“Yes,” Joseph carefully said. “It does have to do with my thing.”
“You think there’s a connection?”
He offered her a lethargic shrug. “Perhaps. Sheen is into peddling. We have it on good authority that he uses fine establishments like these to find at-risk women to ship off to other parts of the world. Did you know that two of your coworkers have gone missing in the past year?”
“You mean like Jazz?” One day Jazz never showed up to work. Again. That wasn’t unusual, since girls were fired and quit behind the scenes more often than they were hired, but Jazz was the most recent one.
“You mean Jascinda Jones?”
“Sure. I think that was her real name.” Jazz was her stage name. She did a mean 1940s stage on, er, jazz night.
“Yes. She was the latest victim, we think. Her family reported her missing three weeks ago, and we have no leads. But there is also Orlandia Greg. Know her?”
Sylvia shook her head. “I only started working here in February. She may have been before that.”
“Hmm. Well, do me a favor and keep your ears peeled. It would be a great help. Lots of sex workers are going missing. Not just sex workers, either, but also…”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Sylvia snapped at him. “I probably know better than you.”
He flinched. “That is true. Sorry. I spent a lot of time researching this stuff recently.”
“And I live it, thank you.”
Joseph leaned across the table. At first, Sylvia avoided making eye contact, but the closer those eyes came to her, the more she was compelled to meet him halfway… until she realized she was leaning in closer toward him too. Nope. Sylvia would not come within touching distance of Joseph Montoya if she could help it. “Alexander Sheen will be coming into town the day after Independence Day. I only have another week to fill the most pivotal role in my investigation. You’re the closest thing to a perfect match I’ve found, Sylvia. Not jerking you around. You’d be doing me a favor, and thousands of people who have been caught up in his chain of command.”
Great. Guilt trips. As if Sylvia didn’t live a plethora of different guilt trips every day of her life. I didn’t realize I owed it to sex worker kind to take down some human trafficking assholes. “I’m not a cop,” she pointed out again.
Joseph shrugged. “You don’t have to be. Like I said before, we can spend next week briefing you on your role and training you in any self-defense we think might be necessary. He’ll only be in town for a week. Get in, find out anything that would be helpful, get out.”
“And what if he tries to traffic me? You think of that yet?” Sylvia had been in some harrowing situations over the course of her career, but she had yet to be kidnapped. She wasn’t about to start putting herself into those situations. “You gonna give me a gun?”
“I can’t issue you a firearm, no, but I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
“How so?”
“I’m overseeing the whole investigation. You’re my eyes and ears. I’ll vicariously be investigating through those.”
“So I will be wearing a wire?”
“Of course. We have friends in the FBI helping us.”
Sylvia laughed at that shitty memory back in Crow’s mansion. Joseph’s fucking face when the FBI revealed themselves. Granted, Sylvia had no idea that the man she enjoyed some rounds in bed with was a cop, but his face. “What about when I gotta fuck him? You gonna implant cameras into my tits? Men talk during sex, you know.”
“What?”
Oh, great! What a moron. Had he not really thought this through? “You’re sending me in as his escort girlfriend of the week, and don’t think I’ll have to fuck him every night? Unless his dick’s broken, I’m basically going to be an Alexander Sheen cum receptacle for seven days straight.” Whew. Good thing she had finished her period.
Joseph shifted in his seat, scowling. Aw, he’s almost cute in his casual civilian clothes. There was something to be said about a man who could rock both a suit and sweats with jeans. Sylvia had never fully experienced it until she moved to the PNW. Back home, all the rich assholes thought “dressing down” meant Ralph Lauren polo shirts and perfectly pressed khakis. The first time she met Sebastian, he was wearing a pair of dress slacks coupled with a Powell’s Books T-shirt. I didn’t believe he was as rich as he said he was until I saw his car. So while it was weird to see Joseph in his old jeans and stained sweatshirt, she wasn’t as shocked as she had been the first time she saw such a thing.
