The Fugitive's Secret Child

by Geri Krotow

  “Do we grab them now, or at the club later?”

  “Later. Monitor the situation and make sure we have names.”

  “I don’t know their names. Not all of them.” Rob thought he knew that voice, too—

  Minsky. There were two of them, then. Manageable. He wasted no time on wondering how Vasin’s number two henchman was here when he was supposed to be in jail. The intel reports had said Vasin was free but didn’t mention Minsky, so he’d probably never been caught the other day. Both men would recognize him, so Rob quickly entered a stall and shut the door. It cut against his instinct to linger in the restroom. He wanted to be out in the parking lot with Trina. Of course Trina could handle herself and any jerks who came along, but it didn’t stop his protectiveness from clanging alarm bells.

  “They used to be good girls. Did their jobs. Got regular jobs later. Now everyone wants to save all the victims.” Minsky’s sneer when he said “victims” pretty much summed up the attitude of ROC toward any suffering on the part of their captives. For ROC, it was all about the bottom line. Cash trumped women trafficked for sex, as well as the fates of the inner cities where their smuggled weapons and drugs were sold. Anger simmered in Rob. Vasin’s operations had reached its venomous tentacles into Silver Valley. The town where the mother of his child had chosen to raise their son.

  He couldn’t act yet, though. It was best to wait out these two ROC bad guys and catch them in the act of trying to kidnap the girls again, or as they assaulted them at the club, arrest them on the spot. As soon as he heard them depart through the shower room, he left the restroom and made a beeline for the exit. Trina was still out at their spot, and he wasn’t about to trust the other couple from church with her safety.

  Rob had to know Trina was safe.

  * * *

  “How many women actually trust us enough to take some of the food?” Trina spoke to Binnie and Chuck, the seniors who were pulling the outreach shift with her and Rob. Carl had stopped by earlier to check on things but left the evening shift to his fellow church goers.

  “They never come up to me if Binnie has to run into the restroom, or get a snack.” Chuck looked bewildered, as if he took it personally.

  “That’s because they’re scared, sweetie.” Binnie patted her husband’s knee and lowered her voice for Trina. “He forgets his hearing aids and then shouts and it scares the truckers, let alone the ladies. It’s no wonder they won’t come up to him.”

  Trina loved this couple, and she only knew them peripherally from Silver Valley Community Church. She liked to think it was how she’d be with her partner one day. Two peas in a pod.

  “Where’s your young fellow?” Chuck leaned around his wife, speaking in a modulated tone as if to deny what Binnie had just said.

  “He went in to get something to drink.” Trina noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see two young women approach the table. They walked with their heads down, eyes averted from Trina but definitely focused on the sandwiches in wax paper and the plastic-wrapped baked goods.

  “Help yourselves. Our volunteers baked the goodies and the truck stop provides the sandwiches.” Trina spoke up.

  They said nothing but each took a sandwich and a couple of cookies.

  “Thanks.” The mumbled word was accented and Trina instinctively knew it was Russian.

  “Are you thirsty? There’s cold soda and water here.” She opened the cover of the cooler that the truck stop filled with donated ice and beverages.

  As the women bent over the cooler and reached in for their drink, Trina saw that one of them whose hair was pulled back in a high ponytail had a tattoo of what looked like a crescent moon. The symbol was just behind her left ear. The girl straightened quickly and met Trina’s eyes. Caught.

  “Nice tat.” Trina kept it easy, not wanting to spook them. Drawing out a potential witness wasn’t easy and required the patience of someone far saintlier than her, but she had to give it a try.

  “She likes my sickle.” The girl spoke in rapid-fire Russian to the other girl. A sickle. Of course. Not the moon. Was it a symbol of their native land for them? That didn’t make sense, not when Ukraine had split from the former Soviet Union. The girls had all been shipped in from Ukraine, if the Trail Hikers intelligence reports were accurate. ROC had branded them with these tattoos.

  Trina played ignorant, tilted her head in interest. “It’s a crescent moon, right? I love anything to do with the sun, stars or moon.”

