“With an operation that size,” Kieran said, “someone had to have seen something.”
“Yes. Anything that McBride gets, he’ll tell us. Anyone who might have even the smallest lead, he’ll let us know. You know McBride, he’s an A-1 detective, Kieran. Obviously, we’re all praying for the burn victim here—on many levels and on different levels, I imagine,” Craig said. “But you don’t move an operation that size and that quickly without making a mistake—without giving yourself away—somehow, or somewhere along the line. We’ll get on it.”
“Riley and Tanya definitely know this guy. You want to talk to them more here?” Kieran asked.
“We should get out of here,” Mike murmured. “May have been nothing back down in the lobby, but our friends, the US Marshals, are good at spotting people in a crowd who might be trouble.”
“And these people are relentless,” Kieran spoke, then looked at Craig and winced. “We’re protected, and I feel safe. But this organization has no problem sending in suicide assassins. We definitely shouldn’t spend more time here than necessary when there is a hospital full of people we don’t want winding up as collateral damage.”
Craig walked over to the other little group.
“Come on,” Craig said quietly to Tanya, Riley and Danny, indicating the elevators. “We’ll get you back to safety. And then we’ll talk.”
Kieran hung back as Craig urged the women toward Mike. One of the doctors was still by the window, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at the victim and all the administrations being performed.
“Does he have much of a chance?” she asked softly.
“You know, he seems to have a good heart. A strong heart, strong lungs. If the poor fellow wasn’t half-dead, he’d be darned healthy. That’s in his favor. He’s in his early thirties. That’s in his favor. He has a chance. Slim, but, yes, he has a chance.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Kieran said. She looked toward the elevator.
They were waiting for her.
She hurried over to join them, lest she cause any delay when she had pushed to leave as quickly as possible.
* * *
The investigation was still in the dark—they didn’t have one damned solid lead when it came to finding the power behind the operation, but Craig still felt as if they were moving forward. Riley and Tanya knew the burn victim. And they just might know something that would identify him, and every time they had anything new, it was a lead that could be followed.
If there had been any danger or any strange or unexpected event down in the lobby or beyond, they would have been notified. Craig knew that. Still, it was important to him that he follow protocol and announce the fact that they’d shortly be taking the elevators to the ground floor—his earpiece also was a two-way wireless microphone sensitive enough for them to hear him.
The people at the top of the human trafficking organization did seem to have eyes everywhere. Craig thought it was for the best that Egan had determined that they all go in disguise—if they were seen coming or going, it appeared that they were friends of a downed football player and the doting relatives of a couple who had just given birth.
The hospital security guards had kept an eye out, as had others.
Entry to the burn unit was controlled; they had been in a private room.
Every precaution had been taken.
Now it was important that they get out and make sure that Tanya and Riley were safe.
He spoke softly but clearly.
“We’re about to come down. Detective Holmes, anything?”
“He’s still sitting here. The man with the paper. I don’t like it. I’m going to create a diversion. Hold up a few more minutes if you can,” Holmes told him.
“Careful, Holmes.” It was Egan who was speaking, listening in on anything that occurred throughout the evening. “I don’t like it, either.”
“I’m moving over by the restroom door, Holmes,” another voice said. It was Hank LeBlanc. Craig could easily recognize the soft Louisiana cadence to his voice. “Watching—ready.”
A moment later, something pinged in Craig’s ear and he heard an angry man yelping and yelling—and a bunch of apologies.
“Come out, three by three,” Egan said.
Three by three. Just as they had gone in. The one group, softly chatting about a newborn baby. The other group shaking their heads—just how had such an injury occurred? So sad—oh, yes, funny—if it weren’t so sad.
“Go on down,” Craig told Mike.
Mike headed out. Craig took the time to thank Kendall and Beard again, and the doctors looking out for their patient.
Then he led Kieran and Tanya into the elevator and took them down.
The man who had been reading the paper was still busy mopping up his lap. Holmes and LeBlanc were fighting over the man, calling each other idiots. Madison Smyth was helping the fellow dab at his clothing and the coffee that was all over him.
“Seriously, we’re so sorry—we can get your clothing cleaned,” Madison was offering. “Oh, oh my! Are you burned? We’re in a hospital. A little help over here,” she said.
“No, no, I’m fine—”
The man tried to rise. He wasn’t going to be able to do so—Madison was standing over him. “My husband is just an idiot, and I don’t know how to apologize enough. I mean, he’s like an accident waiting to happen, and I am so, so sorry.”
By then, they were out of the hospital.
Around the corner, they were quickly ushered into official cars, and soon they were back in the safe house by the Chinese laundry.
It took about twenty minutes of confusion for all the little costume parts and hairpieces to be disassembled and returned to the proper officers for future use. He grinned at Kieran when she headed with Riley and Tanya into the bedroom to discard her wig and padding and oversize pants.
She arched a brow, glared at him and sighed, shaking her head. Then she wiggled her artificially generous bottom at him.