It was kinda hot. Made him more personable. Because no matter how much Sylvia loved a guy in a tailored suit, she had quickly learned that nothing was more important than being able to actually talk to the guy on an equal level. The more they wore suits, the more they looked down on her – even if they paid thousands of dollars for a night with her. Especially then.
“I’m not gonna lie, Sylvia, you might have to sleep with him. Another reason I thought you might be a better candidate than a trained agent.”
Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t mean it like…”
“Yes you did. But that’s okay.” Sylvia stood up. “I need to get back to work.”
“Will you do it?”
His hopeful tone was so puppy-doggish that Sylvia almost laughed. He’s not begging me to sleep with some scumbag, is he? Oh, he is. Too rich.
“See you around, Mr. Stalker.”
“Sylvia…”
She disappeared into the single stall restroom backstage. When she emerged ten minutes later, Joseph was gone. Sylvia kinda missed him already.
***
The bus dropped her off in front of the Burnside Fred Meyer’s. The dawn was already creeping on the edge of the horizon, a reminder that Sylvia Rogers worked so late on the weekends that she took the first bus of the day back from Decades. By the time she showered, ate, and fell into bed for a few hours, it would already be seven in the morning.
Joggers and dog walkers populated the quiet residential streets on her way back home. They all skillfully avoided her as she listened to music on her phone and pretended she was returning to a quaint, 1920s cottage where her rich lover waited to take her to bed and pamper her for the rest of the weekend. There would be a black cat and so many chocolate chip croissants for her to wolf down without a care for calories or carbs. Yeah, that was the life, wasn’t it?
She turned down her street, imagining the man of her dreams kissing her cheek and giving her that passionate thrill she hadn’t felt in so long. Safety. Love. Money. That order. Oh, and good looking. That would be nice too. If she was going to marry a guy for both love and money, he better have a body worth worshipping and a cock that could go for hours. What? It was a good dream!
Haha. Love. That’s funny.
What wasn’t funny? The jogger who had long since passed her shrieking bloody murder.
Close. To murder, that was. Sam Jean hadn’t been killed when she was attacked a half hour ago, but she was bleeding from two places and left to release all her blood in a thick hedge of bushes. Benson the cat sat nearby as Sylvia and the jogger were held for questioning by the police. What had they seen? Did they know this woman? Oh, a transient? That was too bad.
Sam Jean was loaded onto a stretcher, her head rolling back and forth as she told the paramedics – and the cops hovering nearby – that she had scratched that motherfucker real good when he tried to abduct her. “Took out half his cheek!” she insisted, the paramedic asking her to please take it easy. “Said he was going to take me to Thailand! Do I look like I need a tan?”
As Sylvia looked on, she heard the cops muttering to themselves not too far away.
“Thailand, huh? Better call that investigative department. Sounds like that human trafficking thing they’re interested in.”
Shudders shot down Sylvia’s back. She held her sweater closer to her body. Beside her, the jogger in her lavender gym clothes asked if she could please go home before her yoga class was supposed to
start. By then the sun was completely up, early morning commute traffic rerouted around Sylvia’s street. Posey was probably dead asleep in their craftsman only a few houses down. She’d bitch about missing this drama…
“Excuse me,” she said to one of the officers. His partner was on the phone with Joseph’s department. “Do you really think this has to do with those traffickers people are talking about?”
The officer narrowed his dark eyes at her. “You know something about that?”
“Only that I’ve heard a lot of talk.”
“Well, talk is cheap, Miss. I suggest you head home. If you want, we can forward the hospital information for the victim to you so you can visit her.”
“…Yeah,” the other officer interrupted. “Who is this? Montoya? I think we had someone fight off those human traffickers you’re after. A transient. She’s been taken to Legacy Good Samaritan if you want to meet us there. Uh huh. The one on 22nd.”
Sylvia rushed up to him. “Are you talking to Joseph Montoya? Let me talk to him!”