  “I have one, too.” The second girl spoke better English and lifted the fall of her black hair to show Trina her tattoo. This time Trina made out the thin hammer that sliced through the sickle’s center. It had to be linked to ROC. There were so many tattoos with each factor of the criminal organization that she didn’t have a chance to know all of them.

  “Are you sisters or best friends? Is that why you have the same tattoo?” Trina silently prayed they’d open up. She noticed that Binnie and Chuck were being quiet, watching her interaction.

  Both girls laughed. Not the silly adolescent giggles they deserved to enjoy but harsh barks that only the jaded were capable of.

  “Tell her we’re sisters. It’s okay.” Again, the quick Russian meant to be under the radar.

  “Oxana and I are sisters, all right.” The young woman rolled her eyes. “I have to keep her out of trouble.”

  “What’s your name? I’m Trina, by the way.”

  “Ekaterina.”

  “That’s so similar to my name, you know.” Trina saw they were losing interest as their eyes shifted past her and back over their shoulders toward the long row of trucks parked for either a short rest or the night. Trina imagined it didn’t matter how long any of the truckers were here as the women made their money and moved on to the next client. It was almost hard to believe something so dark and lurid went on in the truck cabins as the blaze of the summer sunset in Silver Valley lit up the sky with fuchsia and lavender streaks.

  Keep them talking.

  She opened her mouth to ask where they were from, in a very open, curious American way. She saw Oxana’s mouth drop open at the same time she dropped her food onto the gravel lot and screamed.

  Trina twisted to see two burly men bearing down on the young women, their faces intent.

  “Come now. No fight or you will regret it.” The taller of the two men spoke in Russian. Their faces were obscured by the brims of their hats, but Trina knew the voice of the man she’d failed to apprehend in the Poconos. Vasin.

  The men were only strides from the girls. Trina was certain they were underage, and since they each had the tattoos that might indicate the gang who’d sold them, she wasn’t about to watch them be taken in by ROC.

  “Call the police.” She spoke directly to Binnie and Chuck before she leaped over the table and ran after the group of four. The girls bolted for the safety of the parked trucks, which would give them a place to hide and stall their attackers. The men were fast for being so beefy, and they ran right behind the girls, their dark shoes spitting up gravel. Trina closed in on them, fists pumping. As the girls slid between two long trailers, the men heard Trina and stopped in their tracks. She saw them each reach for a weapon—one a pistol, the other a knife—as they turned around to face her.

  Adrenaline pumped through her, and she sucked in deep breaths to stay steady, focused. As long as these brutes were looking at her, the girls had a fighting chance to get away.

  * * *

  Rob walked out to the outreach table, and when he saw Trina’s empty seat, Chuck and Binnie excitedly moving their arms, and Binnie with a cell phone to her ear, his stomach lurched.

  “She went that way! Two men are chasing the girls!” Chuck’s septuagenarian voice was surprisingly strong.

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Yes. Go get her!” Chuck’s concern was palpable.

  A
nd more justified than he could imagine. Rob ran out into the lot that served as the truck rest stop and saw Trina’s slim figure standing approximately two hundred yards away, her legs in a wide stance and her arms up in front of her. She aimed her pistol at Vasin and Minsky, as Rob would expect. Trina was a warrior.

  What made his mental warning alarm clamor like an air raid siren was the sight of each man holding a lethal weapon. Vasin held a Beretta in one hand, shouting something Rob couldn’t hear over the continuous purr of the parked trucks as they ran air-conditioning in the summer heat. Minsky held a blade, its surface reflecting the streetlamps that had begun to flicker in the waning light.

  Rob had seconds to figure out how to save Trina’s life. Because while she’d had the Trail Hikers indoc, Trina was at heart a US marshal. She wasn’t going to go home until she had these criminals in cuffs. She’d never cut her losses and run away.

