InTooDeep (13 page)

Shit. Everything Dave had said was true.
He’d be just as pissed if he were the one getting shut out. And Dave had gone
out on a limb by bringing this information to him. Even to the director that
had to count for something.

“I can’t promise anything, at least, not
once Baulding finds out.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Hunt figured that would be his answer. He
jerked his head toward the room they’d just vacated. “Wait in there. And try
not to look too paranoid.”

Dave slipped back into the room and closed
the door behind him.

“Agent Chandler.”

Hunt would recognize that booming voice
anywhere. Deputy Director Ryan Baulding, a tall, broad-shouldered man with wiry
black hair and a runner’s build, approached him, or stormed toward him, rather.

“Yes, sir.” He turned to acknowledge his
superior’s presence.

“Let’s talk.” Director Baulding continued
walking, expecting Hunt to fall into step beside him.

Yeah, he’d seen that one coming already.
Hunt remained silent while walking alongside his boss. Nothing he could say
would diminish the man’s anger anyway, and Baulding had every right to be
pissed off at him. When Hunt broke cover, he knew he was taking a risk and here
came the consequences.

The same rookie agent who’d escorted Dave
in came rushing toward them. “Agent Chandler, there’s a call for you. It’s a
nurse at St. Francis Hospital. She says it’s urgent.”

Chapter Twelve

Carley woke to pain—pain in her neck,
wrists, her ankles, her spine, everywhere. Her lips were cracked and when she
licked them she tasted her own blood.

Fatigue cloaked her, and as she raised her
head to survey her surroundings she realized her hands and feet were chained to
the wall—an unyielding stone wall with little room for movement—and she wore
only her bra and panties.

A rustling sound drew her attention though
she could see little in the darkness. From the dampness of the air she surmised
she was in a basement, odd considering few homes in Charleston had basements.
No doubt the noises were from rats. She shivered a little at that thought.

“You shouldn’t fight against the chains.”

The whispered voice snapped her head up. “Who’s
there?”

Murmured pleas for silence followed. How
many women were in the room? Had she found the ones Hunt and his team had been
looking for? Her heart tapped out a loud rhythm against her breastbone.

“Please. You have to talk to me. Where are
we? What are we doing here?”

“Be quiet. If she hears us talking things
will only be worse for you.” This from the same urgent voice she’d already
heard.

Carley tried to lift herself up to ease
some of the pressure of the metal cuffs biting into her wrists but she had no
leverage. Whoever had taken her had secured her well. Or perhaps the other
women had done it.

“Listen to me. The FBI knows about what’s
going on. Agents are looking for you right now.”

The rustling intensified and scuffling
footsteps drew closer. “They won’t find us. No one will. Dani kept telling us
we were going to be safe but then Frankie took her and she didn’t return. He
told us she’d drowned.”

The words were a kick in the stomach. The
complete and utter hopelessness she heard in the woman’s voice robbed her of
speech for a moment. She stared into the darkness, waiting for another sign of
life.

As the figure approached, Carley got a good
long look at the woman. Naked and dirty, she looked like she hadn’t slept in
months. Thin, stringy blonde hair framed a gaunt face with sunken cheeks.
Watery hazel eyes peered up at her, and when she reached up her matchstick-thin
arms brought a gasp to Carley’s lips.

The woman grunted. “We don’t get fed much.”

Her head swam. This wasn’t what was
supposed to be happening. The women were supposed to be sold as sex slaves,
weren’t they? Why would they be kept like this?

“Why are you here? Has Frankie told you
that?” Her brain still fuzzy, she shook her head.

A loud clank sounded much like a metal bowl
hitting rock. “Will you just stop asking so many questions? These people have
ears everywhere.” This voice was different, much angrier, more threatening.

But Carley pressed on. “Why am I chained
and the rest of you aren’t?”

The blonde swiped her hair away from her
face with grimy hands. “Because we aren’t a threat to them. When those men
brought you in here they said you was trouble.”

Someone spat on the ground, the sound
enough to make Carley’s stomach roll. “Now we’re just wondering why you ain’t
dead already if you’re as much trouble as they think you are.”

“What does Frankie look like?” Carley’s
throat was so dry she could barely force the words out.

The whispered description confirmed her
suspicions. “Frankie isn’t back because he’s dead. He was a cop, Lieutenant
Darrell Franklin.” Her head throbbed. She only wanted to close her eyes and
rest for a moment but her fuzzy instincts protested, warning her to try to
focus. It might be her only chance at survival.

“Before I was taken I heard a voice…a
woman. Have you seen her?”

