The door swung open and Mickey stumbled forward but managed to keep her balance. She charged into the house and the stench of rotting food and garbage slammed into her nostrils. She coughed and fought the overwhelming urge to gag. Darkness enveloped her. One tiny shaft of moonlight flitted through the slit of the open door. But that’s all she needed.
Blinking to adjust to the dark, she followed the shaft of moonlight down the hallway and into the kitchen. The outline of days’ worth of dishes sat in the sink. Pizza boxes and empty take-out containers took over the counter. A door stood open and Mickey glanced down the wooden stairs that led to the basement. She sucked in a deep breath and cringed as the stale, rotten air entered her lungs. She could do this. She had to do this. Becca could be down there. She flicked the light on for the stairwell and the coolness of the top step seeped into her foot. She descended the stairs and pulled in a deep breath.
Dear God, please let Becca be down here and no one else… Otherwise she’d likely just served herself up on a silver platter to the enemy.
Chapter Twelve
Tension wound all the muscles in his body as tight as a coiled spring. The cool leather of the steering wheel bit into his calloused hands.
The lights of the city flew by in a haze as he sped across town. Pete had been a genius about covering his tracks, but he had dropped the ball with Connie Difico. Not only had he rented his apartment with her name, but Graham had also just uncovered a house in Old Town she was renting as well. And that’s not all he’d unearthed about Pete’s accomplice.
Graham called the precinct in Old Town to give them a heads up on his arrival, but they wouldn’t help with a search until his warrant came through. After what he’d uncovered in Pete’s apartment, he had little doubt the warrant would be his in no time.
Pushing the voice command button on his steering wheel, he called Eric’s number. A few clicks sounded through his speakers before the line started ringing.
“Hey. I finally got a cab out of the damn airport,” Eric said. “Did you get the name I sent you? Find anything new?”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ve got a search going for Paula Williams now. I also ran Connie Difico’s name through the database. Turns out that’s not her real name.” The sheets of rain slowed to a heavy drizzle as he made his way across town. “Her name’s Chelsea Adams and she went missing twelve years ago. Looked like a runaway.”
“Why did they assume runaway?” Eric asked.
Graham blinked and tried to erase the image of the preteen girl with the sad blue eyes that were too big for her face and the bow shaped mouth set in a permanent frown. “She had a rough home life. Raised by a single mother with no idea who her father was. Her mom bounced around a lot. They lived on the south end of the city. The girl took off after the mother moved in with a new boyfriend. The boyfriend didn’t seem concerned, claimed she was an ungrateful brat.”
“What about her mom?”
“Says the girl was jealous and figured she’d come home eventually. She never did.”
Eric’s low whistle rattled his speakers. “Do you think she was taken?”
He shrugged and his eyes stayed focused on the road ahead. Water sprayed on his windshield and his wipers worked to keep up. “Either that, or they found her on the street and brought her in to the sex-trafficking ring. She’s from Chicago, so if they wanted to move their sex ring here, it makes sense to bring in a local. Even if she hasn’t lived here in a while.”
“It’s another connection. What about Mickey? Do you think she was telling the truth about the woman breaking into her apartment and trying to kill her?”
“The more I discover about Connie, the more I believe Mickey. I can’t trust her completely until we find out why Pete slipped up with her and Becca. It doesn’t make any sense.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. Partly from his thoughts about Mickey, partly from the glare of the rain bouncing from the blacktop. “I also don’t think Pete would use two different women to deal with the girls he takes. It’d be too risky.”
“True,” Eric agreed. “Not to mention it makes more sense for a runaway abused by her traffickers to be used to help her captors. As sick as it sounds, most victims of sex-trafficking are chained to their abusers for life. A girl like Mickey, it’s hard to imagine how she’d end up in a mess like this.”
“Let’s hope she can stay out of it from now on. Harper gave me shit for going into Pete’s apartment with her. Why did you tell him before I had a chance to explain my actions to him? I knew it was crossing a line, but dammit, time’s running out to find these girls.”
A heavy sigh sounded through the phone. “I’m sorry. You’ve been on Harper’s shit list for a while, and going into Pete’s apartment the way you did definitely didn’t help the situation. I understand your motives, but Harper has to play by the rules. I’ll call him later and try to smooth it out.”
Graham pressed his lips together to hide his irritation. “I don’t need you fighting my battles.”
“We’re partners. This is our battle.”
“I have to call him anyway. I found another address listed under Connie Difico’s name. I’m on my way there right now.”
“Do not go into the house,” Eric warned, his parental tone once again raising Graham’s ire.
“I’m not an idiot. I called to secure a warrant, which should come through any minute, and I let the locals know I needed backup to work the scene. I want to be there and ready to go in as soon as I get the go ahead. Harper needs to know I have all my bases covered.”
“Dude, this could be huge. Do you want me to catch a flight back to Chicago so we can check it out?”
“We don’t have time. I have to get in there now.” He turned onto Cleveland Avenue and scanned the houses for the number he had scrawled on a piece of paper. “Besides, you need to look for Pete in Mexico. See if he has anything going on in his house down there. We need to track down every lead we find.”