  The rumble of a Mack truck engine broke through his concentration, and he ran in front of an eighteen-wheeler preparing to leave the rest area. He waved his arms and flashed a badge—also that of a US marshal, like Trina’s, as it made a great front for both of them as they worked as undercover Trail Hikers. The truck’s brakes engaged with a hydraulic groan and the cab lurched to a stop. Wasting no time, Rob reached up and opened the driver’s door. “US marshal. I need your vehicle. Please get out.”

  “What about my dog?” The female driver pointed to a large pit bull in the passenger seat.

  “He friendly?”

  “If I tell him to be.” She grinned.

  “Best take him with you.” Rob didn’t want to put any civilians at risk, human or canine.

  “You’re going for those jerks messing with that woman over there? Keep Rosie with you. In case you need backup.” The woman slid out of the seat and Rob jumped in.

  “Clear the area, ma’am.” The woman backed away from the rig, her eyes wary as she probably just realized she’d given a supposed US marshal her superb piece of machinery, her entire livelihood. As well as her dog.

  Rob slammed the door shut and immediately shifted into gear, turning the wheel to be able to bear down on the trio of armed adversaries. “Hang on, Rosie.” The dog let out an enthusiastic bark from the passenger seat.

  His hands gripped the wheel and he drove straight ahead, picking up speed but retaining control. But no matter how controlled, how well executed, the next several seconds were, he couldn’t escape the reality of what was at stake. One wrong move and Trina would be dead.

  * * *

  Trina heard the motor approach and didn’t flinch. She needed only a split second, maybe one full heartbeat, of distraction on the part of these losers. The full beam of headlights hit the eyes of the guy holding the knife, and when he squinted she quickly kicked the knife out of his hand. He swore in Russian, bent over and cradling the hand she’d made contact with. She turned and aimed her weapon at Vasin.

  “Drop your weapon or you’re both dead.” She’d take out Vasin first, since he still held his pistol, but she was prepared to shoot his accomplice, too, if need be.

  Vasin grinned malevolently before he turned and took off between the rows of distribution trucks. Trina couldn’t risk a shot with so many civilians around and the possibility of a bullet ricocheting into a trailer or worse, an occupied cab. The majority of the cabs were sleepers, and the drivers slept on bunks in the back. Vasin knew this, of course. She’d have to secure the knife dude and then go after Vasin.

  “Stand up. Turn around.” The thug grunted at her but didn’t move from his hunched position. Familiar steps on the gravel behind her were followed by a sense of security she’d never experienced once she saw their source.

  Rob.

  “You heard her. Turn around and put your hands up. I will shoot.”

  The thug lifted his arms and turned. Trina went cuffed him. He swore in Russian that she was hurting him.

  “Stop being so melodramatic.” She pushed him toward the front of the lot, away from the trucks.

  “That’s right, Minsky. Get ready to dish it all to the cops. As you can see, Vasin didn’t hang around to save you, did he?” Rob said in Russian.

  The high pitch of sirens filled the night as several SVPD vehicles arrived on scene, followed by an ambulance.

  She looked at Rob. “I had Binnie and Chuck call them in.” She wished they’d be able to get all the girls out of the club, off the streets, safe from the horrors of a trafficked life. But that was a job, on a more regular basis, for other law enforcement agency like FBI and ICE. Trina was grateful to help even two of the girls. She secretly hoped she’d be asked to help rescue more of the women, though. Maybe TH would call her to.

  “Good work. You want to read him his rights?”

  “No.” She nodded at a Silver Valley PD officer who approached. “Hey, Nika. I’ve got this guy cuffed, and he needs his rights read.”

  “Sure thing, Trina.” Trina had worked with Officer Nika Pasczenko on a few cases, and they’d hit it off. Nika had promised to take her and Jake kayaking now that Trina lived in Silver Valley.

  She walked over to Rob, who was briefing Chief Todd. The chief assessed her with sharp eyes. “You okay, Marshal Lopez?”

  “Yes, thanks. I appreciate your officers coming in and cleaning up. There’s still one on the loose, and I have no idea where the girls went. I’m going to search the trailer lot now.”

