Re/Deemed (Doms of the FBI Book 8)

by Michele Zurlo

  She lifted her head to get a better angle. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I didn’t throw it.” He flashed that grin again. “You’re trying to figure out how you know me.”

  “Where did we first meet?” If he had some kind of twisted romantic interest in her, as stalkers tended to, then she needed to cultivate a personal relationship with him. He was younger, so she could use that to her advantage. “You seem a lot younger than me.”

  He chuckled. “We’ve never met, not formally, but you’ve seem my picture.”

  Normally she wouldn’t have the patience for this game, but her life was on the line, so she quieted the authoritative voice in her head that wanted to snap at him. As she reined in the worst of her annoyance, a glimmer of a realization came to mind. “You’re Miguel Lawrence’s kid.”

  Until two years ago, Lawrence had been the SAC of the Detroit field office. When she’d left the CIA, he’d been the one who’d provided a soft landing. Then it turned out he’d been in league with The Eye, one of several high-ranking FBI officials around the country embedded in law enforcement in order to ensure they didn’t interfere with the criminal enterprise.

  Brandy’s team had taken him down, and the scandal that had rocked the FBI had shaken the entire organization. She’d been put in charge of dismantling the rest of the organization. And she’d failed.

  The man’s smile returned, not that it ever fully disappeared. “Joseph. My brother, Joshua, is driving.” A proud expression lighting his eyes, he shook his head. “My dad always said you focused on the bad guys and nothing else. I guess you didn’t think to look at us.”

  The thought had occurred to her. Liam had dug into both brothers and their sister, and nothing of note had turned up. She hadn’t wanted to add to the Lawrence family’s shame and grief, so she’d turned the investigation toward leads that had a better chance of panning out.

  “You’re not part of The Eye,” she said. Given her position, it was a gamble, but she was confident that she was right.

  “No,” he confirmed. “We’re not. But you, Agent Lockmeyer, are responsible for my father’s death.”

  Miguel Lawrence had been murdered in prison. In keeping with The Eye’s way of doing business, they’d killed him while he was awaiting trial. Luckily the FBI had already questioned him, and he’d told them everything. He’d known his life was coming to a close because he knew how The Eye dealt with captured operatives they didn’t trust.

  Brandy perked up at this accusation because she knew she wasn’t at fault. Perhaps she could help Joseph see reason. “The Eye killed your father, Joseph. The organization he chose to serve is the one that assassinated him in prison. He knew what they were like when he joined them, and he accepted the risks that came from associating with criminals.”

  They’d put him in solitary lockup, but The Eye had people embedded everywhere. Two years later, Brandy’s team had rooted out hundreds of people in The Eye’s employ, purging them from prison staff and the ranks of the FBI.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Between you and them, you’re both at fault. My father is gone, and you’re equally culpable. And so, in the spirit of fairness, I’m going to give you to them, but I’m not going to tell them your name. Interestingly enough, they know who you are, but they don’t know your face. You’re very good about remaining in the background. You don’t do press conferences, your press releases are under other names—you’re every bit the agent my dad said you were. But this way, no matter what happens, I win. If you live and manage to escape, maybe you bring them down—but not before they leave you physically and emotionally scarred. If they figure out who you are, then your life is over, but the very foundation of what they build will still crumble because they’re not going to be able to figure out how you got inside. They’ll purge their ranks, and where you’re going, a purge is going to seriously cripple their operation. It’s a win-win for us.”

  Brandy gaped at Joseph. She knew The Eye had a compound in a rural county in the northern Lower Peninsula of Michigan, but it was protected because it was federally recognized as a religious institution. Her team had hit so many walls when their investigation had inevitably led them to the compound. She was moderately sure part of the reason her task force was being disbanded had to do with the fact she was pushing so hard to cross the church-state line. There was almost nothing the FBI could do when a large, powerful religious organization hid criminals and laundered their money.

  But she’d lacked conclusive evidence that would break that barrier, and she suspected some of the high-profile members of the religion had complained about her to the right people.

