Bound by Danger

by Danielle M. Haas

  “Grassi.”

  He stopped at the bottom of the stoop and turned his head to face his boss. The deep lines of Harper’s face seemed even more severe with the morning light streaming directly on him. His intimidating presence dominated the doorframe. “Yes?”

  “You have one week. If you can’t find me something concrete, you’re done.” The door slammed shut and Graham flinched.

  It took all the self-control he had not to storm back up to the door and give Harper a piece of his mind, but he couldn’t waste his time, or his breath. A glance at his watch showed him he only had an hour before he needed to be at the airport. A quick thrill raced through his veins. Maybe he’d get lucky and Mickey would be working his flight.

  Oh shit, Mickey. He groaned as he walked to his car. He hadn’t even asked her how her first flight back had gone. And now she would be working the same flight that had almost gotten her killed. She’d never believe he wanted to see where things could go between them if he didn’t even remember to ask her the most basic questions. Pushing it to the back of his mind, he grabbed his phone from his pocket and called Eric.

  “Hey, man,” Eric answered on the third ring.

  “I hope you’ve missed me, because you’ll be seeing my ugly mug soon.” He pressed the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he put the car in drive and headed home. He had just enough time to pack and make it to the airport for a stiff drink before boarding his plane.

  “I guess Harper wasn’t impressed with the house you found last night?”

  Graham snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

  “Did you show him the pictures you sent me?” Eric’s voice held a hint of disbelief.

  “He wouldn’t even look at them. He’s not convinced my search was legal,” he said with a slight shake of his head, even though Eric couldn’t see him. “I threw them at his feet when I left. Hopefully he’ll stop being a stubborn ass and at least flip through them.”

  Eric let out a low, long whistle. “Damn. You’ve got balls.”

  “Drastic times call for drastic measures, right? And our backs are against the wall here. Harper gave us one week, and if we don’t find the girls or Bogart, he’s pulling us off the case. Well, me at least.”

  “You go, I go.”

  “I might be getting pulled off more than just the case.” A gnawing sense of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He’d worked his ass off to get where he was. Getting it all taken away would kill him. “Did you find anything at the house yesterday?”

  “No. But I’m casing the place today. Gonna try to talk to some neighbors, canvas the neighborhood. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “Let’s hope so. My flight takes off in a couple of hours and I’m heading straight to Paula Williams’ house.” He turned into the parking garage and slid into an empty spot.

  “Do you want me to meet you at the airport and go with you?”

  “Nah, stay where you are. Try to find Pete. I’ll touch base after I speak to Paula.” He said goodbye and then disconnected before making his way to his apartment.

  He had one week to find a sex-trafficker, three kidnapped girls, and save his career. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He would need a lot more than luck on his side to pull this off.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Oh God. What the hell was she doing? She should turn around. She should get in the cab waiting for her and never look back.

  Mickey glanced over her shoulder as she walked up the concrete sidewalk to the two-story white stucco house. The cab she’d taken from Playa Del Carmen sat idling on the curb. She’d paid him a ridiculous amount of money to bring her to the address that had circled in her mind since she’d first seen it, and then wait for her to finish whatever the hell she was doing to take her back to her hotel. Turning back toward the house, she drew in a long breath and slowly made her way to the large wooden door.

  The sound of waves crashing against the shore roared from behind the house and the large palms on the trees beside her swayed in the breeze. Beads of sweat formed at her hairline. Mexico in August was brutal. Unless she was parked in front of a pool or lounging on the beach, she preferred to escape the miserable Chicago winters for the warm Mexican sun. At this time of year, it was just trading one warm, humid day for an even hotter warm, humid day. Even this late in the afternoon, standing outside sucked the air from her lungs.

  Her thoughts bounced around in her head. Nerves danced around in her stomach to the tune of the mariachi music she couldn’t get out of her head. She didn’t know what she would say to Paula if she answered the door. Hell, she hadn’t decided to come here until after her second margarita.

