they were already briefed by the time they hit the air. Today was different, and it sizzled in the air.
Jess slid into the seat facing Devon. He reached over and pulled out a fold-up table from the cabin wall and spread it between them.
Arthur, sitting beside him, slapped his briefcase on top and opened it, then reached in and pulled out a folder about an inch thick.
Fuck. Now he was glad Jess had pulled in Arthur because Devon’s research was pathetic compared to that. He hadn’t found that much in the FBI system.
“Okay, boys, it goes without saying this is confidential information.” Arthur bolstered his voice loud enough for the entire cabin to hear. “After Robert Carver left the CIA, he took the wrong path. Probably before, but we couldn’t find anything for certain.” He set the file on the table, but didn’t open it.
Devon’s pulse kicked up a notch. Had that been why he’d refused to publicly acknowledge Greg’s death, or had it truly been part of the spook creed?
With a hand on the file, like he was swearing in at court, Arthur continued, “He started kidnapping girls and selling them right away.”
“We know that,” Devon growled. He couldn’t believe that tone had come from him, but he wanted something new, something they could use.
Arthur appraised him, nodded for whatever reason, and moved on to his recitation. “Anyhow, he did it one at a time, because he didn’t have the right contacts or setup. But, he continued to build from it until next thing we knew, he was buddy-buddy with Dave Westbrook.”
Devon’s mind began to spin at Dave’s name being thrown into the mix. Chuck had said something about her getting away before. She’d never told him that Dave had taken her to be sold. Her always looking over her shoulder made more sense, but at the time that was the last thing he’d have considered. When he found her, he wasn’t sure whether he’d hug her or put her over his knee for keeping that secret from him. Never would he have allowed her to go to Carver’s house if he’d known that. And that’s exactly why she didn’t tell me.
“Papa Westbrook didn’t give him up. Swore he hadn’t had anything to do with him. Which could’ve been true, but Carver sure used the opportunity to grow his business. We’re wondering if he had Dave killed, but that’s just speculation. There’s no reason for it since our source said they were working together.”
A light bulb moment flashed. “Was this source Brent Fuller?”
Raising his eyebrows, Arthur slowly nodded. “It was. We think they found out about him and that’s why he was killed.”
“Uh, did anyone tell you that Rylee had been in the limo when it all happened?” Devon asked.
Arthur’s head swiveled to Jess and he spoke through a clenched jaw. “No.”
“At this moment, that doesn’t matter.” Jess leaned forward with his forearms on the table and his hands clasped in front of him. “What matters is getting Rylee—and any other girls—out of there. Now”—he inclined his head to the forgotten folder—“what else have you got for us.”
Index finger flipping the top edge of the folder, Arthur stared at Jess.
Christ, this couldn’t come down to a pissing match. “Look, how many girls do you think he has?” Devon asked to break the uncomfortable silence.
Their guest inhaled deeply once, then answered flatly, “Five.”
Curses filled the plane.
“Okay, so we have possibly six females to extricate. You told me you have a layout of the property,” Jess said to Arthur.
The folder was finally opened and aerial surveillance photos slid across the table. “It’s a 300-acre teak plantation.”
“Teak?” Trent asked from over Devon’s shoulder.
Arthur shrugged. “It also has smaller parts within of mahogany, Spanish cedar and other local hardwoods. Approximately forty acres have cacao. About 150 are untouched.”
The photos were passed over Jess’s shoulder to the men for their review. “What about water access?”
“The Machaca Creek is the best you’ll get.”
Matt looked up from the paper in his hand, which turned out to be a map Devon hadn’t realized had been distributed. “Is this a wildlife sanctuary near it?”
“Yes.” Arthur exhaled heavily as if a huge burden was about to be released and Devon feared it to be true. “There’s no government support on this.”
“What fucking
bullshit is that? I thought you cleared this,” Devon belted to Jess.
“Calm the fuck down, Dev. He means Belize government.” The eldest Hamilton brother turned to Arthur. “At least that had best be what he meant.”
Arthur nodded.
Devon turned to Rob. “Did you bring all of my equipment?” He didn’t have a go-bag ready like the other men since he didn’t usually travel with them preferring to be behind his computer.
“Everything we could lift.”
With the bulging muscles on some of the men, that could mean with their strength they’d even packed the mainframe that was bolted to the ground. His hands itched to dig into his goodies, but he fought it and remained where he was. “As soon as we get there, I’ll get to scanning. Get me close enough and I can probably get into their surveillance and see what we’re up against.”
Arthur cleared his throat.
Devon turned to him. “What?”
“There may not be time. We got wind that a known buyer arrived this morning. Because of that, we’re assuming the girls are there. It is possible that Carver moved them though.”
If the table hadn’t been in the way, he’d have surged to his feet. “What. The. Fuck, Arthur? Maybe you like fucking the Hamilton family over on a regular basis, but you knew five”—he splayed his fingers out—“girls were there and did nothing. Nothing!” he ranted without restraint. “Now, because you let that asshole Carver just do his thing, he has my wife.” He thrust his thumb to his chest. “My wife.”
His chest heaved, and he wanted to throttle the man. Possibly not there? He couldn’t handle that thought. She had to be there. The cabin was eerily silent. He didn’t give a fuck because he knew they agreed with him, except it wasn’t their wife about to be sold. It sickened him to think of how many females had passed through Carver’s hands, while the government had done nothing.
“Devon,” Arthur said calmly, “I’m sorry about things with AJ and Jake. I can’t fix them nor can I fix the fact Carver is free. Don’t let it cloud your judgment today. I think the world of Rylee. We’re going to fix this and bring her home.”