  She wouldn’t mind getting on the inside of that place, but this wasn’t how she wanted to break through. She wanted an official undercover investigation, one where she had a handler on the outside and FBI resources at her disposal.

  Right now, nobody knew what had happened or where she was. Her only hope was if the young woman at the soap shop followed up, but that was a slim hope, at best. She’d assured the woman she’d be fine before she’d left the store.

  The Lawrence offspring actually had a clever plan. If they’d intended to keep her, she had a fighting chance of getting out of this alive and intact. The level of danger in her circumstance was exponentially higher than if they had just planned to kill her. If The Eye found out who she was, she had no doubt they’d torture her for information before disposing of her body where nobody would ever find it.

  Brandy’s disappearance would become a cold case that haunted the members of her team who’d spent time over the past eighteen months trying to track down whoever was stalking her.

  “I don’t understand.” She needed to keep him talking.

  In response, Joseph stuck a needle into her arm. “I’m not a gloater, Agent Lockmeyer. We made a plan, and now we’re executing it. When you wake up, your life is going to be a special kind of hell, and that’s all we wanted. This is the best present Joshua and I have ever given each other.”

  The sedative worked quickly. Her vision blurred, and she lost the battle to remain awake.

  Unfamiliar voices woke her later. “She’s pretty enough.”

  She sensed a group of people surrounding her bound and gagged form. Dirt particles from the hard floor pressed into her cheek.

  “But she’s older than we prefer. She’s got to be almost thirty.”

  Brandy was, in fact, closer to forty.

  “She’s coming around. See? I told you she was only drugged a little.”

  That voice, she recognized. She opened her eyes to find Joseph standing over her. The guy next to him resembled him enough for her to deduce he was Joshua Lawrence. Where Joseph maintained his jovial demeanor, Joshua was quiet and reserved. His thin lips pressed together firmly, and he used a lot less hair gel. Where Joseph’s hair had a plastic sheen, Joshua’s moved with the breeze.

  Joseph shoved his foot into her abdomen in a soft kick that hurt like a bitch. “Wake up, sweetheart. You’re home.”

  “I don’t know.” The second man, the one who hadn’t liked her advanced age, stroked his goatee. “Bull deserves a better reward.”

  “We don’t have another one.” The one who’d said she was pretty enough crouched down next to her. He wore a suit, and a string of tattoos wound up his neck. His hair was buzzed short, and he had crystal blue eyes. He grabbed her face by the chin and turned it into the light. “She’s definitely attractive. I think he’ll like her. He’s turned up his nose at the younger ones we’ve offered. This one has brown hair and more curves. We know he’s not partial to blondes or redheads.”

  Goatee Guy sighed. “Fine. We’ll take her.” He motioned to Joseph. “She’s not as good as your usual fare. Two thousand.”

  Joshua snorted. “Our going rate is ten.”

  Goatee Guy didn’t seem impressed. “Three is as high as I’ll go.”

  Brandy added human trafficking to the list of charges these two were racking up. Today alone they had two cou
nts of assaulting a Federal agent and one count kidnapping.

  Joshua and Joseph exchanged a glance, and then Joshua nodded. “Five. Final offer.”

  “Fine.” The tattooed businessman handed over a wad of cash. “Yoseff will show you out.”

  Goatee Guy—Yoseff—guided Joseph and Joshua Lawrence to the door and out of the room. Tattooed Businessman grasped her jaw again. “You’d better make Bull happy, or else I will dispose of you myself. He’s earned a reward.” The man’s hand fell away from her chin, and it wandered over her hip. “I think he likes a woman with a little meat on her bones.” He squeezed a breast. “A little more than a handful, but then again, Bull has huge hands. He’s a big sonofabitch, and you’re his plaything.” He squeezed harder, digging his fingertips into her flesh until she yelped. “Mmmm. High tolerance for pain. Maybe if he doesn’t want you, I’ll take a run at you.”