  Who was she kidding? She could lie to Vanessa and Allison all day about why she wanted to stay in Playa Del Carmen instead of Cancun. They didn’t even question her when she’d said she wanted to stay away from the craziness of the Cancun streets, and stay somewhere a little quieter. Not like Playa Del Carmen was much quieter these days. But she couldn’t lie to herself, not any longer. Casa Del Mar 500 had played on repeat in her mind, and she needed to see Paula Williams for herself.

  Her hand trembled as she made a fist and knocked on the door. Three loud, decisive knocks. She studied the front of the house as she waited for someone to answer. Two cars sat under the large balcony that jutted out from the second story, a sort of makeshift portico. Bamboo stairs wound around the side of the house, connecting the small patio to the second story. Thatched roofs adorned the doors that led out to the balcony above her, and white Romanesque columns stood tall between the two stories and gave the impression of a grand manor.

  The door creaked open and Mickey snapped her attention back to the reason she was here. A sliver of light inked out into the twilight and a petite woman with wide blue eyes and a small oval face peeked out at her, half hidden by the door. Confusion creased the fine lines at the corner of her mouth.

  “Can I help you?”

  Mickey’s jaw dropped. This is what Becca would look like as an adult… “Hi, my name is Mickey O’Shay.” She extended a hand to Paula, who opened the door wider and offered a firm handshake.

  Paula had pulled her ash blond hair off her face in a high ponytail, showing off her smooth, tan skin. Her denim shorts and floral tank top hung loosely on her small frame. Her hand lingered on the door handle, as if unsure whether she wanted to shut the door in Mickey’s face or not. She tilted her head to the side. “Do I know you?”

  “No, I don’t think you do. But we both know Pete, and I’d like to know if I’m the only woman he’s lied to and ripped her world to shreds.”

  All the color drained from Paula’s face, leaving behind a scared woman with a haunted look in her eyes. A woman who looked like nothing more than a girl. “I have nothing to say about Pete,” she said as she tried to close the door.

  Mickey placed her palm on the solid wood, refusing to be dismissed so easily. “Please. I don’t want to upset you, but he took my goddaughter. I need answers.”

  The pressure of the door on Mickey’s hand stopped and she grabbed her phone and pulled up a picture of Becca. She turned the screen toward Paula. “This is Becca. She’s only eight years old and Pete took her Sunday morning. She’s been with him for almost three days.” Mickey’s voice broke and her throat clogged with tears.

  Paula sighed, turned from the door, and walked into the expansive house. “Come in,” she said over her shoulder.

  More columns stood proudly in the foyer, holding up the catwalk that ran along the width of the room. Wooden stairs wound their way up the stone wall, almost as if suspended in air, to the second floor. Mickey’s footsteps rang loud against the travertine tiled floor, echoing off the high ceilings as she walked into the great room. A fan spun lazily in the middle of the ceiling, circulating the cool air that blew from the air conditioner.

  Mickey stayed quiet as she followed Paula into the great room, her mind searching for the right words. Being blunt, and a little rude, had gotten her in
the door, but might not keep her here. She didn’t know how much Paula knew about Pete’s recent activities, or if she could even trust whatever Paula told her. But she had to take a chance, and she needed to figure out the best approach to get Paula to open up to a complete stranger.

  A tall man with olive skin and slicked-back black hair stood from a white suede couch. He held a tumbler of something golden in his hand, and he swayed the glass back and forth as he watched her with interest.

  “Were we expecting company?” His brown eyes never left Mickey.

  Paula walked up beside him and leaned into him, and his arm automatically wrapped around her small shoulders.

  “She said Pete took her goddaughter. She has some questions.” The friendliness from earlier had left, and her voice held a sharp hint of something. Fear? “This is my husband, Jose.”

  “Hola. And your name is?” The velvet of his eyes melted away, replaced with a hard edge that made the brown almost black.

  She swallowed hard. “Mickey O’Shay.”

  “And you’re from?”