The officer was not about to do that, and Sylvia knew it. But she had thrown away Joseph’s card and had no other way to talk to him unless he stalked her again. Or unless she got arrested again…
“Joseph!” she cried, as the first officer pulled her away from the second. “I’ll do it! I’ll go undercover!”
The officer on the phone tried to talk over her, but within another minute, he had handed the cell to Sylvia, who was currently handcuffed to a bike post.
“Sylvia?” Joseph sounded chipper for so early in the morning – considering he spent half his night at a strip club out in the ‘burbs. “What the hell are you doing there?”
“Tell these jokes for cops to take me to meet you at the hospital. I’m doing it. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. That fucker tried to kidnap someone in my neighborhood.” Unlike people wearing lavender jogging clothes, Sylvia considered the local homeless to be members of her community. Like fucking hell she was letting that shit into her vicinity. “But I got some terms!” She wasn’t stupid, after all.
“Great,” Joseph sighed. “Whatever you want, Sylv. Let’s do this.”
Whatever she wanted? Well, to start with, she wanted some money…
Chapter 7
Sylvia
Never in a million years had Sylvia Rogers anticipated siding with the police.
Yet for the next week, when she didn’t have work commitments, she was in that formidable building downtown getting briefed and trained in the world of undercover operations.
It started with her and Joseph – back in his handsome work clothes but running solely on caffeine, so he looked like a haggard Wall Street grunt – sitting down to go over her terms. Sylvia was not going to put herself in danger out of the goodness of her own heart. There would be compensation outside of a job well done. If the government was going to confiscate Alexander Sheen’s payment to the fake escort agency as evidence, then she wanted something. She was probably going to miss some work because of Alexander’s schedule… and she was definitely going to miss out on the sweet pocketbooks coming to do business with Sheen.
“The government can’t promise you anything like that,” Joseph said. They sat as his desk in a large, lifeless room that looked nothing like the sleek law enforcement offices on TV. His desk faced someone else’s, for fuck’s sake. His square LCD monitor played a screensaver of flowers blowing in the Himalayas. Drawers squeaked when he opened them to take out analog recording devices – pens and papers. Coffee stains covered a stack of papers so old they needed to be filed in T for Trash. Sylvia could not get comfortable in her metal folding chair to save her life. Damn. For a son of means, Joseph Montoya had some humble work environments. “This is considered a volunteer position.”
“You can pay me.”
He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his ratty swivel chair and crossing his arms. The only thing giving away his monetary status was that fancy watch that was probably worth more than Sylvia’s old pearl collection. “I’m not going to personally pay you, Sylvia. Are you kidding?”
“All right. Then don’t directly pay me. Here’s what I’m going to need.” She slipped him a grocery list of what she required to prepare for her role. “I’m going to need a helluva makeover. I can’t meet up with that guy looking like this.” She pointed to her cheap outfit and hair that hadn’t been properly styled outside of her bedroom in months. I used to wear the trendiest designers and had my hair cut and washed by a stylist who came out to see me every week. Those were the days. “I’ll need a new – expensive, by the way – outfit for every night I see him. He’s paying for the best, right? I can act like the best fucking escort he’s ever paid to be his arm candy and fuck him backward and sideways. I can’t pull a Dior dress out of my ass.”
Joseph held the list up to the light. “Prada, huh?”
“I know you can get that shit in this town. I stand in front of the windows drooling all the time.” Remember when I could simply ask my patron or boyfriend to buy them for me? Sebastian used to take her shopping for the latest designer wear down at Pioneer Square Mall all the time. After their split, she was relegated to looking like a forlorn puppy in front of the salespeople who used to make her fashion dreams come true. “So yeah. I’m going to need new hair, expensive makeup, and at least five cocktail dresses. Nice ones. Alexander Sheen is going to be expecting the full Sylvia Rogers experience, whether he knows it or not.” She cleared her throat. “By the way, do I get a new undercover name? I was thinking of Simone.”
