by Rosie Miles
“They’re on the move.” Cooper’s voice sounded crackly. “How did she describe it? A hearse? It’s a sleek black limo. Here’s the reg.” He read out the number plate. “They’re heading east. I’ll be tailing, and when you’re here, we’ll shadow.”
“Be there in two minutes.” Quinn started the car. “Coop, don’t let them see you.”
“I’m the invisible man.”
“I’ll check out the plate. Keep me informed,” James said.
Quinn slammed the car into first. As he slid around the corner, he wished for a pursuit vehicle with blue lights. Second gear, third, fourth. Through a red light. Fifth gear and doing a hundred kilometers in a sixty zone. He concentrated on the road.
Cooper was turning onto the M1 when Quinn caught up. Giving Cooper a salute, Quinn cruised past and dropped to the speed limit. Cooper remained a few cars back. They’d travel like this for a few minutes and swap positions.
The radio beeped.
“The car’s registered to Club De’lisle, address is a private home on the Corso,” James said.
“Dealing in human flesh is very lucrative,” Quinn replied. “Any idea where they’re heading?”
“No.” James sounded frustrated.
“There’s been nothing from Maggie since she got in the car?” Cooper asked.
“No. She should have said something by now. Maybe there’s some sort of shielding to block the signal. Don’t lose sight of that car, and there won’t be a problem,” James insisted. “Felice said Maggie knew where they were taking her. Can you remember what Maggie said about how the girls were transported between states?” James asked.
“No.” Quinn gripped the steering wheel tighter, willing his brain to find the information. “She gave us a lot of information, but I don’t remember that.”
“I’ll keep trying to pick up her signal.” James disconnected.
Cooper sailed past, and Quinn fell back but kept Cooper in his sights. “C’mon, Maggie, give us a hint where you’re going.” He tapped the receiver. Nothing. Damn it. He thumped the steering wheel again.
As the Gateway Bridge loomed closer, Quinn passed Coop. He trailed the limo from a different lane and a couple of car lengths back. When they indicated late and pulled off the main road onto the arterial, Quinn jumped three lanes to follow.
He checked his rearview mirror. No sign of Coop. Up ahead the traffic slowed. Flashing orange lights indicated changed traffic conditions. He had to drop back a few more cars as traffic merged into one lane.
He pushed the radio. “C’mon through, Coop.”
“I’m a minute behind you. What’s the holdup?”
“All I can see is a road work sign. You need to get here. I’m a few cars back. Way too easy to spot.”
“Shit, a couple of cop cars just flew by. I’ll shove in when they pass,” Coop informed him.
Quinn checked his rearview mirror again. He couldn’t see Coop, but the flashing blue-and-red lights drew closer. Quinn eased the car over to let them past.
They didn’t take that option. Instead, one car pulled in front and slowed while the second forced Quinn off the road. He pushed the radio button. “Cooper. Do not lose that limo.”
Quinn switched off the car, unbuckled his seat belt, and climbed out. He wasn’t going to sit around waiting for them to come to him.
He heard a clicking behind him before barbs pierced the skin at his neck. Pain exploded through his chest and radiated through his entire body. Quinn’s muscles deserted him, and as he collapsed onto the bonnet of the car, a fist connected with his jaw.
Maggie settled into the leather seat and faced Conrad. She forced a smile to her lips. “I want to make a deal.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“But…”
He leaned toward her. “I said. Shut. Your. Mouth.” Menace laced each word.
Maggie leaned back and shoved trembling fingers through her hair as she met his demented eyes. Felice curled against Conrad, as beautiful as the atmosphere in the car was toxic. How could Maggie have been so wrong about her? Maggie had believed Felice was her best friend, but was she now Maggie’s executioner?
Maggie turned her head and stared out the window. She fingered her ankh pendant as though it were a conduit that would carry her thoughts to Quinn.
“I wonder, does anyone refer to the Gateway Bridge as the Sir Leo Hielscher Bridges?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Felice demanded.
