My body hurts, my bones are cold. I don’t know how much longer I can stay out here, but I know that the longer I wait, the more of a chance I have to see him, at least to catch a glimpse of the man himself.
Lifting my hand to my mouth, I cover it just in time. I can’t hold back the gasp, so thankfully my own palm offered a muffled protection. Headlights make their way toward the large airport hangar.
My eyes flick around, moving from side to side as another set of headlights appear, then another. Two big black vans pull up behind the first SUV.
I watch, whimpering at the sight of the man himself exiting the lead car. It’s him. It’s Orin Murphy in the flesh. Two more men exit Orin’s SUV, but the other two vehicles stay in their place, nobody exits, the doors don’t open and the engines do not turn off.
The doors to the plane hangar open and my eyes widen at the sight of the plane. It’s not a regular small aircraft like I envisioned. It’s bigger than the one he had been photographed in front of.
This is a cargo plane.
What type of cargo needs to be loaded in the dark, only lit by the SUV’s headlights? Why don’t they have the large street lights turned on. They’re pointed directly at the hangar, and yet, they’re completely dark.
Licking my dry lips, I press them tightly together as I watch for what will happen next. I don’t want to see it, but I have to. I won’t be able to change any of it, but I must see it, I must know if this man is indeed trafficking women, if it’s possible he did that to my sister.
There is some shouting, but I cannot hear the words then as the plane’s engine is started, I cannot hear anything at all. Even if I cannot hear what they’re saying, I still have a perfect view of what’s happening down the hill.
When the two van doors are finally pulled open, I have to hold my hand even tighter against my lips to keep from screaming. One after another, after another, after another. They crawl out and form a line, as if being directed by the men around them.
Girls, young women. Some are near my age, most are around sixteen or eighteen years old. My stomach clenches at the sight and I have to mentally talk myself out of throwing up, because I’m really fucking close.
I watch as they are led toward the plane. Then one by one they file into the belly. I hold my breath and continue to watch as Orin makes his way to the SUV once the plane is loaded. He backs the car up, the men that were once in the vans walked onto the plane and never made their way back out.
The SUV backs up, and pulls to the side as the plane begins to roll forward. My entire body trembles as I watch the plane take off. Then once it’s in the air, the vans are driven into the airport hangar and then the SUV pulls out of the area.
I’m left alone, cold, and traumatized. Completely and totally traumatized. What the fuck did I just witness?
The problem is that although I waited here, although I saw what I did, I have no proof of what happened. If I went to the police, they would laugh at me. If I went to Orin himself, he’d probably just load me up on the next plane.
“What do I do?” I whisper to myself. “What the fuck do I do?”
There is no answer, none, except… I know that I need proof. I need physical evidence of some kind. Looking down at my phone, I take in the time. One in the morning. Nothing good happens at this time of night.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I decide that I’m going to come back in a few weeks. I got lucky this time, but I know that I may not in the future. He doesn’t do this every day, but I venture to guess that he does it at least once a month.
I’m going to catch him in the act again. I’m going to take pictures and videos. The police will have to believe me then. At least they’ll have to investigate if nothing else. Maybe it won’t stop any of this completely, but it could scare him, make him nervous.
With a shaky breath, I nod to myself, then slowly stand to my feet. My legs are tingly, having been asleep for far too long. Clearing my throat, I turn my back to the hangar and make my way through the dark dampness to my car.
I am going to find Emilyn. If it’s the last thing that I do, I will find my sister.
Chapter Three
RENZO
I suppose that I should be in awe as the plane touches down in Ireland. I can’t deny that it is beautiful, however, this was not anything near what I wanted to do with my time. I don’t know how long I’m going to be here, and I am not a man who lives without a plan.
Thanking the pilot, I quickly climb down and onto the tarmac. The car is waiting for me, a sleek black sedan with a man in a suit leaning against the passenger side door. He’s wearing reflective sunglasses, but I know that he’s looking at me because they’re pointed in my direction.
I’m handed my bag, but I don’t look at who did the deed. Thanking them, I head toward the man who is waiting for me. Hopefully I won’t be here long. I have a feeling that Gavino was right on the money when he said that Orin was taking women against their will.
Thankfully, the girl Mia brought me was a wealth of information. She informed me that she was indeed taken against her will. Stolen just outside of her school when she was only fourteen years old. She’s twenty-one now. She worked for Orin locally for several years before being put on the plane and sent to New York.
“Sullivan?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Renzo?”
Jerking my chin, I make my way to the trunk of the car. He pops it and I toss my duffel inside. I’m glad that I wasn’t forced to fly commercial. Trying to find my specific equipment to complete my job isn’t easy when you’re in another country with questionable contacts.
Walking over to the passenger door, I tug it open and slip into the front seat. Sullivan slides into the driver’s seat and I close my eyes for just a moment while I inhale the air.
“What do you think you know about Orin Murphy?” he asks as he shifts the car into drive.
I let out a grunt, my gaze shifting to the lush green scenery around me. Rolling the window down, I inhale a deep breath as the cool damp air fills my lungs.
