He dragged both hands through his hair before squashing the paper cup and tossing it toward the wastebasket in the office he’d commandeered at the county sheriff’s department. A part of him had wanted to stay put inside the city precinct but he knew better than to stay where he wasn’t welcome. And the detectives had made it more than clear he didn’t belong there. Not that he could blame them for feeling betrayed.
He rocked back in his chair and closed his eyes. Though exhausted, he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. Not until he found Dani’s killer. It might have been Franklin but until he was sure he wasn’t going to stop looking. For now he kept coming up empty-handed, and frustration beat at him in the form of a relentless migraine.
Hunt had spent the last eighteen hours out from undercover interviewing every cop who’d ever worked under the lieutenant and meeting a wall of silence. No one wanted to believe their commanding officer could be guilty of any crime much less such a heinous crime as human trafficking.
And when he wasn’t digging into Franklin’s past he was thinking about Carley. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d been tempted to call her. Had even driven by the hotel and been surprised to see her car still in the parking lot. He’d thought she’d leave but maybe she was waiting to hear from him. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to go anywhere until she knew her sister’s killer had been found. He couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same thing.
“Chandler, there’s a Dave Polponia here to see you.”
Hunt’s chair hit the floor with a loud thump and he swiveled to face the rookie agent who’d joined his team less than twenty-four hours ago. Damn. He might have known Dave wouldn’t be willing to just walk way. “Is he in the conference room?”
“No, sir. He’s still in the waiting area.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Hunt got to his feet slowly, dreading the next confrontation.
When the truth had been revealed, Dave had taken it personally. It hadn’t surprised Hunt. Dave had put his neck on the chopping block by keeping quiet about Carley only to discover Hunt had been lying to him about his identity.
Though Hunt had tried to talk to him, to explain why he’d had to maintain cover, Dave had merely walked away, but not before telling him to go to hell.
Steeling himself for a confrontation he didn’t have time for, Hunt snagged his suit coat from the back of his chair and shoved his arms into the sleeves. Straightening the knot in his tie, he took several cleansing breaths before heading to the interrogation room.
The glass walls provided him an easy view of Dave, who sat slumped over in the upholstered chair, his hands wrapped around a cup of what Hunt knew to be lousy coffee.
He opened the door and Dave flicked a glance upward. “Hunt.” The acknowledgment in Dave’s voice was clipped, unwelcoming.
Tugging a chair away from the scarred rectangular table, Hunt sat, stretching his legs out in front of him. He laced his fingers over his stomach and looked at his former partner, waiting for him to speak.
Dave tore off a piece of the paper cup. “Nothing to say?”
“You came to see me. Thought you might be the one with something to say.”
A short laugh broke from Dave’s throat. “Yeah. I guess so.” He reached into the front pocket of his shirt and brought out a folded piece of paper. “I didn’t want to believe what you said about Franklin. Honestly, I thought you just had a hard-on for the guy.”
Hunt placed his palms on the glossy tabletop. “I wouldn’t have wasted my time.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know what you were spending your time doing. I thought you were there because you were supposed to be there.”
“I was.”
Dave fixed him with a bleary-eyed glare. “You know what I mean.”
Lack of sleep combined with too little information had stretched Hunt’s patience. “Why are you here, Dave? Because if you came just to bitch about how I lied to you it’ll have to wait. I’m a little busy right now.”
“Yeah, I figured that.” Dave picked up a black bag from the floor and plopped it on the table. “I also figured you might want to see this.” As he unzipped the bag, Hunt leaned forward.
“What is it?”
“A laptop that was found at Franklin’s house.”
“That should have been in FBI custody.”
“Yeah, well, this one sort of left with me.”
“You took evidence from a crime scene?” Hunt could only stare at his partner. Dave wasn’t usually one to blatantly disregard the rules.
“Yes, I did, and if you say it a little louder I could probably lose my badge.”
Hunt stared at the laptop while Dave turned it on. “Why? What made you take it?”
“Because you’re not the only one who wants answers. I figured I’d start with something I could work on myself, and while you and Captain Apain were in a pissing match I took the first thing I could get my hands on that looked promising. It was underneath his desk in his office. How many people do you know who keep their laptops underneath their desks?”
“None.” Hunt still couldn’t wrap his head around Dave’s impetuous behavior. He got to his feet and walked to stand behind his partner, looking at the screen over his shoulder. “So what did you find?”
“How about a list of dates and times? A merchandise list with hair color, eye color and height and weight. Paid invoices totalling over two million and an interoffice memo,” he snorted, “between Franklin and someone with the initials R.A.B. I couldn’t find his or her name anywhere else. I don’t even want to tell you what I’m thinking all this means.”
Hunt scanned the memo. It revealed little other than disappointment over the fiasco with the blonde. Still, the words chilled his blood. The fiasco had to be referring to Carley’s sister.
“Okay, actually, I do want to tell you. I could be mistaken being as I’m only a cop and all, and I’m certainly hoping I’m mistaken, but these might be sale dates.” He held up one bony hand. “Which, I gotta tell you, shares the shit out of me. I mean, this is some serious shit here. So anyway I’m guessing this laptop belongs to the head honcho, and Franklin absconded with it for some insurance. Unfortunately for him, he needed a bodyguard more than insurance.”