“We’ve all seen her, but we ain’t supposed
to talk about her.”

A woman was behind all of this? How bitter
would she have to be to sell other women into slavery? Carley breathed a little
easier now that she could think. What had her father always told her about
precarious situations?

There was always a way out. It might not
always be easy to find the escape route but it was there. And as long as you
have breath in your body, you keep going.

Well there was one thing she knew for sure.
Hanging around with women scared out of their wits wasn’t going to get her out
of here. Time to make some noise and get someone’s attention. Ignoring the knot
of fear behind her breastbone, Carley rattled the chains loudly.

“Sweet Mother of Mary.” Hunt stood outside
the window of the hospital room, staring at the bandaged body several feet
away. Not even the slightest patch of skin had been left uncovered, and from
what the doctor had told him the woman underneath all the dressing would be
lucky to survive another hour much less the night. But she had been adamant
about talking to him.

“Agent Chandler.” A pretty, fresh-faced
nurse handed him a dressing gown, cap and mask. “Step in here, and I’ll help
you get gowned up.” Her face tightened. “I’m sorry to say even these precautions
probably won’t make that much of a difference.”

Hunt followed the nurse into a cold room
with galvanized sinks and bottles of liquid lining an aluminum shelf. “Did she
say why she wants to talk to me?”

“No, but she’s been insistent that she can
only speak with you once she learned you were the agent handling Lieutenant
Franklin’s murder.” Her voice shook a little. “She mentioned something about
selling women but I must have misunderstood her. I mean, that can’t be real,
right?” When Hunt didn’t answer, her eyes widened. “How could—” She broke off.
“Never mind. I don’t think I want to know the details.”

“You’re right, you don’t. You get her
name?”

“No. She’s not giving out information and
there was no identification on her. She just kept demanding she talk to you.”
The nurse turned a worried face toward the glass. “Poor thing. I think she
knows we’ve done all we can for her but I don’t know how much longer she can
hang on no matter how much determination she has.”

“Hey.”

The door creaked open, and Hunt heard his
partner’s voice behind him. He turned. “What are you doing here?”

“I slipped out of that room while your boss
was on the phone. I heard you got a call from here, thought I could help.”

Hunt considered it then jerked his head
toward the nurse. “Could you get my partner another gown please?”

When the RN left them alone, Dave lowered
his voice. “How bad is it?”

“Bad, and we don’t have much time.”

After they were covered with gowns, gloves
and masks, the nurse inspected them before opening to the door to the burn unit
room. She walked in ahead of them, her footsteps practically nonexistent on the
tiled floor.

“Miss?” She didn’t touch the bandaged body.
“This is Agent Chandler from the FBI. He’s handling Lieutenant Franklin’s
case.” She gave Hunt another look. “Miraculously, she’s breathing on her own,
but the doctor anticipates we’ll need to trach her soon. So make the
conversation a quick one. Not that you’re going to be able to get that much out
of her. She’s maxed out on morphine.”

Hunt moved closer to the bed just as
tortured, red eyelids without lashes cracked open and bloodshot blue eyes
stared up at him eerily. Each breath she took seemed an extraordinary effort.

The woman coughed then cried out, a tear
sliding down her cheek, a sign the narcotic wasn’t serving much purpose. “You
Chandler?” Pain laced the raspy voice. Not the kind of pain one felt from a
bruise but the kind Hunt had experienced himself after a bad gunshot. It was
crippling, all-consuming. The only difference was his eventually faded. This
woman had no shot at surviving this torture.

He leaned in so it wouldn’t be such an
effort for her to speak.

“Husband. Dead.”

Hunt frowned. “Do you know who killed him
or who did this to you?”

“Rena.”

Where had he heard that name before? “Did
Rena have anything to do with Lieutenant Franklin’s murder?”

Another racking cough suspended
conversation.

As much as he wanted to walk out, to let
this victim achieve the peace only death could bring, he had to push for more
information, anything that would lead him to the ringleader. “Do you know
Rena’s last name or where I can find her?”

“No. Never saw her.” She stopped again and
closed her eyes. For a brief second, Hunt thought she was gone but she
surprised him by finding his gaze again. “Find her.” Another cry escaped her
cracked lips and Dave coughed over Hunt’s shoulder, clearly uncomfortable.

She coughed again, the sound like a rusted
door opening. “Need water.”

Hunt took the cup from the bedside table
and offered the straw to her parched lips. As she drank the cooling liquid, her
eyes began to glaze. There wasn’t much time. “What’s your name?” He didn’t
figure it would help the case but suddenly it seemed important that someone
knew the name of this woman who would die because of her husband’s crimes.

