Called to Protect

by Lynette Eason

  Chloe met Linc’s gaze and could see the concern there. She knew he was thinking the same thing she was.

  It was probably time for Blake to be pulled from having anything to do with the case.

  When she looked back at him, his glare singed her, then jumped to Linc. “Don’t even think about it. I’m not going off the deep end. I just think this is the best plan for now.”

  Chloe sighed. “Do you know how much paperwork this is going to require?”

  “A lot,” Linc said.

  “More than a lot,” she said. “How fast can it be done?”

  “After we get the judge on board, hopefully, fast.”

  Looked like they were going to find out.

  Blake stood in the den of the judge’s home and tried to read the man’s expression. It was dark and it was late and everyone just wanted to get some sleep, but Blake was running out of time.

  Ben finally walked to the fireplace and looked into the flames. The artfully arranged gas logs made a pretty picture. A direct contrast to the one Blake had just painted for the man. “They found your daughter and told you to kill me or they’ll kill her.”

  “That’s the sum of it. Yes. But since killing you for real is not an option, I need for you to simply play dead for a few days. At least until we catch these people.”

  “But you don’t know who these people are, do you?”

  “No. Not entirely. We do have some good leads that give us hope that we’ll get this wrapped up soon.”

  Chloe cleared her throat. “We do think it’s someone close to you. Someone who knows you well and is aware of your every move. So, if you agree to the plan, you’ll have to let everyone, including your wife, believe you’re dead.”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Not Lucy. I can’t let her believe that. And my children? No, not them either. But everyone else, fine. I don’t like it, but . . . fine.”

  Blake pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sir, if your wife knows you’re alive, she’s not going to respond appropriately. People will know.”

  “Then no. I won’t do it.”

  A yell welled in Blake’s throat. With effort, he swallowed it.

  “What about this,” Ben said. “What if Lucy knows the truth, but takes to her room and refuses to see anyone except the kids? Then she won’t have to put on an act and that’s probably what she would do anyway should I die.”

  “Not the kids,” Blake said. “Please. My getting Rachel back hinges on everyone believing you’re dead.”

  Ben’s gaze met his. “They’re not going to let her go,” he said softly.

  “I have to believe—and act—like they will. Not in the hopes that they’ll really release her, but with the intent of buying time so I can find her.”

  The man nodded. “I understand that. All right. For Rachel. But only for a couple of days.”

  “Thank you,” Blake whispered.

  The front door opened. “Mom? Dad?”

  “In here, Paula,” Ben called to his daughter.

  Paula stepped into the den, her purse swinging on her elbow. She was a truly striking woman. Her professional dress fit her to perfection and her makeup could have been done by an expert.

  “Wow. Do you ever get to be alone?” She raised a brow as she took in the scene.

  “No. Not right now.” He didn’t sound like he cared.

  She acknowledged each of them, then focused back on her father. “Good, I’m glad. After the shooting at the courthouse, you need people watching your back for sure.” She frowned. “Have you seen Stan?”

  “No, not lately. He called to check on me after the shooting, but hasn’t been by. Why?”

  “He was supposed to get me in to see an inmate and hasn’t gotten back to me.”

  “Who’s the inmate?”

  Paula waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. What’s the latest on the bill?”

  “You know the latest, Paula. There’s nothing else to report.”

  “Fine. Where’s Mom? I need to talk to her about that charity event she wants me to attend with her. I’m not sure I’ll be able to, but Stan said he’d go in my place.”

  “I don’t care which one of you goes, just as long as one of you does. I can’t. I’m not taking a chance on bringing danger to the people there.”

  Paula’s jaw tightened. “You think someone would actually do that?”

  “Why not? They shot at me in a busy courthouse.”

  “Yes, they did. You’re probably right. I get it, Dad, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  The judge sighed. “Check the sitting area in the bedroom. Last I saw her, she was curled up with a book.”

  “Thanks.” Paula nodded to them and headed down the hallway to her parents’ bedroom.

  Blake watched her go, then turned back to the judge. “Here’s what I have in mind.”

  20

  MONDAY MORNING

  The man in the recliner aimed the remote at the television and powered it off. So. It was done. Judge Benjamin Worthington had died of a heart attack in his sleep. According to the reporter, the man had told his wife he was feeling ill and went to take a nap. He never woke up. His family, friends, and coworkers were in shock.

  The marshal had done it.

  If it was true. But his source was infallible. When she’d called him crying to tell him, he almost hadn’t believed it. No, the judge was dead. Finally.

  Too bad Rachel MacCallum would never see her father again. But that was fine. The brat. He’d like to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her, but that would be cutting off his nose to spite his face.

  And that would be stupid.

  She’d served her purpose and now she’d bring him a very large profit. He debated whether he should just kill her and be done with it, but the lure of the money was too great. As much grief as she’d caused him, he might as well make a profit off her. The fact of her diabetes wouldn’t be an issue. He had a very special client in mind for her. He’d use her, then kill her. And he’d pay very handsomely to do so. So, Rachel would earn her keep and die in the process. It would all end well for him.

  He picked up the phone from the end table and speed-dialed his contact.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s done. Put her in the next auction and get rid of her.”