“Be careful.”
“I will. I just wanted to catch you up. I’ll get a hold of you later if I find something.” He clicked off the line and slowed down.
There you are, you big ugly sonofabitch.
His nerves danced with anticipation. The house called to him to come inside for a closer look. The missing girls could be on the other side of those walls and he had to sit in his car and twiddle his damn thumbs. Bureaucratic bullshit and red tape were the bane of his existence. Young lives were on the line, but he couldn’t act until some judge crossed all the T’s and dotted all the I’s. Sometimes it didn’t make sense to wait.
A streetlight flickered, casting shadows across the lawn and slicing through the air. The full moon beamed down plenty of light for him to study the layout of the house and the yard, even through the fuzz of rain. His car idled in its spot and he watched and he waited. Nothing stood out as being out of the ordinary. The old house, albeit a bit creepy for his tastes, was located in a respectable neighborhood in a nice part of town. The yards were cared for and the houses well maintained.
Nothing about the scene in front of him screamed for help. Nothing alerted the neighbors that children were being kept inside. He slapped his hands against the steering wheel. He didn’t need the house to tell him anything. His gut told him something wasn’t right inside this house, and it wouldn’t be long before he discovered the truth.
He glanced at the clock. How long would he be forced to wait here? He might as well call Harper and get it over with. He dialed his boss’s number, pressed the phone to his ear, and kept his gaze locked on the house he’d come to search.
“What have you got for me, Grassi?”
Graham winced at Harper’s sharp tone, but let it slide off his back. He didn’t have time to worry about the strain between him and his boss. “I wanted to fill you in on a recent development in the Bogart case.”
“I just got off the phone with Agent Short. He told me about the house. Has something else happened, or are you just calling
to tell me what I’m already aware of?”
Graham ground the tip of his shoe into the floor. He’d told Eric he would call Harper. He couldn’t believe Eric would go behind his back…again…and call their boss first. “I apologize, sir. I was unaware he contacted you.”
“Maybe you two need to get on the same page. If you did, Bogart might be behind bars already.”
Graham bit into the tip of his tongue to keep from asking what Harper meant. He and Eric had always worked well together, even when they didn’t agree on how to handle every aspect of their cases. “Again, I apologize. I’ll talk to Eric about us being clearer with our intentions in the future.”
“Do that. I don’t like being dragged into problems.”
Now he and Eric had problems? Harper’s words made no sense, but he was wise enough not to question his meaning. “I understand, sir. If you’ve already been briefed, I don’t need to bother you. Once the warrant goes through and backup arrives, we’ll enter the premises and lock the place down. I’ll keep you informed of our findings.”
Harper grunted his opinion and hung up the phone.
Graham pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it. He needed to call Eric and find out what the hell was going on, and what Eric had told Harper about the case, but he couldn’t get into that now. He needed to focus on the task at hand and be ready to act the moment he was given the go ahead. Whatever petty shit Eric had brought up to Harper didn’t matter. At least not right now.
He narrowed his gaze at the phone and willed the damn thing to ring. His chest tightened and he held his breath, but the generic background mocked him. Screw it. He had to move. A tiny peek around the perimeter of the house wouldn’t hurt. He’d keep his hands in his pockets the whole time.
Graham stepped out of the car and resisted the urge to slam it closed. No cars loitered in the driveway, but that didn’t mean the house was empty. Hunching his shoulders against the constant drizzle, he crossed the empty street. He crept along the shadows, out of range from the flicking streetlight. He turned on the flashlight on his phone and pointed it at the ground. With all the greenery around the house, there were bound to be snakes. He hated snakes.
He hugged the side of the house and found nothing out of place except a pair of woman’s shoes lying in a pile of mud. A tall privacy fence blocked the backyard from his view, but no toys littered any part of the yard he searched. Water sloshed against his heavy footsteps, but the cool night air couldn’t chase away the warmth stirring in his blood as adrenaline spiked inside him.
He rounded the corner of the house and crouched behind the shrubs for cover. The front porch beckoned to him. A quick look would prepare him for when it was time to enter the house. He glanced around to make sure no nosy neighbors had noticed him skulking around and ran toward the porch.
The stairs creaked from his weight and he stopped and sucked in a breath. Against the backdrop of crickets and rain, the quiet creak was loud. He hurried into the safety of the shadows and the splintered wood of the doorframe caught his eye. His fingers itched to run along the broken wood, but he kept one hand in the pocket of his pants and the other tightly wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t afford to contaminate the scene, and he hadn’t had the forethought to bring a pair of gloves with him from the car.
The leaves rustled along with a gust of wind. The sudden breeze swirled onto the porch, kicking around some trash and causing the door to swing open an inch. Graham pressed his back against the worn paint of the wall beside the door. He slid his phone into his pocket and placed his palm on the butt of his gun. If someone was coming outside, he’d be ready.
Nothing happened.
A whoosh of air left his lungs and he sagged against the wall. He peered around the door and his gaze landed on the broken latch.
Well that’s interesting.
He crouched in front of the door and studied the busted latch. Someone had wanted to get inside pretty badly. Or someone had wanted out.
