“The request came from Kate.” As he explained her reasons, Ash watched the other man’s expression change.
“But there’s no real evidence this man’s... What’s his name? Lawrence Medford? There's no clear evidence that his death is related to this human trafficking documentary she’s making?”
“Not yet. All Kate knows is what the surveillance video showed. An unknown man entered the house with a box. He’s seen going into Medford’s study. About an hour later, he leaves, box in hand. A few hours after that, Medford’s body is discovered.”
“And you think the box was filled with snakes?”
“That’s the theory. Medford had multiple bites, but only one snake was found. After one bite, he still should’ve been able to call for help. Instead, for whatever reason, he didn’t. His phone was on the desk. He was found only a foot away from the desk.”
“How many snakes do they think bit him?”
“Hard to say. Kate had a wildlife expert examine the bites. He claimed they came from at least four different snakes.”
“Camera show the intruder’s face?”
“No. Just the back of his head. He was wearing a baseball cap. About five foot eleven. Slender, but solidly built. That’s all they’ve got to go on.”
“Who knows about this?”
“The coroner, the homicide detective in charge of the investigation, and Kate. Jules was with me when Kate’s call came. She has a theory.”
“What kind of theory?”
“When she was chasing serial killers, she came across a lot of different killers. One was a hit man, professional name, Promethean. He’s known for his unique manner of killing, hence the moniker. She thinks the guy in the security video might be this assassin. If so, he’s a top-dollar contract killer. Somebody paid big money to take Medford out of the picture.”
“Maybe the producer pissed somebody off. That’s bound to happen in that line of work. Doesn’t mean the two are related.”
“That’s true, but it’s a line worth pursuing.”
“Most people only have cameras at the entrances to their homes. Any reason why Medford would have one inside his house?”
“Apparently, a few months ago some things were stolen. He had the cameras installed in hopes of catching the thief. According to Kate, he never did find the culprit.”
“Sounds like Kate knew Lawrence Medford well. How did they know each other?”
“I believe her late husband was a longtime friend of Medford’s.”
“Does this filmmaker know any of what’s going on?”
“No. Kate met with her yesterday to feel her out. She’s a dedicated young woman determined to reveal how prevalent human trafficking is, but Kate didn’t get any sense she’s aware that she’s running into a potential minefield.”
“What’s her name?”
“Aubrey Starr.”
* * *
Liam didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. Aubrey Starr was the woman he’d made a fool of himself in front of when they’d met several years ago in Kosovo. She probably wouldn’t remember him, but he definitely remembered her.
Ash continued, “She did that documentary The Lost Ones a few years back.”
Yeah, he’d seen it a couple of times. It was hard to believe that something that gritty and dark had come from the woman he remembered. She had looked as fresh and innocent as a rose. But in the film, she had been able to convey not only the horror of human trafficking, but also the need for every person to get involved. The documentary had been a call to action. Any viewer of the film who didn’t walk away with the intense desire to help in some way wasn’t human.
Keeping his face expressionless, Liam said, “She’s a gifted filmmaker, but I doubt she’s prepared for the kind of action we encounter.”
“I agree, but I’d like for you to talk with her, see where her head is, and then make that determination.”
“Why? What’s the big picture here?”
“If she’s got intel, or can get intel, that would make someone nervous enough to pay high dollar to see that the film doesn’t get made, then there’s something worth pursuing. With that kind of money, could be there’s a large trafficking ring we’re not aware of yet. Be good if we could take them down.”
Couldn’t argue on that count. That would be a good day for everyone.
Liam frowned, still bothered by the obscurity. “Something doesn’t add up. Why Medford? He was just the producer and money man. Why not eliminate the main source? Taking out the filmmaker makes more sense than killing the one who’s funding it.”
“I agree, and I don’t know the answer to that.”
“Does Ms. Starr know she could be in danger?”
“Hard to say. Kate couldn’t get a good read on her. She says she’s hiding something but doesn’t know if it’s related to this or not.”
“You want me to bring an outsider into one of my ops, and you don’t even know if we can completely trust her?”
“You don’t have to share any of your sources or even when the raid is going to happen. We’ll keep her close, learn what we can from her, and—”
“And protect her as well.”
“Yes.”
He wasn’t much of a pessimist—took energy away from solving a problem—but if he were one he’d say this plan had disaster written all over it.
“I’m assuming we need to get in touch with her, like, yesterday.”
“That would be best. If Medford’s death is connected to her project, and she doesn’t know about the danger, then she could be living on borrowed time.”
Even though he knew nothing about Aubrey Starr other than from that one encounter, the thought of her possibly in danger bothered him.
“I’ll get Serena and Jazz to work with her,” Ash continued. “Jazz is scheduled for her final physical eval, and it’s time for Serena’s recertification. They can take her to Tri-Ops, teach her some self-defense, put her through some covert training. By the time you get a lead on where those victims in Colombia were taken, she should be trained enough to not be a hindrance.”