  He released her breast, and a huge smile stretched his mouth as he stood. Then he followed Yoseff and the Lawrence brothers out. The clang of metal let her know the door to the small room had been locked.

  The room was barren. Metal walls caked with rust betrayed a leaky roof, and a high window let in the only light in the room. Shadows crawled as time passed. A pressing need to use the bathroom had her shifting into different positions. Nothing worked, and inevitably nature took care of itself.

  Just when she thought she might lose her mind, the door opened. Yoseff and Tattooed Sadist came inside first, and a huge man lumbered in after them.

  Bull was an apt name. The guy was beyond huge. Not only was he tall, but he had impossibly broad shoulders and a wide chest. His thighs had nothing on a tree trunk. Though he wore sweats and a loose shirt, it didn’t disguise the fact that this guy was all muscle. On top of his massive body was a head with a face that didn’t look at all pleased.

  His clothes were soiled, stained dark with grease, and splattered with ominous, dark red streaks.

  Yeah—that was definitely blood.

  He scowled down at her. “I don’t want a fucking complication.”

  His voice was deep and surprisingly melodic for such a big man. It didn’t inspire anything but fear in Brandy. He was easily a hundred or more pounds heavier than her. There was no way she was going to come out on top in a fight with him. All he had to do was lay on her, and she’d suffocate.

  “You’ve earned it, Bull.” Tattooed Sadist reached up to clap Bull on the shoulder.

  “You’ve more than earned it,” Yoseff added. “You’ve earned it ten times over.”

  “I serve The Cause,” he mumbled. “No reward is necessary.” He stepped away from her. “Give her to Mehar.”

  Tattooed Sadist shook his head. “Mehar has one. If you don’t want this one, I’ll dispose of her.”

  Bull sighed. Brandy had no problem imagining a stream of steam coming from his ears. He knelt next to her head and she felt his surprisingly deft touch loosening the knot in the gag. He eased it from her mouth. “What’s your name?”

  Though every bit of her Quantico training was telling her to play along, Brandy’s stubborn temper reared its ugly head. She glared at the man who probably was going to rape and torture her.

  His less-than-thrilled expression didn’t change. “Karter, untie her feet. I’m not carrying her up four flights of stairs.”

  Karter—the Tattooed Sadist Businessman—pumped his fist before cutting the plastic ties binding her ankles together.

  Brandy’s legs and feet had been bound too long to be useful. As much as she wanted to kick out, disarm Karter, and turn the tables, a pins-and-needles feeling rendered her legs heavy and unresponsive to her brain’s commands.

  Bull lifted her, setting her on her feet. She wobbled and teetered, and he caught her before she crashed back to the ground. “How long has she been tied up?”

  “A while,” Yoseff admitted as he slit the zip tie on her wrists. “We weren’t sure if you’d want her or not, and we didn’t see a reason to untie her if we weren’t going to keep her.”

  Bull hefted her easily, throwing her over his shoulder. She landed on his massive, solid shoulder with a soft oomph.

  “If you change your mind, let me know.” Karter grinned. “I’ll take care of the problem.”

  “Thanks,” Bull muttered as he headed out of the room.

  Brandy didn’t struggle. She had no clue as to the lay of the land, and if she was at the compound they’d been trying to get inside, she knew they were fifty miles from any kind of help. Her trained eye noted buildings and people. She saw the symbol of The Eye on crates and posters.

  As he walked along the narrow road, people called greetings to Bull. He nodded by way of acknowledgment. When they made a comment about the baggage he carried, he grunted.

  After a few minutes, he paused and set her down. This time, her legs didn’t buckle.

  “Can you walk?”

  She narrowed her eyes and glowered.

  His dark brown eyes looked almost black in the glare of the sunset. “Look, you can come with me, or you can go back with Karter. He gets off on hurting helpless women. I don’t.”

  Brandy figured she had a better chance of survival if she played along. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Talking was dangerous. This man was an agent of The Eye, a true believer in a terrorist organization. If he even suspected she was an FBI agent, her life was over.

  She took a tentative step.