“I think that he’s trafficking girls that he’s kidnapped. Young girls who are too scared to admit that they have been taken from their homes. Some of them he’s worked here for a while before he sends them to New York, others, he ensures their virginity before he sends them our way.”
“That’s about the long and short of it.”
“Except?” I ask when I can feel there is something else hanging in the air between us.
He’s silent for a moment, his breathing comes out heavy, his sigh even heavier as he exhales. “Some I’m pretty positive that he’s paid their parents off. Families that are poor and have too many children to care for financially. But most of them he just kidnaps. They have no ties to him, they vanish in plain sight and nobody hears from them again. It’s been going on for years. He’s just figured out a way to funnel them into the United States.”
I think about the Zanetti famiglia and the way they used to operate before Gavino took over. Antonio Rossi, the Boss that Gavino took down, did the same shit. He paid families from poor neighborhoods, took their pretty teenage daughters and pimped them out.
These girls aren’t given even a fucking chance in life, not when their own parents sell them off to be used and abused to fulfill the fantasies of men. What’s even sicker is that I have no doubt enjoyed their services. I paid my fees and took from them, telling myself that it was a fair and even trade.
But was it?
The newest girls that Gavino has are ones that are there by their own free will, but are the ones from Ireland? I’m wondering that now. Gavino has always prided himself on having willing, able, and eager to serve women.
What happens when it comes out that they have all been human trafficked from another country?
What the fuck, then?
Vino’s reputation is going to be fucked. This Irish asshole is going to die, but that won’t change anything. Nothing at all. Vino’s ass is on the line no matter what happens over her
e. It doesn’t take away the fact that these women have possibly been kidnapped from their families.
Fuck.
Sullivan continues to drive toward town. I can’t help but feel a bit shaky at this seeming revelation. I want to meet with him and get some answers straight from his own mouth.
However, I can’t do that until I have proof. I need to catch him in the act. I may not ever let him know that I’ve caught him, but I will catch him.
If he’s on the up-and-up, which I doubt, then he’ll live. If he’s not, he dies. It’s as simple as that. I won’t even blink at killing him, if what I suspect is true. He’s the worst of the worst. I may end people’s lives for a living, but he’s lower than me. What he is, is the lowest of the fucking low.
The hotel comes into view and I smile at the sight. I’m tired. I need to unpack and unwind before I start my research tomorrow. Clearing my throat, I open the car door and step outside.
Before I can take even a step forward, Sullivan calls out to me. “I have some information that I need to discuss with you before you start anything. Dinner?”
Shifting my gaze from him to the hotel, then back to him, I nod my head once. “Dinner,” I agree.
He jerks his chin, then takes off without suggesting a time. I have a feeling that he’ll just show up when he’s ready. I’m good with that. I’m tired as fuck. I need a nap, at least for a little bit. I also need a fucking drink.
It doesn’t take me long to check into the hotel, but before I head to the shower to wash the flight off of me, I put a call in to Gavino.
“Renzo,” he rumbles.
“Made it. Rumors are unfortunately what you’ve been worried about. When I have concrete evidence, then I’ll take care of the problem.”
“Thank you for being levelheaded, I knew that I could count on you.”
I laugh. “Levelheaded?” I ask.
He snorts. “In work, cugino. In work.”
Ending the call, I laugh to myself as I shake my head. It’s not often that I’m complimented for being levelheaded. Typically, I’m accused of being a hothead. But maybe as I’ve grown older, seen and done more, that’s changed? Maybe it changed when I took my father out completely?
I no longer have him at my back attempting to control me, to mold me, to force me to be what he wants me to be and not who I truly am. Who the fuck knows? All I know is that I need a goddamn cocktail after a shower.
SIOBAHN
The days go by in a blur. Each day is just a head of hair that sits in my chair. I color, I cut, I style over and over and over. I can only think of one thing and one thing only—what I saw that night at the airport.
A little more digging into Orin yielded a whole lot of nothing. He seems like any other regular businessman on paper. But then again, maybe that’s the problem? Maybe he is like all other businessmen and that thought makes my stomach clench. What if he’s just one in a million?
Finishing up my final client, I hitch my bag over my shoulder and begin to head out for the night.
“Siobahn,” John calls out.
Stopping at the door, I look back at him from over my shoulder. He’s grinning and I know that grin. That grin is trouble, and I want no part of it. I’ve been doing well to stay away from his group.
They’ve invited me out a few times, but I always have an excuse. Though, since he asked me what I was doing this weekend and I said nothing, I won’t be able to get out of it. He set this up.
“Come out with us? It’s Andrea’s birthday. We aren’t even going to a club or anything, just the pub.”
I open my mouth to decline, though a proper excuse is just out of reach, when Kathleen snorts. “You already told us you had no plans, come on out, my treat,” she says with a grin.
Shoving my hand in my pocket, I clench the money that I’ve received in cash today, then I remember that I no longer have a private detective to pay for. There is no reason for me to scrimp and save the way that I had been.
My lips turn up into a small smile. “What time?” I ask.
John, Andrea, and Kathleen all exchange glances before their mouths curve up into a huge smile. “Now,” they all say simultaneously.