“I’m going to pass this over to my tech guys, see if they can trace the IP address. Maybe they can find out who this R.A.B. is.”
“There are some notes in Franklin’s documents and he mentions R.A.B.’s luscious breasts. You know this could just be me, and I admit I don’t know much being as I’m just a cop—”
“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“You mean all the lies? No. Can’t see that happening.”
“I was undercover. Lying is part of the business.”
Dave shrugged. “As I was saying, I’m guessing the person in charge of whatever is going on here is a woman.”
Hunt leaned back in the chair, studied the laptop screen for several long seconds. He hadn’t considered the possibility of a woman running the ring, probably because he couldn’t imagine it, didn’t want to imagine it. Why would a woman sell other women as sex slaves? It just didn’t make sense. But he wasn’t a profiler so it was entirely possible he was missing something psychological.
With a click of the mouse, he returned to the merchandise list. “That list of dates, they were for the auctions.”
Dave stared back at him. “Auctions. You’re telling me those woman are really being sold?”
Hunt knew the revulsion he’d felt when he’d first been tasked with the assignment so he couldn’t blame Dave for feeling the same. “Yeah. That’s what I’m telling you.”
“I thought when you said Franklin had kidnapped women that you meant it was for ransom or some shit like that.” He got to his feet, swiped a hand across the back of his mouth. “You’re really talking about human trafficking?”
Hunt nodded and hoped Dave was smart enough to sit down before he collapsed, because his skin had gone a pasty white. “Yeah. Sorry. I
know this is hard to hear.”
Dave held up one hand. “Well you’ve had a bit more time to digest it than I have.”
“Take all the time you need.” Hunt scooped the laptop from the table and got to his feet. “Thanks for this. I owe you.” Hunt was halfway out the door when Dave intersected him.
“That’s it? We’ve been partners for over six months now and suddenly it’s okay to shut me out because I’m not part of the FBI? I served under Franklin’s command, Hunt. That bastard used me too. Shouldn’t that be worth something, enough to let me in?”
Shutting out the still, small voice that told him he was breaking the rules again, Hunt lowered his voice. “This isn’t my call. The deputy director of the FBI is on his way here. He was supposed to be here hours ago but he got delayed. So any second he could walk through that door and the last thing he’s going to want to see is me working with a member of Franklin’s squad.”
“Former member, and I didn’t know jack shit about what the man was up to when he went home.” Dave sucked in a sharp breath and stood his ground. “Look, man, I know you were just doing your job, but I do think I got to know you well enough. You’re a stand-up guy and if you were in my shoes you’d want to be involved too. You’ve got to let me help.”
Shit. Everything Dave had said was true. He’d be just as pissed if he were the one getting shut out. And Dave had gone out on a limb by bringing this information to him. Even to the director that had to count for something.
“I can’t promise anything, at least, not once Baulding finds out.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Hunt figured that would be his answer. He jerked his head toward the room they’d just vacated. “Wait in there. And try not to look too paranoid.”
Dave slipped back into the room and closed the door behind him.
“Agent Chandler.”
Hunt would recognize that booming voice anywhere. Deputy Director Ryan Baulding, a tall, broad-shouldered man with wiry black hair and a runner’s build, approached him, or stormed toward him, rather.
“Yes, sir.” He turned to acknowledge his superior’s presence.
“Let’s talk.” Director Baulding continued walking, expecting Hunt to fall into step beside him.
Yeah, he’d seen that one coming already. Hunt remained silent while walking alongside his boss. Nothing he could say would diminish the man’s anger anyway, and Baulding had every right to be pissed off at him. When Hunt broke cover, he knew he was taking a risk and here came the consequences.
The same rookie agent who’d escorted Dave in came rushing toward them. “Agent Chandler, there’s a call for you. It’s a nurse at St. Francis Hospital. She says it’s urgent.”
Chapter Twelve
Carley woke to pain—pain in her neck, wrists, her ankles, her spine, everywhere. Her lips were cracked and when she licked them she tasted her own blood.
Fatigue cloaked her, and as she raised her head to survey her surroundings she realized her hands and feet were chained to the wall—an unyielding stone wall with little room for movement—and she wore only her bra and panties.
A rustling sound drew her attention though she could see little in the darkness. From the dampness of the air she surmised she was in a basement, odd considering few homes in Charleston had basements. No doubt the noises were from rats. She shivered a little at that thought.
“You shouldn’t fight against the chains.”
The whispered voice snapped her head up. “Who’s there?”
Murmured pleas for silence followed. How many women were in the room? Had she found the ones Hunt and his team had been looking for? Her heart tapped out a loud rhythm against her breastbone.
“Please. You have to talk to me. Where are we? What are we doing here?”
“Be quiet. If she hears us talking things will only be worse for you.” This from the same urgent voice she’d already heard.