  He grabbed her arm to guide her, and she hurried to keep pace with his long strides. For a big guy, he moved quickly.

  A winding half mile and four flights of steps later, she found herself in a studio apartment. The single room had a kitchenette to the right of the door and a weight bench to the left. Beyond the kitchen sat a small dining table. Nestled in the corner was a queen bed on a sturdy metal frame. A single sofa sat under a window across from the weight bench.

  Bull pulled her through the space between the table and the stove, and he pushed her toward a door. “Bathroom. Take a shower.”

  While she was definitely soiled, she wasn’t going to voluntarily take her clothes off around this man. She regarded him with obstinate intent.

  His lip curled. “I’m not into rape.” He swept his hand wide. “Your job will be to cook and clean. Take a shower so you can make dinner for me.”

  Brandy studied Bull, her discerning gaze noting the fact that his eyes weren’t roaming her body with any kind of possessive or licentious intent.

  “Towels are in the cabinet under the counter.” His gaze shifted from her eyes to her forehead. “Peroxide for that cut on your cheek and the scrape above your eyebrow. You look like you’ve had a helluva day.”

  Her gaze went to the door as she contemplated escape.

  “You’re a prisoner here,” he added. “If you try to leave this apartment without me, you will be punished by Yoseff and Karter. If you fuck up, they’ll just get me a new slave.”

  She lifted her chin defiantly, her gaze locked to his for ten seconds of a futile showdown, and then she went into the bathroom and locked the door.

  Chapter 3

  Warm water sluiced over her skin, washing away the filth of the day. Brandy hurriedly washed because there was no sense in giving him time to imagine her in there naked.

  As she scrubbed, the door opened. She’d known the lock wasn’t adequate to keep anyone out. Bracing herself for the worst, she prepared to fight back.

  “Clean clothes.” Bull’s announcement came just prior to the closing of the bathroom door.

  Brandy took a deep breath and peeked out from behind the curtain. He was gone, and so she breathed a sigh of relief. She turned off the water and toweled herself dry. The soiled clothes she’d left on the floor were gone, and a folded stack of white clothing sat on the narrow ledge that surrounded the single sink. The bathroom was as tiny as the apartment, and Brandy couldn’t see where Bull could maneuver in the small space.

  It explained the lack of clutter. His massive body would knock anythin
g down if it was left on the counter.

  She slid into the white T-shirt and boxer shorts. The shirt was so large it fell off one shoulder, and the boxers had so much extra material, she had to put a knot into the waistband to make it fit her waist.

  Bull had no frills in his cupboard, and a bald man had no need for a hairbrush or shampoo. She combed her fingers through her damp hair the best she could, but it remained stringy, limp, and tangled.

  After putting it off for a long time, she emerged from the bathroom ready to make dinner. It had been hours since she’d scarfed down a small breakfast before heading out to finish up her holiday shopping, and she was starving.

  She found Bull already at the table, reading a folded newspaper as he spooned something into his mouth.

  He looked up when the door opened, and he indicated the chair opposite him.

  A lone bowl and spoon waited for her. She came closer to find it filled with mac and cheese, the ultimate comfort food. The chair scraped as she pulled it out, and she had spooned a heaping bite into her mouth before she sat down.

  It was hot and cheesy, and she was so very hungry. Before she knew it, she’d licked the bowl clean. She set it down and found Bull watching her, a hint of mirth lightening his dark eyes.

  His amusement was too much for her to bear. She broke eye contact and glanced around the room. So far, she’d done a great job of not speaking, and she aimed to keep that up. A quiet hum and swish came from a closet next to the bathroom door.

  She realized he’d put her clothes in the washing machine.

  He shoved his bowl toward her as a subtle order, leaned back against his chair, and opened a different section of the paper. “I don’t work a regular schedule, but I get up early every morning. I go for a run, and then I have breakfast. I like my eggs scrambled with cheese and my coffee black. Cleaning supplies are in the cabinet with the washing machine.”

  His voice came out from behind the paper, carrying confidence in every syllable.