Maggie smiled. “Just throwing it out there.” Back to staring out the window, she searched her mind.
Different comments teased her. Angel told her how they came by train with beds and air-conditioning, yet unable see outside.
Another comment from Conrad sprang to mind. They’re nothing but cattle. I transport them as such. They must have loaded the girls into shipping containers and onto trains and shipped them between states. No questions asked. No document checks.
Money ruled.
The car turned off the arterial road. “I remember when this was a back road that snaked along by the river. Kids used to fish of the banks. Now look at it: a main thoroughfare, complete with semi-trailers transporting to and from the wharves.”
Overhead lights shone brightly, and although the traffic was reasonably heavy, a tail would be easy to spot. Unless the people tailing were professionals.
“No point looking for help,” Felice chimed. “The car is screened. No signal can get in or out. Your wire is useless. Now you know why we didn’t search you.” The caustic grin widened. “It’s like it used to be: you under our control.”
Maggie glared at Felice. Then she turned her attention back to the window. She wished the driver’s partition were down so she could glimpse out the rearview mirror, but even if it was, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her looking, praying for support. All they’d see on her face was chilly determination.
They knew she was a cop. Maybe it was about time they saw her act like one. She squared her shoulders and held her head up. Determination hardened her spine. When it suited her, when they least expected it, she would show them what Senior Constable Margaret Sinclair was made of.
The car stopped briefly then turned off the road, bouncing Maggie in her seat. Another stop. The view from the passenger window showed nothing but darkness as the car crawled along.
“Not long now,” Felice tormented.
Maggie ignored her and looked back at Conrad. He hadn’t said anything after telling her to shut up. His silence disturbed her.
Maggie had seen Conrad in a rage quite a few times in the past year. It wasn’t pretty, but his silence was worse. Unnerving. Frightening.
The car stopped. The engine cut. Here we go, Maggie. Stay calm. Her trembling body betrayed her. She sucked in a couple of deep breaths and counted backward from ten. The car door opened, and she got a quick glimpse of a huge warehouse before a meaty hand gripped her elbow and dragged her out.
Paulie stood in front of her, menace radiating from his brawny frame. Maggie swallowed the fear threatening to choke her as she met his flinty gaze in the compound security lights. An overwhelming urge to attack surged through her. Fighting it took more self-control than she thought she possessed. He’d keep.
“Not many warehouses this size around, are there?” Maggie said as the muscle herded her toward the building.
Inside, Paulie grabbed her arms, pulled them back so hard she screamed, and shoved her face-first into the wall. He frisked her, stopping at the underside of her breasts and pulled up her shirt. “Time for this to go.” He ripped the tape and the wire off then released her. As Quinn predicted they didn’t look for a third one.
Maggie pulled her shirt down and looked around. Containers stood stacked almost to the roof, and fluorescent lights illuminated every corner of the cavernous room. Night-black skylights replaced every second metal panel. Maggie scanned the area for a way out and couldn’t see one. They moved toward a glass partition, presumably the office. Filing cabinets, a desk,
a computer, and a couple of shabby chairs filled the room.
Someone waited, his back turned, but Maggie recognized him, and her breath caught. She paused at the door, but a hand between her shoulder blades shoved her into the room. “Oh my god, Inspector, are you all right?” she asked.
He turned toward her, his face flushed, sunken eyes bloodshot.
“How did they get you here?” Maggie kept her voice soft.
The others trailed in behind her. Maggie watched in amazement as Felice sashayed to Roberts, wrapped herself around him, and kissed him hard on the mouth. When Felice broke the kiss, he briefly met her gaze and Maggie recognized the guilt blazing in the depths of his sunken eyes.
In that moment Maggie realized Detective Inspector Douglas Roberts, her superior officer, her mentor, was her Judas. Maggie clenched her fists, and sheer willpower held them by her side. Hold it together. The fury brewing inside her threatened to erupt. She wanted to rip his head off. Control, Maggie.