  “Chicago.”

  One dark brow lifted. “You flew all the way down here to Mexico to ask Paula questions about the man who has made her life a living hell since she was nine years old? How did you find her?”

  She could picture Paula at nine; she would look just like Becca did today. Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place with rapid speed and clarity.

  “I know I shouldn’t be here,” she said, ignoring the question, “but I need to find my goddaughter. Time’s running out, I can feel it, and you might be the only one who can help find her.”

  Paula used her hands to brace herself as she sunk into the couch. Jose sat next to her with his back ramrod straight, his hands locked on Paula’s. Mickey shuffled her feet and her gaze flicked around the room.

  “Please sit,” Paula said. Mickey took a seat across from Paula in an armchair that matched the sofa. The suede material was smooth against the backs of her legs and she fought the urge to run her fingers along the supple suede. “How could I possibly help you?”

  Mickey cringed at the note of defeat in Paula’s voice, as if the mere thought of Pete was too much for her to handle. She shrugged and clasped her hands on her lap. “I don’t know. All I know is Pete lied to me and used me for four months in order to earn the trust of my goddaughter. No one knows where he is, or why he picked me to break his pattern. But I think you have the answer.”

  “What do you mean by breaking his pattern?” Jose asked, leaning forward slightly.

  Mickey met his gaze. “He took three girls all within weeks of each other, but Becca is the only one who actually knew him. I’m the only person he gave his real name to, who he had a relationship with.”

  “That’s horrible,” Paula said, shaking her head. “But why would you think I have any answers? I haven’t spoken to him in years.”

  “Look at this picture again. Please.” She held out her phone. Jose grabbed it and lifted it in front of him and Paula.

  Paula gasped. “She looks just like me.”

  “My God. That’s uncanny,” Jose said. “That’s your goddaughter?”

  “Yes, that’s Becca.” Her throat closed up around the words and her voice came out in a small squeak. “It can’t be a coincidence you look so much like her.”

  Paula closed her eyes as Jose handed back her phone. His arm held her against him and he whispered something in her ear as tears fell down her face. She nodded, and then opened her eyes. This time determination lurked behind the sapphire blue. She drew in a deep breath and then said, “No, you’re probably right. It’s not a coincidence.”

  Jose’s fingers grazed up and down the side of her arm. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to tell her anything.” His accent thickened when he spoke softly to Paula.

  “Yes. I do.” She cleared her throat and then swiped her tongue over her top lip. Her gaze stayed fixed on her lap. “My mom met Pete’s dad when I was very young. They fell in love and moved in together quickly. Robert was always good to me. It was a happy life. A simple and happy life. I knew he had a son, but Robert hardly ever talked about him. His son lived with Robert’s ex-wife, and they had a pretty toxic relationship. It’s the reason he never married my mom.”

  “Did that bother your mom? That her boyfriend had a son she never met and he wouldn’t marry her because of past mistakes?” The answer didn’t matter, but Mickey was curious.

  “No, at least I don’t think so. Life was good just as it was…until Pete came to live with us.” Paula stopped speaking and grabbed the crystal glass from Jose. Tilting her head back, she swallowed the rest of the drink and then handed it back. “I was nine, and excited to have a big brother. Nervous, but excited. But it didn’t last. It didn’t take long for Pete to show me the kind of person he really was.”

  A small shudder made Paula’s body shake. Jose placed a large hand on the back of her neck and leaned in close. Mickey shifted in her chair and glanced away, feeling like an intruder. She had brought this into their house, but she had to. Paula could be the key to finding Becca.

  Paula shared her story, ending by saying, “I cried and kicked and tried to scream, but he covered my mouth with his hand and pressed me against the bed. He was fifteen.”

  Shock and disgust made all the words in Mickey’s head disappear. She’d known it’d be bad, but not this. Her stomach muscles clenched and she fought the urge to run out of the house. She didn’t want to hear anymore. Didn’t want to know everything this poor woman endured at such a young age.