  “You got it.”

  He hung up and leaned back with a deep breath. The stress of the last few weeks rolled off his shoulders.

  “Who were you talking to?”

  He looked up. “No one, honey. No one important. Just a business deal that needed some attention.”

  She smiled. When he’d gone looking for this woman, it was that beautiful smile that had stunned him. Attracted him. Even the realization that he could have made a lot of money with her hadn’t motivated him to win her over. No, he’d had other plans in mind. Plans other than money.

  When she’d responded positively to his flirtations, he’d been gratified, though not necessarily surprised. Most women found him attractive. He held out a hand. “Come sit with me. We should plan our next trip.”

  “I’m just so tired.”

  “I know. Can I do anything to help?”

  “Yes.” She curled her arms around his neck. “Just hold me.”

  He kissed her. “Italy?”

  “Or France.”

  “Or both.”

  She smiled at him, then leaned over and nuzzled his neck. “Mm. Yes. Both.” A sigh slipped from her. “Thank you for understanding. What would I do without you?”

  He’d keep her.

  For now.

  Two hours ago, one of the captors had come into the room leading two women wearing ski masks and carrying large bags. “All right, everyone, listen up. Today is the big day. Thelma and Louise here are going to help you get ready for it. Thelma is in the red mask, Louise is in the blue. Thelma is hair and wardrobe, Louise is everything else. You’ll be assigned outfits and makeup. From lingerie and dresses to heels to makeup to jewelry. You w
ill look perfect in every way. Classy, not cheap. Is that understood?”

  Even though her stomach was in knots, Rachel raised a brow and met his gaze. This was the man who’d snatched her from the store and from the edge of safety. He’d worn the ski mask in the store just like he wore one now, so she had no way of knowing who he was or what he looked like and she didn’t recognize his voice. But she’d know those eyes anywhere. “Thelma and Louise? Let’s hope so.”

  He scowled. “Not their real names. Can’t take any chances now, can we, Houdini?”

  Rachel snapped her lips shut. No need to antagonize the man. She’d been scared to death when she’d heard him talking to her father about “punishing” her, but he’d simply hung up the phone and stared at her before spraying her again.

  He turned away and began his leisurely pace in front of the cages once more. “So, how many of you enjoy the beach?”

  Silence.

  “I said, how many of you enjoy the beach! Do you enjoy the beach? Answer the question!”

  “Yes!” They answered in unison.

  “Good, because we’ve got about a two-hour ride today. If you’re good and cooperate, I might let you take a little walk in the sand. Would anyone like that?”

  A few staggered yeses echoed in the cement room.

  “I thought so. Now. Here are the rules. We’ll be using a large cargo van. You will sit on the floor. You will not attempt to look out the back windows. You will not attempt to escape.” His eyes locked on Rachel. “If you do, you will die and your family will die. You don’t need to bother to think, you just need to follow orders. It’s really that simple. Understood?”

  He waited until she nodded with the others.

  Keeping his eyes on hers, he said, “There’s no one coming to rescue you, there’s no Superman in Columbia, no knight on a white horse. It’s just us. So, get hope out of your system and replace it with acceptance. It’s the best way to stay alive and survive. There. That’s my advice. I suggest you take it. Understood?”

  Even though fury burned with every pulse of her heart, Rachel forced her face not to reflect it. She gave another slow nod along with the other girls. Seemingly satisfied, if slightly surprised, with her docile response, he tilted his head toward Thelma and Louise. “Get to work, ladies.”

  Sitting in the conference room of the FBI office once more, Chloe pushed the auction flyer across the table to Linc. Blake sat next to him. The other task force agents leaned in. “I think this whole auction thing is some kind of cover-up.”

  “It’s an art auction,” Linc said. “A real auction. People are coming from all over to buy paintings. And now that Ethan Wright is dead, his paintings are going to go for top dollar.”

  “I know. I think the auction is on the up-and-up. Mostly. I just think there’s another facet and it’s connected to the human trafficking ring somehow.”

  “Okay.” He leaned back. “Connected how?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going on instinct. Did they find anything at Ethan’s house?”

  “Nothing that would lead us to where they’re keeping the girls. Why?”

  “Just curious.” She frowned, her brain going faster than she could keep up with. When the meeting ended, Chloe blinked and realized she’d missed the end of it. About to ask Blake to fill her in, she snapped her lips shut when everyone stood and started to file out of the room.

  Blake placed a hand on her arm. “I’m on Alessandro Russo duty today. The judge is covered with undercover officers posing as friends of the family. News crews got aerial footage of his ‘body’ being put into the back of the coroner’s vehicle and taken to the morgue. It looks good, but we’re going to have to move fast.”

  “What’s our next step? I missed it.”

  “Jo and I are going to focus on Russo and—”

  Her phone buzzed. “Hold that thought,” she told him, then lifted her phone. “Hello?”

  “Need you and Hank on a traffic stop. Drugs suspected.”

  “Address?”

  The dispatcher passed it along to her and she wrote it down on the pad still on the conference table. “Got it. ETA is about ten minutes.”

  “I’ll let the officer know.”