“I’m not dressed to go anywhere,” I point out.
Kathleen takes a step toward me, then another. Her lips stay curved up into a grin. “We’re getting ready at my place. I’m sure I have something that will fit you.”
I open my mouth to tell her no, that I’ll just meet her at whatever pub they’re going to, but she doesn’t allow that. She holds up her hand, shaking her head.
“I don’t want to hear it. If you leave, you’ll think of an excuse not to show. We’ve got you and you’re not leaving our sight.”
My shoulders slump. They had me. I probably would have gone home with the intention of changing into more appropriate clothes, but then I would have decided that my bed looked really comfortable and I would have just slipped between my sheets and gone to sleep.
“Fine,” I grunt.
Andrea lets out a squeal and the three of them rush toward me. Before I can complain or try to wriggle away, we’re locked arm in arm and headed toward Kathleen’s place. I wish that there was a way to say her clothes wouldn’t fit me, or that I had somewhere to be tomorrow morning.
I can’t say any of those things with a straight face. Kathleen is a couple of inches shorter than me, but we wear the same size, although my chest is about one size larger. We even wear the same damn shoe size.
The night air is a bit nippy, but I don’t mind it. I prefer the fresh cool air, rather than the false air of the aircon. I try not to use it, but in the salon, we don’t have a choice. At home, I just always keep my window open day or night to let the fresh air flow.
Once we arrive at Kathleen’s the drinks start to flow. I don’t imbibe much, my father’s constant drunken state being enough of an example of what not to do, but I can’t turn down the offered wine.
Kathleen takes my hand in hers and tugs me toward the bedroom while John and Andrea chat about one of their clients. I don’t hear the conversation, but I have a feeling it was one of the last ones of the evening. She was telling everyone in the shop about her impending divorce details.
“I have black, red, and blue,” Kathleen announces as she rifles through her closet. I don’t say a word, unsure of what she’s speaking of and too afraid to make a commitment without seeing what I’ll be committing to.
When she turns around, her lips are turned up into a wide smile. Flicking my gaze down, I chew on the inside of my cheek at the sight of my options, or lack thereof. Each color is a dress, and each dress is an exact replica of the other. They are all three bandage dresses, short, small, and strapless sweetheart necklines.
“Kathleen, I can’t,” I whisper.
She smirks. “I knew you’d say that, but you can, Siobahn. You are beautiful and sexy. You’re always hiding yourself, please, do this for yourself.”
“I don’t think so,” I mumble, taking a step back.
She shakes her head. “Do it for you, you owe yourself this much.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask, my brows pinching together.
She tilts her head to the side, her eyes dancing as she watches me. “You’re twenty-five years old. You have spent your entire adult life working and trying to find out what happened to Emilyn. You have put yourself on the back burner. Is that what she would have wanted?”
My stomach clenches at her words of Emi. Initially anger flows hot and heavy through my veins, but peters out almost immediately. Kathleen is not wrong. I have put my entire life on hold, but it hasn’t been a hardship. It’s what she would have done too.
Gulping, I look down at my feet. And I would hate if she did it for me, too. Just as much as she would hate that I’ve paused my entire life for her.
“Blue,” I burst out.
She lifts her brows in surprise. I am a little shocked as well. The blue isn’t a deep navy, no, it’s a bright royal blue and with my long blon
de hair I will no doubt stand out in the crowd of a dark pub.
I have never wanted to stand out before, always wanted to be unnoticeable, but Kathleen hit the nail on the head. I’m tired of being on pause. Connor may not have been able to find out any information that he was willing to give me, but I am so much closer to finding out what happened to my sister that I feel a sense of freedom.
“Blue it is. You’ll look gorgeous in it, too.”
We spend the next hour getting dressed, all four of us, and by the time we’re ready to walk out of the door, we in no way shape or form look as though we’re going to be headed to a dark pub. We look like we’re headed to a nightclub and I’m leery of actually leaving the apartment because I have a feeling that’s exactly where we’ll be going.
Chapter Four
RENZO
Clearing my throat, I lift my hand and signal for the waiter. Without looking at the bill, I hand him my card, all the while my eyes are focused on Sullivan. Tilting my head to the side, I think about his words, about what he’s just told me.
“Why would a private investigator be looking into him?” I demand.
Sullivan shakes his head once. “I don’t know. He wasn’t that great, I spotted him immediately. However, Orin is so cocksure, I doubt he noticed.”
“Which means I won’t be noticed,” I murmur.
Sullivan chuckles. I watch as he writes something down on a napkin and slides it over to me. “This is the investigator’s name. He doesn’t have an actual office, meets his clients in coffee shops. His most recent client, I assume, is who wanted to find Orin.”
“Do you happen to have their name?” I ask, hopeful.
He shakes his head once. “I don’t. Wouldn’t be hard to find, because Connor is not hard to find. Meets up at the café at the end of this block, once a week, every Monday he has a steady client whose husband is banging his secretary. Every week he shows her evidence, every week she tells him to gather more.”
Becoming the Hitman (Zanetti Famiglia Book 5) Page 3