He laughed softly. She didn’t really care, he knew.
Kieran would try what worked, no matter what—unless it was illegal or immoral.
Hmm. Depending on the law, she might go with the illegal.
Never the immoral.
The thought made him smile.
In the security of the safe house, changed back to normal, they were able to sit down at last and talk about the man, Jimmy, who was in the burn unit at the hospital, fighting for his life.
Egan had arrived, along with Jacob. The US Marshals had not returned yet. They, like Detective Holmes, were still behind, most probably getting together a full dossier on the man who had been—in their minds—suspiciously reading the paper.
Or they were watching him, determining if he had anything to do with the King or Queen—or any of their court.
“I’m not sure we ever know real names,” Riley said. “Maybe because they don’t really matter—we’re nothing but a numbers game, really. Bottom line. The man in the hospital—we knew him as Jimmy. I don’t know where he came from. He speaks English fine.”
“The man,” Tanya said, “never hurt... Never hurt anyone.”
“But...that’s a big guy in good condition—or, he was in good condition before he was burned nearly to death,” Craig said. “It doesn’t appear that he was used as any kind of a slave, or that he might have been bought in any kind of a trafficking situation.”
Tanya tried to speak—and seemed to jumble her words. She threw her hands into the air. “I’m so sorry. America! I will speak English.”
“It’s all right. We need to hear what you have to say,” Craig said. “Tell Detective Wolff or Riley, and they’ll translate.”
Tanya began to talk, swiftly and passionately.
“She cared about him,” Craig whispered to Mike.
“I’m only getting every third wor
d,” Mike said. “But, yes...they had a long talk one day. He was always kind. He apologized that he could not let them go.”
Craig nodded, and then waited.
At last, Wolff turned to them.
“His name is Jimmy. They don’t know his last name. Jimmy got caught up in their drug ring,” Wolff said.
“And so sweet!” Riley put in. “He told me that he was really just a good old boy from Alabama.”
Jacob Wolff nodded and then began again. “At first, they sold him some pills. Then they got him hooked on heroin, and told him he could work for them to pay off his bill. He was just going to go to the cops, but they threatened his wife. Her name is Lily, and she lives in the Bronx. She must be going crazy now—she never knew about Jimmy’s drug use, and never knew that he was involved with horrible criminals, and that he kept working for them to keep her safe.”
“He has three little girls,” Riley said, barely whispering. “Mary, Susie and Katie. I believe they’re six, nine and eleven now—or ages close to that. I’m not sure. He’s showed me photos of them...lovely children,” she added with a whisper.
Craig felt Kieran looking at him.
They had to do something, and quickly. There were more children involved...
Of course, it seemed the immigrants that this group had been taking in were often hardly more than children themselves...
“He’s a good guy. He tried to help us many times,” Riley said. She gasped in a breath suddenly, turning to them, her eyes very wide. “Oh, my God. This happened to Jimmy because of us! Because of Tanya and me.”
“Why do you say that? Was Jimmy supposed to be guarding you when you disappeared?” Craig asked.
Riley shook her head. “No, no...he was with us right before. He knew about the laundry truck coming and he ‘mentioned it’ within our hearing. Someone must have said something about it, and they must have believed that Jimmy was responsible for everything going wrong now!”
“You must help!” Tanya said.
“This is a decent guy—he couldn’t hurt people even when he was threatened,” Riley said. “I think they knew that about him and used him in a way that...worked for them. For a while, at least. And, yes, he would have readily died to keep his family safe.”
Craig rose and hunkered down before Riley. “What did Jimmy do when he wasn’t working off his drug debt to the King and Queen?”
“I...” Riley frowned fiercely, thinking.
Tanya started to speak in English, then turned to Jacob Wolff.
“She believes that he was a teacher. He mentioned children that weren’t his, and how proud of them he was at times. And he was often working with papers and folders,” Wolff told them.
“Then we’ll know soon enough,” Craig said, rising. “Egan can get word out to the schools. We need to know what teachers don’t show for work tomorrow morning.”
“For now... Hell, it’s 1:00 a.m.,” Mike said. “And it’s been one hell of a long day!”
It had been. And now there was little they could do until morning came.
Egan was standing at the edge of the group. “We may be far off Broadway at the moment,” he said. “But, I’m feeling a bit of a Broadway tune playing in my head. ‘Tomorrow! Tomorrow, it’s only a day away.’ Let’s wrap up. Everyone get some sleep. Have some faith in our counterparts around the city. There are many shifts of cops and agents, all doing their best to keep the city safe, even though we all know it is one hell of a challenge most of the time. I don’t want to call Smyth or LeBlanc directly and possibly cause them difficulty at the moment, or to feel obliged to give away their position. But I did call my fellow supervising officer over at the US Marshals office to find out what’s going on with them. I can tell by the way Kieran is looking at me that she doesn’t intend to leave here until we know.”
“No, sir,” Kieran said.