  “I’m so sorry, Paula.” The words were small and so damn insignificant. Forcing herself to continue, she asked, “How long did this go on?”

  Paula snorted. “It’s never really stopped. I’d threaten to tell on him and he’d laugh at me…just laugh and tell me no one would believe me. He said Robert would leave us and my mom and I would be tossed on the street. I believed him for a while, and every night I’d pray he wouldn’t come in my room. After a year, things got worse. He started…like I said it was worse. I finally told my mom.”

  “Did she believe you?” Mickey asked in a whisper.

  “Yes, and so did Robert. Pete had been having other issues, but they were horrified when I told them what he’d been doing to me. Robert begged my mom to let him handle it, and she agreed. She thought he could get through to him.” Paula’s voice shook and she bit into her top lip. “He couldn’t.”

  Jose stood and linked his fingers behind his head as he paced back and forth behind the couch. Mickey’s gaze followed him as she asked, “How long did you stay in the house with him?”

  “For another year. My mom even slept in my room with me, but he’d always find a way to get me alone. Nothing stopped him. Robert continued to beg my mom not to call the authorities, it would ruin the rest of his life, so we left. We were both crushed to lose Robert, but at that point I think my mom had fallen out of love with him.”

  Mickey refocused on Paula. “So then it stopped?”

  Paula’s small mouth curved into a half smile and she shook her head. “Like I said, it’s never really stopped. He always found us. No matter how far away we moved or where we went, he’d show up. My mom would report it, but no one ever saw him so nothing could be done. I’ve spent my entire life looking over my shoulder, holding my breath, waiting for him to show up. To ruin the life I’d built by tormenting me. He’s smart, and we both know if he ever touched me again I’d call the police in a heartbeat. But he likes to get inside my head, to remind me any way he can of the past.”

  She glanced up at Jose and caught his hand as he walked behind her. “And then I met Jose. He’s the first person to make me feel safe, protected. We decided to move to Mexico a few years ago and get a fresh start. I’ll never forget what Pete did to me, but at least I can sleep at night knowing he’ll never find me again.”

  A weight dropped in Mickey’s stomach. A beat of silence passed and she hated herself for what she was about to do,
for shattering Paula’s illusion of safety. “Um, do you know he’s been spending time in Playa Del Carmen?”

  Paula’s head whipped around to Jose, but his wide eyes searched Mickey’s. His brow furrowed and Paula’s muffled sobs tore Mickey’s heart in two. “How do you know? Where is he? I’ll kill him if he comes near her.” A flash of hate sparked in his eyes, and Mickey believed him. Hell, she’d help him.

  A heaviness fell over Mickey the minute she walked out of Paula’s house. She climbed into the waiting cab and sunk into the tough material of the worn seat. She pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the bile from sloshing around. She’d brought Pete into Becca’s life, and there was no telling what horrors awaited her if Mickey couldn’t find her.

  Her mind spun in a million different directions, leaving her dizzy. She leaned her head against the seat and her gaze focused on the palm trees flitting past her window as the cab sped along toward her hotel. The constant flash of green leaves and brown trunks only made her dizziness worse.

  How could she not have seen who Pete really was? How had she let his easy smile and quick wit slip through her defenses? My God, she’d let him in her bed. The bile moved from her stomach and up her throat. She pressed her hand to her mouth to keep it from escaping. The last thing she needed was for her cab driver to toss her out for making a mess.

  Pressure built in her chest and tears built in her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried as hard as she could to block it all out. To block out the pain, and the guilt, and the utter revulsion of what she’d done. Instead, she closed her eyes and she pictured Becca. If they couldn’t find her goddaughter, Mickey would never be able to forgive herself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Anger simmered through his veins as he sat on the stool at the small hotel bar. His day had gone from bad to worse. First his conversation with Harper, then he’d landed in Cancun to find out Eric still hadn’t found anything more about Pete, and then there was the call he’d had twenty minutes ago. That call was the one that had set his blood to boil.