Carley tried to lift herself up to ease some of the pressure of the metal cuffs biting into her wrists but she had no leverage. Whoever had taken her had secured her well. Or perhaps the other women had done it.
“Listen to me. The FBI knows about what’s going on. Agents are looking for you right now.”
The rustling intensified and scuffling footsteps drew closer. “They won’t find us. No one will. Dani kept telling us we were going to be safe but then Frankie took her and she didn’t return. He told us she’d drowned.”
The words were a kick in the stomach. The complete and utter hopelessness she heard in the woman’s voice robbed her of speech for a moment. She stared into the darkness, waiting for another sign of life.
As the figure approached, Carley got a good long look at the woman. Naked and dirty, she looked like she hadn’t slept in months. Thin, stringy blonde hair framed a gaunt face with sunken cheeks. Watery hazel eyes peered up at her, and when she reached up her matchstick-thin arms brought a gasp to Carley’s lips.
The woman grunted. “We don’t get fed much.”
Her head swam. This wasn’t what was supposed to be happening. The women were supposed to be sold as sex slaves, weren’t they? Why would they be kept like this?
“Why are you here? Has Frankie told you that?” Her brain still fuzzy, she shook her head.
A loud clank sounded much like a metal bowl hitting rock. “Will you just stop asking so many questions? These people have ears everywhere.” This voice was different, much angrier, more threatening.
But Carley pressed on. “Why am I chained and the rest of you aren’t?”
The blonde swiped her hair away from her face with grimy hands. “Because we aren’t a threat to them. When those men brought you in here they said you was trouble.”
Someone spat on the ground, the sound enough to make Carley’s stomach roll. “Now we’re just wondering why you ain’t dead already if you’re as much trouble as they think you are.”
“What does Frankie look like?” Carley’s throat was so dry she could barely force the words out.
The whispered description confirmed her suspicions. “Frankie isn’t back because he’s dead. He was a cop, Lieutenant Darrell Franklin.” Her head throbbed. She only wanted to close her eyes and rest for a moment but her fuzzy instincts protested, warning her to try to focus. It might be her only chance at survival.
“Before I was taken I heard a voice…a woman. Have you seen her?”
“We’ve all seen her, but we ain’t supposed to talk about her.”
A woman was behind all of this? How bitter would she have to be to sell other women into slavery? Carley breathed a little easier now that she could think. What had her father always told her about precarious situations?
There was always a way out. It might not always be easy to find the escape route but it was there. And as long as you have breath in your body, you keep going.
Well there was one thing she knew for sure. Hanging around with women scared out of their wits wasn’t going to get her out of here. Time to make some noise and get someone’s attention. Ignoring the knot of fear behind her breastbone, Carley rattled the chains loudly.
“Sweet Mother of Mary.” Hunt stood outside the window of the hospital room, staring at the bandaged body several feet away. Not even the slightest patch of skin had been left uncovered, and from what the doctor had told him the woman underneath all the dressing would be lucky to survive another hour much less the night. But she had been adamant about talking to him.
“Agent Chandler.” A pretty, fresh-faced nurse handed him a dressing gown, cap and mask. “Step in here, and I’ll help you get gowned up.” Her face tightened. “I’m sorry to say even these precautions probably won’t make that much of a difference.”
Hunt followed the nurse into a cold room with galvanized sinks and bottles of liquid lining an aluminum shelf. “Did she say why she wants to talk to me?”
“No, but she’s been insistent that she can only speak with you once she learned you were the agent handling Lieutenant Franklin’s
murder.” Her voice shook a little. “She mentioned something about selling women but I must have misunderstood her. I mean, that can’t be real, right?” When Hunt didn’t answer, her eyes widened. “How could—” She broke off. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know the details.”
“You’re right, you don’t. You get her name?”
“No. She’s not giving out information and there was no identification on her. She just kept demanding she talk to you.” The nurse turned a worried face toward the glass. “Poor thing. I think she knows we’ve done all we can for her but I don’t know how much longer she can hang on no matter how much determination she has.”
“Hey.”
The door creaked open, and Hunt heard his partner’s voice behind him. He turned. “What are you doing here?”
“I slipped out of that room while your boss was on the phone. I heard you got a call from here, thought I could help.”
Hunt considered it then jerked his head toward the nurse. “Could you get my partner another gown please?”
When the RN left them alone, Dave lowered his voice. “How bad is it?”
“Bad, and we don’t have much time.”
After they were covered with gowns, gloves and masks, the nurse inspected them before opening to the door to the burn unit room. She walked in ahead of them, her footsteps practically nonexistent on the tiled floor.
“Miss?” She didn’t touch the bandaged body. “This is Agent Chandler from the FBI. He’s handling Lieutenant Franklin’s case.” She gave Hunt another look. “Miraculously, she’s breathing on her own, but the doctor anticipates we’ll need to trach her soon. So make the conversation a quick one. Not that you’re going to be able to get that much out of her. She’s maxed out on morphine.”
Hunt moved closer to the bed just as tortured, red eyelids without lashes cracked open and bloodshot blue eyes stared up at him eerily. Each breath she took seemed an extraordinary effort.
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