Based in Virginia, Tri-Ops was the facility that OZ used to train and hone the skills of their operatives. For someone with no training at all, it’d be a lot to take in, but if she could get a little knowledge, at least she wouldn’t be totally helpless on an op.
That was probably as good of a solution as any. Finding the victims they’d lost had become a full-time job. It was like they’d vanished into thin air. Half his efforts were also expended on hunting down Barnabas Drury. The man was as elusive as a wisp of smoke. Every lead had sent him to a place Drury had just left. He wouldn’t give up, though. Drury would pay for what had happened to Myron. This time, he’d make sure he never saw the light of day again.
Liam stood. He didn’t like the scenario Ash had painted, but his boss was right. If Aubrey Starr had intel, knowingly or unknowingly, that could lead them to a well-funded trafficking organization, then he’d do what he had to do. Putting up with a filmmaker for a few days would be worth it if it yielded those results.
“I’ll talk to Jazz and Serena,” Ash said. “Get them on a plane to Florida. They’ll keep Starr safe and get what intel they can.”
“All right.”
He was at the door, about to open it, when Ash added, “And, Stryker, maybe this time you’ll actually get to talk to her.”
Liam let out a huff of a laugh as he walked out. There wasn’t a soul at OZ who didn’t know about his humiliating experience. The man known for his glib and smooth tongue had been rendered mute. They’d called him Froggy for months after that.
He’d thought about her from time to time. The woman had captured his attention in a way no one else had in years. Once or twice he’d considered getting her number and giving her a call but had never followed through. Until he found Cat, one way or the other, he didn’t want the distraction. Besides, what woman would want to date a guy who was hung up on someone else?
Once he found
Cat—or learned what happened to her— he might be able to rest. But not yet…not yet.
Chapter Sixteen
St. Augustine, Florida
The instant she entered her house, Aubrey knew someone had been there. The locks weren’t damaged, the security system was still working, and there were no obvious signs of a break-in. But she knew.
After her abduction, she had been determined that nothing remotely similar would ever happen to her again. There had been times—more than a few times—that she’d felt as though someone was watching her. Her therapist had told her that hypervigilance after such a traumatic experience was a common response. And while that might well be true, it didn’t stop her from taking precautions. Some would call it paranoia. She called it normal.
She had taken multiple self-defense classes and learned how to handle a handgun as well as a knife. She was prepared physically. In her home, she had a standard security system, but skilled intruders could bypass a security system in seconds. So she’d gone a step further and set subtle, obscure traps to alert her if her space had been violated.
Each time she went out, she left at least a half-dozen insignificant-looking items sitting around. Anyone else wouldn’t give them another thought, but the instant she walked into her foyer, she noticed the first sign. On the entry table, a magazine she had left slightly askew had been straightened. As she went further into the house, she saw other signs. The pen sitting on her desk was no longer pointed toward the window. The paper clip that held a few printed pages of a script had been straightened. Before she’d left she had memorized each item and its exact position.
Going to the lockbox hidden beneath her entryway table, she entered a code and retrieved her Kimber pistol. Double-checking the clip to ensure she was ready for any threat, she went from room to room to make sure she was alone. Assuring herself that the intruder was gone, she went back to her bedroom and opened her closet. The secret panel behind her shoe shelf had been one of the few additions she’d made to the house. It held a treasure trove of research, some of which would make a lot of people very nervous if they knew about it.
Relieved that nothing had been disturbed, Aubrey closed the safe and replaced the panel. Closing the closet door, she took a deep breath. Had that been what they were searching for? Did someone know about her suspicions?
That had to be it, and if so, how had they found out?
She hadn’t known what she would uncover when she’d started her research. She’d told no one what she’d found. And she still didn’t know exactly what she had, but her gut told her to keep on going.
Still not feeling a hundred percent comfortable, Aubrey roamed through her house as she worked through the theory in her mind. It had started with an interview of a former trafficked victim. Thirteen-year-old Emma Griffin had been abducted during a camping trip with a school friend and her family. For two years, she had been held captive and raped repeatedly by dozens of strangers. To keep her docile and subservient, she had been given heroin every day. The drug had almost killed her, but in an odd way, it had also saved her life.
One day, she had been given too much and had overdosed. Thinking she was dead, or would be soon, her captors had dumped her in an abandoned hut in the woods in upstate New York. But she hadn’t died. Emma had managed to crawl her way out of the hut and onto a trail frequented by hikers. When she’d been found, they hadn’t expected her to survive but she had surprised everyone.
Though Emma had been in and out of consciousness for weeks, when she’d finally woken, she could remember only bits and pieces of her ordeal. That had been over three years ago. She had been reunited with her family and had recovered her health. Her memory was still spotty about many things, but she had confessed to Aubrey that she still suffered from nightmares. Though the nightmares varied in many ways, one thing remained consistent. An image of a golden eagle swooping down to catch its prey was in each of the nightmares. The image was one she couldn’t seem to shake.