Maggie held his gaze and glared at him. She didn’t care if he saw her hatred, but it wouldn’t benefit her if the others saw the emotions seething in her.
She struggled to contain the hysterical laughter threatening to escape. “Oh my god, that’s pathetic. An old man like you. You don’t really believe she feels anything for you?”
Roberts bowed his head.
Maggie pushed on. “You do? You really think she does? Did she tell you she loved you? That she’d marry you?” Maggie shook her head. “You can’t be that dense. She fucked you, wholly and solely, to get the information she wanted. You got me into this mess.” Maggie stood ramrod straight and bit back bitter tears. “You pathetic, old man.” Voicing her anger made all the turmoil, all the angst, inside her disappear for a couple of seconds.
Felice was furious. She stalked toward Maggie with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes, threw Maggie a haughty, I-know-something-you-don’t-know look, and raised her hand.
The slap stung, yet Maggie didn’t flinch. “Is that the best you’ve got?” She refused to give Felice the satisfaction of touching the throbbing cheek. A cracking slap on the other side was the response.
On her next heartbeat, Maggie had her hands around Felice’s throat, squeezing.
Hard.
Felice clawed at Maggie’s hands, but Maggie just pressed her thumbs more tightly against Felice’s windpipe. Voices filled Maggie’s ears.
A heavy thud on the back of Maggie’s head loosened the hold, and Roberts pried Maggie’s fingers from Felice’s throat.
Maggie blinked hard to focus and saw the grotesque features of Paulie as he hurled abuse. Her legs turned to wet spaghetti, and she stumbled drunkenly toward the table. Inspector Roberts rocked toward her, and she reached out as if he would stop her falling. The room spotted, and as she collapsed onto the floor, she saw Conrad smile.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A voice penetrated her numbness. Maggie moved her head, winced, and lay prone on the floor. She eased open her eyes, squinted against the glare of the bright lights, then shoved her hands onto the cold floor and gingerly pushed up to her knees. They only wobbled slightly. Good. It was a start.
Maggie staggered to her feet. It took all her energy just to remain upright, but to get out of here, she would need to stand strong.
The next breath she sucked in wasn’t quite so shaky. Feeling stronger, she lurched to the table and leaned against it. She wasn’t alone.
Inspector Roberts stood at the office door. “You’re awake.” He met Maggie’s gaze with dark, shadowed eyes before looking away, almost as if he wanted to hide himself from her. As well he should.
“Why did you do it?” she asked.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Damn right. “Try me.”
Roberts shook his head and tilted his chin, and a glimpse of her mentor leapt out then disappeared, swallowed by the nothing he’d become. “She saw me, Maggie. Me—the man I am in here.” He thumped his hand against his chest. “She gave me what I needed. She made me whole again.”
Maggie eased closer to him. “What? Sex? Companionship? Love? How much has she cost you?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Nothing.”
“So your integrity, your career, is worth nothing?” Maggie clenched her fists.
“Try to understand, Maggie. She’s everything to me.”
“What about me, Inspector. Are you going to let me die here?” Maggie demanded.
His body trembled. “My decision’s made.”
“I hope you live to regret it.”
Paulie entered the room, whispered something to Roberts, then they left, locking the door behind them.
Maggie was alone. “I know you’re out there, boys,” she whispered. “Hurry up.”
Being trapped in an office wouldn’t do her any good. Only a sheet of glass separated her from the slime. Maggie kept glancing at them, wishing she could hear. She needed to be out there. She’d never escape stuck in here. She needed to get rid of the glass, and there was only one way to do that. She looked at the chair next to the filing cabinet.
What was the worst thing that would happen? They could kill her, but if they were going to do that, Maggie believed she wouldn’t be sitting here wondering about it.
“Stuff it.” Maggie walked across the room, picked up the chair, and heaved it into the glass with all the frustration and fury inside her. A crack zigzagged in slow motion toward the top. Maggie bashed the window again. The sound of shattering glass exploded into the air.