“Oh my God! Help!” A woman’s shrill shrieks of panic erupted through the narrow opening of the door.
Graham shot to his feet. Removing his hand from his gun, he grabbed his phone and called 911.
“This is Special Agent Graham Grassi. I need backup at 7225 Cleveland Avenue. Distressing calls for help were heard from inside a suspected crime scene. I’m going in.”
He hung up, plunged his phone back in his pocket, and grabbed his gun from the holster at his side. The familiar weight of the weapon brought a sense of calm to his frayed nerves. He pushed the front door open with his foot and entered the house with the gun pointed in front of him.
“Special Agent Graham Grassi entering the house. If anyone’s in here, please come out with your hands up.”
He waited a beat and listened. The subtle groans and shifts of the floorboards were all that answered his announcement. He took a step further into the house and swung his gun into a room at his side. No one was there. Shafts of moonlight bounced inside from the open door and illuminated the living room. Or what he assumed was a living room. Two folding chairs and a rusted metal table sat to one side of the room, a small tube television sat on the other side. He slowly put one foot in front of the other as he pressed farther into the room. Dammit, he’d heard a call for help. He was certain. Where the hell had it come from?
Thump, thump, crash!
He whirled around and faced the way he’d entered the room. He quickened his pace and retraced his steps to the hall. He kept his gun trained in front of him and stepped into a thick wall of stale air in the kitchen. The urge to cover his nose and mouth were overpowering, but he concentrated on the open door on the far side of the kitchen.
He surveyed the kitchen and gave a brief thanks to God for not having to spend another second in there. A dim light lifted toward him from the bottom of the stairs. He pointed his gun down the darkened stairway. “I’m coming down and I’m armed. If you have any weapons, drop them to the floor.”
Graham groaned at how stupid he sounded. If someone had set a trap for him, they wouldn’t willingly lay down their weapons because he told them to—especially when they had the advantage. The light in the basement was small, but it was better than the dark pit he looked into. Maybe he should wait for backup.
“Graham? Is that you?” The fear and pain in Mickey’s voice carried to him. He’d have recognized her voice anywhere. He hadn’t been able to get it—or her whiskey eyes—out of his head since they’d met.
Shit. What the hell is she doing here?
“Mickey? Are you okay?” He turned slightly so his back wasn’t exposed to an unexpected assailant.
“The light went out when I was coming downstairs. I tripped and fell. I hurt my ankle a little and I think a bat flew into my hair.”
If he wasn’t so pissed she was here, and on edge about entering a suspected crime scene without backup, he would have laughed. “Is anyone else down there with you?”
The light he’d trained his eyes on twisted, leaving only darkness in his sight for a moment. “No.” The word came out on a rush of disappointment.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He could barely make out the word over her tears.
“I saw Becca’s backpack through a window. I thought she’d be down here.”
“Calm down. I’m coming downstairs now. Lift your light so I can see where the hell I’m going.”
The light lifted and illuminated the rotting stairs he wished like hell he didn’t have to step on. He lowered one foot at a time, taking care not to place too much weight on one step. He didn’t need to end up in a heap at the bottom of the steps with Mickey.
He tightened his grip on the gun. His suspicions had died down over Mickey’s involvement with the sex-trafficking ring, but that didn’t mean he was right. If his gut was wrong, the outcome would be a lot worse than it had been in Austin.
This time, he’d be the one dead.
Chapter Thirteen
Heavy footst
eps pounded the stairs toward her. The vibrations from the shaky wood shook her nerves. Mickey pulled herself to a sitting position on the dirt floor and kept the light from her phone pointed on the steps. “Graham?” She whispered his name and the word echoed around the empty room.
Black shoes came into view and her taut muscles relaxed…but only a little. No way she’d completely relax while inside this house. Graham’s broad shoulders filled the archway and tears of relief slid into the corners of her eyes.
Until she spotted the gun.
“Holy shit,” she screamed, scrambling backward like a skittering crab. “Why are you pointing a gun at me?”
Graham lowered the gun, but his finger stayed close to the trigger. Too close for her comfort. He stopped at the base of the stairs, his muscles bunched together like a jungle cat ready to pounce on its prey. “I told you I had a gun.”
“And I told you I was the only person down here.” Anger quickly replaced her fear and she jumped to her feet. She placed too much weight on her right foot and winced, but was too pissed to stop and acknowledge the pain. “Did you think I lied? Big bad Mickey lured you here so she could take care of you once and for all?”
“I didn’t know what to think.” He shifted the gun to one hand and shoved the other hand through his dirty blond hair.
Good God, the man was infuriating. She swept a hand in front of her and gestured around the basement. “As you can see, it’s just me. We missed them.” Her voice caught and she struggled to keep her composure.
Graham stepped into the room and ran his long fingers along the wall. He flipped a switch and flickering lights poured from low-hanging lightbulbs. Not that it helped much. The light from her phone offered much more light than the barely lit bulb above her head. “I need to make sure no one else is down here. It’s not safe for you to be in here. Hell, it’s not safe for me.”
Bound by Danger Page 10