“It is best if they’re back,” Craig agreed. “Did they discover anything?”
Egan nodded. “Yes and no. They followed the man with the newspaper home from the hospital. We have our people checking out the address—and everything that’s on record about the man. They called in reinforcements to watch him for any movement through the night. So they’ll be back here momentarily,” Egan told them.
“They’re excellent marshals,” Craig said to Kieran. “They’re on to something that was worth following up, but they’re going to be safe and they’ll be here soon.”
“Everyone else, go home,” Egan said. “Miss McDonnough, Miss Petrofskya, you two get some sleep. We have a small host of agents and officers just outside to keep guard.”
“I’ve got to get back out on the street,” Jacob said.
“No,” Egan told him.
“Pardon?” Wolff said. “Sir, not to disrespect your position, but I don’t work for—”
“I’ve spoken with your supervisor. Your entire setup has been compromised. It’s likely that you’re under suspicion. It’s time for someone else to go in.”
“But—”
“Detective Wolff, speak with your people, please. I truly have no authority over you,” Egan said. “But I do assume you are an invaluable asset as an officer, and preserving your life seems to make excellent sense to me.”
Wolff nodded grimly. “Yes, sir. I am quite fond of living.”
He glanced around the room, nodded a grim good-night to all, and then started out. He turned, looking at Egan. “Sir, I worked that area a long time. You will keep me informed?”
“Absolutely,” Egan promised.
Craig nodded, too.
He was pretty sure that Wolff wouldn’t let it all go; too many people had died over a long period of time. The King and Queen had created an empire, and they had been ruling—and killing—far too long.
Craig knew, too, that he wouldn’t have been able to just leave it all behind, either, were he in Wolff’s position.
Wolff almost smiled as he looked at Craig; maybe they had read one another’s minds. “Thanks for all your help, Jacob,” Craig told him.
“Watching you guys in action,” Danny interrupted enthusiastically, “was all very cool. This is an amazing group of people.”
“We’re so blessed!” Riley whispered.
Was that true? Was she feeling blessed? Craig wondered. There hadn’t been a thing—not a single thing—to suggest that Riley McDonnough was anything other than exactly what she appeared to be.
Craig looked at Kieran. “We’ll go just as soon as the marshals get here,” he said.
“Of course,” she agreed. But she was frowning, staring at him as though she was wondering what was going on in his mind.
He forced himself to smile. He didn’t want her—or anyone other than his partner and coworkers—to know about his suspicions at the moment.
She smiled back after a moment.
And then she suggested that she make tea—a great comfort for both the Irish and the Russian people, warm and delicious, and a wee bit more gentle than coffee as they waited.
Everyone agreed.
* * *
“So you like big butts and you cannot lie?” Kieran asked Craig.
They were lying together in their own bed. They should have been sleeping. However, it was impossible to turn off the adrenaline that had been sweeping through all of them that night by simply lying down. It had been easy, however, to fall into one another’s arms, to remember what was good in life, what was precious, and what always needed to be appreciated, lest it should be lost.
“I like perfect butts,” he told her, “like yours.”
“Ah, suddenly perfect,” she said.
“Frankly, I’m a toe man.”
“A toe man?”
“Indeed. And you have the most gorgeous toes I’ve ever seen.”
“Really? So you love the toes to make up for the butt?”
&
nbsp; “Perfect butt...perfect toes...”
“Perfect lines,” she said with a laugh.
“Perfect toes,” he repeated, shifting around in bed. He proceeded to plant light, teasing kisses on her toes.
And then on the arch of her foot.
Her ankles...calves...thighs...
A moment later, she was both laughing and writhing, and then her laughter faded. He was on top of her and in her. They rocked together, and she felt lightning exploding all around her.
She lay in his arms. She smiled.
The world could be so ugly, so horrible. And they each fought what was ugly and horrible, in their own way... It was simply a part of who they were.
And there was this. Heaven in his arms.
And the faith and knowledge that the world could be beautiful, too.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Craig liked large status-and-info boards.
There was one at the end of the conference room where they had all gathered, a task force meeting that would—from this initial sharing of what information they had—spread forth, with the police bringing info to their precincts, the FBI briefing all the NYC and environs agents, and the US Marshals sharing with any pertinent marshals and personnel, as well.
It started here.
They had the picture of Alexandra Callas, one of “Paco,” one of “Jimmy,” one of the girl who had bled to death in an alley five years earlier, and even one of Sister Teresa.
To the right, they had pictures of Riley McDonnough and Tanya Petrofskya.
The room was filled with those closest to the case: Richard Egan, Mike and Craig for the FBI; David Beard and Randy Holmes specifically for Brooklyn PD; and Larry McBride, Lance Kendall and Jacob Wolff for Major Case.
They were creating a baseline for what they knew, what they believed, and where certain clues might bring them. They were preparing to make sure that every officer in every agency in the city knew what they were up against—and just how long the King and Queen and their retinue had been active, turning the Great American Dream into dust.
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