“Shannon Everly.” She surprised him by
reaching out with her hand and covering his, though the movement must have been
sheer agony. “Thank. You.”

Her eyes closed again and her breaths
shortened.

“I’m sorry, but you should go now.” The
nurse walked forward but Shannon managed to shake her head.

“No. No more pain. Please.”

Hunt straightened and walked to the end of
the bed, ready to leave, but Shannon called out to him once more.

“Check the warehouse.” Her words were
barely distinguishable across the distance. “Bomb. Check.”

Hunt and Dave exchanged glances and Dave
headed out of the room to follow up. The warehouse explosion was a good lead,
more than they had to go on in a while. Hunt took a couple of steps back toward
Shannon’s side but she drew in another rattling breath then grew silent. The
heart monitor beeped once, twice then began a slow, steady whine as the green
line scrolled across the screen.

“Damn.” Hunt left the room as the nurse
began disconnecting the monitors and machines.

Dave met him in the hall. “Dispatch said
there was a warehouse fire down near the docks last night. One body was found
inside. No identification, burned beyond recognition. He was taken to the
county coroner.”

“Call and let them know the John Doe’s last
name is probably Everly, at least I’m hoping that’s his last name too. I’m
going to run her husband and see if I can get a list of known associates. We’re
closing in on this bitch.”

Metal clinked against metal and the women
scurried back into the shadows, fear sending them into hiding. Hinges creaked
and silence descended, so thick and oppressive Carley could hear her own heart
beating.

Footsteps clicked on the steps descending
into the dungeon and the snick of a light switch preceded a flood of light that
bathed the room.

Carley couldn’t suppress a gasp as she got
a full view of the other women in the room. Gaunt, disheveled and dirty, seven
of them, all naked, huddled together as one, bony arms wrapped around one
another to form a useless shield against whatever harm approached.

Tugging against the chains, Carley began to
struggle in earnest again. Whatever these women were, they weren’t sex slaves,
and a sickening knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Maybe they were being
used as examples, a way to keep the women who would go up for auction in line.
The thought made her even sicker.

Finally the footsteps ceased, but the
stairs still shielded the visitor from her gaze. She ground her teeth together
and drew in a deep breath. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen.
She would not give her captor the pleasure of hearing her beg or seeing her
cry.

“Carley Morgan.” The distinctly feminine
voice triggered Carley’s memory. This was the bitch she’d heard seconds before
she’d felt the stinging pain at the back of her neck.

Who in the hell was this woman and what did
she have to do with Franklin’s death? Or even more important, what did she want
with her? “You obviously have the advantage since you know my identity.” She
stopped fighting the restraints as the footsteps resumed and the woman walked
to stand in front of her.

A petite brunette with dark eyes, the woman
had added to her sultry allure with smoky eye shadow and wine-colored lipstick.
Wearing a classic-looking suit of soft blue linen, she moved forward on
dagger-sharp stilettos of at least five inches.

“Oh don’t be so modest. I wouldn’t be able
to look at myself in the mirror if I didn’t know the identity of one of the
most infamous thieves of this century.”

Carley summoned a smile that managed to
erase the one on her captor’s face. “And you knew who I was simply by my name.
I guess I should be flattered. Perhaps that’s why you don’t want to introduce
yourself. Is it possible I wouldn’t know you even if you were to provide me
with your name?”

The words struck their target. The woman’s
onyx eyes narrowed and her mouth formed a thin, disapproving line. The struggle
for self-control was evident on her face. She finally opted to change the
subject. “Have you met your roommates?”

Carley didn’t take her gaze off the woman’s
face. She committed each aspect to memory even down to the mole next to the
bow-shaped mouth, hoping she’d have the opportunity to identify her to the FBI.
“Not exactly sex slave material.”

“These women were not up to par.” She
examined her fingers. “My clients are extremely choosy when it comes to
their…partners.”

Carley lifted a shoulder in an affected
careless shrug. “So why not just kill them?”

A gasp sounded from the corner of the room
and her captor laughed. “I wouldn’t risk pissing them off, Ms. Morgan. You’re
going to be here with them for a while.”

Now wasn’t the time for relief. She hadn’t
been granted a reprieve. There was a reason why she wasn’t already dead.
Killers didn’t leave witnesses so, apparently, this woman wanted something from
her. Maybe even needed something. “Hmm, I guess that means I’m not going to be
your next victim, either. Why is that?”