  Chloe hung up. “I’ve got to go. Keep me updated.”

  “I will. You do the same.”

  She nodded, clicked to Hank, and they headed for her vehicle.

  Nine minutes later, she pulled to a stop behind two state troopers and a woman wearing a tank top and gym shorts in the fifty-degree weather. Chloe guessed the drugs were probably in the car and not on the woman.

  Although, she’d been surprised before.

  A man in his late twenties leaned against the car, his wrists cuffed behind him. Chloe left her red lights turning and climbed out.

  When she had Hank beside her, she approached the others. The two state troopers were good buddies of Brady’s. “Hi guys, what do we have?”

  “Not sure. That’s what Hank’s going to tell us.”

  Chloe nodded and walked the dog over to the vehicle.

  “Hey, there’s nothing in there,” the woman said. “You’re, like, violating our rights or something. I want a lawyer.”

  Chloe raised a brow. The trooper nearest her, James Kincaid, held up a baggie that contained a joint. “Was in her right front pocket.”

  “Gotcha.” She looked at the woman. “Probable cause. No rights violated.”

  “It’s just one joint,” the woman said. “That’s it. There’s nothing else.”

  Chloe scratched Hank’s ears. “Hank, find the dope.”

  The dog went to work and in short order found an entire stash of joints and wads of cash in a hidden compartment in the trunk.

  “Wow,” Chloe said. “Looks like your instincts were right on. Probably five or ten grand there. Plus whatever the drugs are worth.”

  “Yep. Nice work, Chloe. Good job, Hank.” James rubbed the dog’s head and Chloe handed him his toy after she put him in his area of the vehicle.

  Once the troopers had cleared out with their prisoners, Chloe sat on the side of the road thinking.

  The auction was still niggling in the back of her mind. What was it? Something she’d seen. Something that she couldn’t put her finger on but needed to.

  She sighed. It would come to her. In the meantime, she had an idea she wanted to check out.

  Fifteen minutes later, she pulled in front of the art museum where Ethan Wright’s work was being showcased. The auction was to be held later this evening, but already people were there, eager to pick out which painting they planned to bid on. Chloe turned to Hank. “You get to stay here, my friend.” She poured water into his bowl and scratched his ears. “I won’t be long.”

  She went to the back of the vehicle and grabbed her “go bag.” Never sure where she would be from one moment to the next, she always carried several changes of clothing with her. In the bathroom of the restaurant across the street, she changed into khaki slacks, a pale pink shirt, and white blazer to hide her weapon she now sheathed in the shoulder holster.

  Stashing her bag back in the vehicle, she paused a moment. What was bugging her? As she glanced at a car that had parked several spaces away, a flash blipped across the screen of her mind. She’d seen that car somewhere before. It wasn’t exactly a popular model in Columbia. Only the very wealthy or the deeply in debt could afford a Mercedes like that. So. Where had she seen it?

  The security footage of the SUV in the parking garage. The guy in the sedan. It was just like the one that had pulled to a stop in the parking garage. The driver and Ethan Wright had had a conversation. He’d asked for directions. There’d been a background check on him and it’d been clean. The details were coming back to her. His name was Atkinson, maybe? She snapped a picture of the car.

  She stepped inside the building and simply wandered for a few moments, getting the feel for the place. Wright’s paintings were prominently displayed just as she’d figured they would be.

  She appr
oached the first painting. “Number 7,” she said and glanced at the man standing next to her. “What’s the process for bidding on one of these?”

  His eyes raked her, then narrowed. “There’s an app. Download it.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “It’s under the name of the museum.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured. She continued her stroll, wanting to get away from his eyes. If she had to be in his presence too often, she’d like to do a background check on him. With a grimace, she ignored him and continued looking at each painting, taking in the details, the sheer talent. “Amazing,” she whispered.

  “I know,” a voice said behind her. “I can’t believe he’s gone. And just as he was about to break through into the big time. Such a shame.”

  Chloe turned to find a woman in her late twenties gazing at the picture. “Take that one,” she said. “The waves are angry, lashing out at the shore, frothing and writhing in fury. It’s one of his darker ones and I can’t help but wonder what was going through his head at the time he painted it.”

  “You knew him?”

  “In passing. I have some of my art on display here as well.” She frowned.

  “What is it?”

  She gave a light shrug. “Nothing really. Ethan was an odd one. He had so much talent, but it was like he didn’t really care.”

  Because he was making more money in the human trafficking arena?

  “Did he ever say why he didn’t care?” Chloe asked.

  “No. And I could be wrong. We didn’t talk that much. He would show up for the shows and be all charming and sell most of his stuff, then he’d just disappear until the next show.”

  “And that’s unusual?”

  “Very. Artists aren’t like most people. We’re just wired different. Which is why we like to hang out with others who are wired the same way. Usually, we meet once or twice a week to work or talk about the latest artistic medium, get feedback on a painting, whatever. Ethan wasn’t ever interested in being a part of the group.”

  “Maybe he just didn’t need that like others.”

  “Maybe. Then again, I know he spent a lot of time in Charleston. His uncle has a huge party yacht docked at one of the ports. I always hoped Ethan would issue an invitation, but he never did.”