  Colt nodded. He was fully briefed on all TH ops in the area that could involve his department, so he didn’t ask any questions. He knew the deal—all TH ops were need-to-know only. And a lot of his officers had no idea about the Trail Hikers’ existence, so it wasn’t something they could discuss in such a public place.

  “You’ll get it done, you two.” As the chief walked away, Trina looked at Rob. And it hit her that she would do whatever it took to keep him here with her. Behind her. Having her back.

  Even risk her heart. Again.

  “We’re going to need to split up.” At his shocked expression, she quickly added, “No, not us. I mean break the surveillance of the lot up amongst all of the LEA here, including us.”

  “Right.” Relief registered on his face before he said more. “As much as I hate it, you’re correct. I’ll stay out here, in the truck I just drove. I’m sure the owner won’t mind if I tell her it’s for everyone’s safety. You head toward the rear of the lot. We’ll have a better chance if we can see two levels of activity.” Rob’s response reassured her. Everything about him, about them as a couple, as Jake’s parents, made sense to her.

  “What?” Rob must have seen what was in her heart.

  “I love you, Rob.”

  “I know. I love you, too.” He pulled her against him at the same moment she lunged for him. The kiss was hard and fast, the promise of their future in the warmth of his lips on hers. He lifted his head a half inch. “Now let’s go get the bad guy.”

  When he let her go he swatted her butt, and Trina smiled.

  They’d survive this and they’d go back home. Together.

  * * *

  Trina waited in the field beyond the paved lot, no more than a hundred feet from where the nearest trailer rested. It seemed peaceful, the hum of the engines to support the electrical systems in the truck cabs, the vast majority of which were privately owned and came complete with bunks behind the seats, where the truckers took their overnights. In the ninety-degree night, air-conditioning was a must. It was a safety precaution, too, as the truckers had to keep their windows up and doors locked while they slept. Many had dogs, like the woman Rob had borrowed the truck from. That had been brilliant on his part. Trina wondered if she would have thought that quickly. She was a well-trained and experienced marshal, but still a newbie as far as the Trail Hikers went.

  She’d grabbed a pair of night-vision goggles from Nika and used them to check underneath the trailers, between the large truck tir
es. A slight movement caught her attention, near a large fuel trailer. The cylindrical carrier had pulled in within the last few minutes and parked on the far edge of the lot, nearest to her. As she watched, the driver seemed to drop from view. One second he’d been sitting behind the wheel of his cab; the next the spot looked vacant. As she watched, her heart hammered in her chest; her instincts told her to run to the truck and see what was going on. Her training made her wait. It paid off when she identified the silhouette of one woman, and then another, as they climbed into the truck cab. They each disappeared, and one more figure appeared in the driver’s seat.

  Vasin.

  Trina spoke to Rob on her headset, standard gear that she carried in a small fanny pack, as she ran in, weapon drawn. “It’s him. He’s got the two girls who stopped for food in the oil tanker on the far side of the parking lot. I think he may have shot the driver.”

  “Do not go in alone. I’m driving around.” She saw the headlights of the truck Rob drove in the distance, saw the truck move toward her.

  “I’ll wait for you.” She ran to the back of the oil carrier, careful to stay low and out of the reflection of the rearview mirrors. To her dismay the truck began to move.

  No, no, no! She ran faster, and calculated how many tires she’d have to blow out to stop it. Impossible.

  The truck increased speed too quickly. Vasin was getting the hell out. No way was Trina going to let him get away with this. The girls had to be scared out of their minds. They couldn’t defend themselves, not against Vasin’s physicality or his weapon.

  Vasin put the vehicle into the wide turn it needed to leave the truck stop and head out onto the main highway. Trina didn’t think but instead relied on pure instinct. She shoved her weapon into its holster as she ran. She closed the distance between herself and the back of the tanker, willing her legs to move faster, faster. As she came within an arm’s reach, she tried to grab for the ladder that went to the top of the round end, but the truck was picking up speed, widening the distance between rescuing the girls and their certain death.