The only reaction she got out of him was a slight chuckle. “Hardly. You’re Sylvia.”
“Just Sylvia.”
“Yup.”
“But… he could totally look up who I am.”
“He can. And he will. That’s your selling point. You used to work for the most sophisticated pleasure house in this whole country. You’re the former fiancée of Maxwell Carlisle. You were caught up in Xavier Crow’s takedown earlier this year… trust me, Sheen is going to love it. Our fake madam has already been on the phone with him about you.”
Something about that stole the breath from Sylvia’s lungs. “Really? He already knows who I am?”
“Yup. That’s part of the reason you’re so important to this investigation, Sylvia. You’re real. He won’t suspect anything except money-grabbing from you. You sort of have a reputation.”
“Hey, now…”
“That’s good. The more at ease he feels around you, the more chances you’ll have to get us information. That reminds me. You’re due with one of our operatives later to go over the best ways to do that.” Grand. I can’t wait. Like Sylvia hadn’t thumbed through her share of wallets without anyone knowing about it. “So you’re right. He’s going to have the full Sylvia Rogers experience, and he will know it. He’ll be expecting it. He’ll be paying top dollar for it.”
“Wow.” For some reason she wasn’t thrilled… wasn’t this what she had been wanting for over a year? To relive her glory days working at a famous pleasure house? When some of the richest men in the world came to savor her services for a night? Fuck you, Maxwell. You’ve made it so I can’t believe in that again. At least she knew not to fall in love with her clients now. “So you better buy me some nice shit. Sylvia Rogers, trademarked, does not wear clothes like this bullshit.” She gestured to her white tank top and black miniskirt, both bought at the Goodwill near her house. “He’ll know. The man grew up rich.” Sylvia hadn’t read through her dossier on the man yet, but she knew that much about him. Just like you were raised rich, Joseph. One of these days she would have to ask him about what made him choose a job like this.
He handed her the list back. Their skin lightly touched. Joseph snatched his hand back and looked the other way, leg quickly crossing the other. Sylvia cocked her head and wondered what the fuck his problem was.
“So, uh…” Joseph rearranged some papers without regard for her. “You should probably get to your self-defense class. As soon as
you’ve passed your lessons, the commander will sign off on your involvement and we’ll get officially started.”
Sylvia scooted in closer to him, the metal chair scraping against the concrete floor. “You mean your mother, right?”
Joseph stopped his fidgeting and glanced at her. “Yes. Technically.”
“Ouch. What does that mean?”
The way he looked at her said that it was not up for discussion.
“Curioser and curioser.” Sylvia spared him a wicked smile. “You are an enigma of your own, Agent Montoya.”
He shrugged. “A man does his best to remain mysterious. I hear you ladies like that.”
“Indeed.” Sylvia had fallen into that hole a time or two.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I have some work to get back to.” He woke up his login screen. When Sylvia didn’t move, he looked at her, full of disbelief. “Excuse me.”
“Whatever.” Sylvia got up. “Like you said, I have lessons to get to.” Oh, she couldn’t wait. Time to go learn the same ol’ shit she had learned years ago when she first got into this business. Hit him in the balls… and then uppercut his nose! Fuck yeah! She looked back at Joseph with a grin. “After I get done I’ll be able to kick your ass, right?”
Their eyes met in the monitor’s reflection. “I highly doubt that.”
“Oh, right.” Sylvia didn’t mean to conjure up those memories. Not the feeling of him surging against her, legs helpless as she gave up ever closing them again – unless they were closing around his waist. “You’re pretty athletic yourself. At least some of you cops are. Ahem.” Did he remember? Of course he remembered. She saw it in his reflection. For a brief moment, they both remembered… but the question was, which encounter did they each recall?
Sylvia could only speak for herself. Both. She walked out of the office, referring to a map of the building in the hopes of finding the gym on her own. One thing she could say when it came to remembering the way Joseph Montoya fucked a girl: she definitely needed a physical outlet afterward.
Damaged Goods Page 5