Hoping to get the image out of her head, Emma had made numerous sketches of the eagle. When Aubrey had asked, she had eagerly given them up, saying she wanted them away from her.
When Aubrey had returned home from the interview, she had been typing up her notes while watching the raw footage of her talk with Emma. The pain in the young woman’s voice when she’d described the image of that eagle was something that wouldn’t let go.
Curious, she had started some digging and had found something quite interesting. Several years ago, a well-known artist, Francis Steinman, had been interviewed by a style magazine. He had become famous for his carvings of various wild animals. Some of his works had been highlighted in the magazine. One he was especially proud of was a carving of a golden eagle catching its prey. The piece had been commissioned by the wealthy and influential Marc Antony Ferante, who liked the carving so much, he had one made for every one of his homes. It became his insignia, so to speak. He was so enamored of it, he had insisted on buying the rights to the work, and Steinman had agreed never to carve the same image for anyone else.
An image of that carved eagle was the exact one that Emma had sketched.
From there, Aubrey started a deep dive into Ferante. The man was hugely influential and featured in tons of articles, hours of interviews, and at least a dozen books. She had only gone through a tenth of what she needed to, but she’d already spotted several red flags.
Connecting the nightmares of a young, traumatized woman to the wealthy Ferante was more than a stretch. Something told Aubrey not to let it go. There was something there.
And now that her house had been broken into, she knew she was likely on the right track. Problem was, where would it lead her? And whom could she trust?
Having someone break into her home and leave no trace of their intrusion told her one thing—they hadn’t wanted her to know they were there. Had it been a fishing expedition? Maybe someone only suspected she knew something. Since nothing had been found, perhaps they would assume she had no information.
But she couldn’t assume they wouldn’t be back.
Her phone rang, and Aubrey jumped. Her nerves were ragged, and she was definitely freaked out.
Grabbing the phone from her purse, she checked the display, recognizing the number immediately. “Hello, Kate. I didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon.”
“I have good news for you. I spoke with the leader of the organization I told you about. He is willing to allow you to do a ride-along on their next rescue.”
“That’s wonderful. Thank you for that. Should I—”
“One of their operatives, either Serena or Jazz, will contact you. You’ll get more information from them on the where and the how.”
“Thank you, Kate. I sincerely appreciate your help.”
“You’re very welcome. I enjoyed our meeting and look forward to talking with you again soon. The funds are ready when you are.”
A wave of gratitude brought a lump to Aubrey’s throat. Focusing on so much of the horrors, she sometimes lost sight of the good in the world. There were kindhearted, giving people who wanted to end human trafficking as much as she did.
Should she tell Kate about this? Who she was investigating and why? Not all wealthy people knew each other, but Kate Walker was a savvy, intelligent businesswoman and a former FBI agent. She might have insight Aubrey hadn’t considered.
“Aubrey, everything okay?”
She shook herself. She was exhausted and running on fumes, barely had a grasp on reality right now. After a good night’s sleep, she’d be better able to decide whom she could trust.
“Everything’s fine. Just a little weary from traveling.”
“Completely understandable. Get some rest, and we’ll talk soon.”
“I will. And thank you again.”
“My pleasure.”
A wave of exhaustion hitting her, Aubrey went through her nightly ritual in record time. She double-checked the security system and all her locks. Then, placing her pistol on th
e nightstand, within easy reach, she slipped into bed. Even though fatigue weighed heavily on her, she stared into the darkness for a long while. Every noise she heard, her body went tense. Finally, just before dawn, she dropped into a restless, uneasy sleep.
The man watching the camera feed of Aubrey Starr’s bedroom gave a giant yawn. The girl was in over her head. That was clear. Yeah, she knew her home had been broken into, and he was impressed that she’d been able to determine that intruders had entered. His people were the best at what they did, leaving absolutely no trace of an intrusion. For her to suspect a break-in was impressive. She was no dummy, but she was naïve. She assumed nothing had been compromised since her safe hadn’t been found. She never considered that though nothing had been taken, something had been left. Cameras and mics covered her entire house, and they had already paid off. Tomorrow, whether she was there or not, he’d be checking out that little hidey-hole in her closet. He was willing to bet there were some interesting tidbits his employer would be very anxious to know more about.
Chapter Seventeen
Northeast Florida Regional Airport
St. Augustine, Florida
“You want to make the call, or you want me to?”
Jazz sent a sideways look at Serena Donavan. “You’re better with words. I’m too blunt. I’ll just freak her out.”
“That’s not true. You’re just honest to a fault.”
Jazz added a grin. “That’s a nice way of saying I’m rude and abrupt.”
Serena laughed and then shrugged. “Maybe that’s what she needs. Sounds like she might be in over her head.”
“Yeah. Problem is, we can’t tell her until we find out more about her. Ash isn’t ready to trust her. And if he’s not, then I’m not either.”
Asher Drake had a sixth sense when it came to reading people.
Serena gazed out the window of the rental car. “It’s beautiful here. Wish we had time to explore.”
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