That got their attention.
Paulie rushed into the room, and Maggie found herself face down against the table with her already-sore arm twisted behind her back. He hauled her to her feet and frog-marched her out to Conrad, whose scowl in the car was nothing compared to the one he wore now.
Is this what it’s like for an insect under the microscope? Maggie concentrated on keeping her expression neutral and controlling the tremor of fear coursing along her spine. She might be quaking in her boots, but Conrad would never know.
“So, Cassie,” the hateful voice started. “Or do you prefer Senior Constable Margaret Sinclair?”
She tilted her chin and met his glacial stare. “Senior Constable is my title. I wouldn’t have you taint it by addressing me with it, or by my name, so Cassie’s fine.”
He looked down his nose at her then around at his entourage. Felice leaned against a container that had been separated from the others, looking like the cat that caught the canary. Paulie watched with another goon from his vantage point near the door. Roberts stood well back. Nobody else. Odd. Usually at least three others surrounded Conrad.
Now that he had their full attention, Conrad turned to Maggie. “Do you know how much your interference has cost me?”
“Heaps, I hope.”
His well-manicured hand clouted Maggie across the head so hard her ears rang.
“Tough guy, aren’t you?” Maggie muttered and saw the tightening of Conrad’s cruel mouth. Maybe she’d stepped over a boundary. The boundary between life and death.
Conrad raised his hand again, and Maggie gritted her teeth to prevent herself crying out when the blow connected.
“If you bruise her, he won’t give you as much for her.” Felice had moved to Conrad’s side and placed her hand over his to prevent him from striking Maggie.
For a moment, Maggie was grateful for Felice’s assistance, but Maggie’s relief didn’t last long.
“True, but it’s going to take a few weeks for us to transport her. She’ll be healed by then.” Conrad pushed Felice’s hand away.
“Is it worth the risk?” Felice insisted. “You’re being paid for class. You don’t want to ruin your reputation by supplying damaged goods.”
Felice turned her attention to Maggie and swayed toward her. “You’re going to like your new job, Maggie. It’s an overseas position. Your new boss runs a very profitable establishment. You met him at the De’lisle your last night there, remember? His clients like Amazonian women. Th
ey believe they can take anything.”
They planned to sell her. Maggie’s heart raced. Quinn, where are you? She desperately scanned the immediate area.
“Looking for something?” Felice taunted.
Maggie ignored her and continued searching the building for a means of escape. She focused on the skylights and the tall stacks of containers underneath them. Could she get out that way? How long would it take?
“I asked you a question.”
Maggie’s clenched her fists and clamped her arms tight to her sides to prevent the deep, dark anger brewing inside her, from erupting. If that bitch doesn’t shut up, I’m going to explode. “I don’t talk to lackeys. Get out of my face,” Maggie snarled.
“You talk big, but there’s no way out.” Felice patted her cheek.
“Whatever.”
“You really believe some dark, avenging hero is going to rescue you, don’t you? Fool.” Felice turned to Paulie and demanded. “Bring him in.” Then she strolled to Conrad’s side.
Maggie’s breathing hitched as Paulie and one of the henchmen walked outside and returned dragging an unconscious form.
“Oh my God, Quinn,” Maggie cried as they dumped him at her feet.
His face was bruised and bleeding, and his eyes were swollen shut. He lay curled in a fetal position, breathing in rasping, sickening bursts, and Maggie almost came undone.
I should never have involved him. I should have done it myself. It would have been an impossible mission to finish this case on her own, but better that she had tried than have Quinn, the man she loved, the man she would always love even if he no longer wanted her, dead because of her. I’m so sorry.
Maggie fell to her knees beside Quinn, ignoring Conrad’s command to get up. Her fingers soothed along his bruised face and down his neck to rest against his thready pulse. She grabbed one of his hands and laid her head against his chest. The reassuring thudding of his heart eased Maggie’s concern slightly, but it was the tightening of his fingers against hers that gave her courage.