Deep Into The Night (Hartz Island Series) (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

J
ack pulled into the parking lot of Dick’s Burgers on Queen Anne Avenue. “We’re getting burgers, but not to go.”

He grabbed his iPad and hopped out of his truck. Cassie wondered when he would realize she wasn’t behind him. He stopped and looked over his shoulder, she waved, motioning him back, and then pointed to the door. When he opened her door, Cassie held out her hand to help her down.

“I think you’re taking advantage of the situation,” he said.

“Just be glad I’m not making you practice with an accent yet.”

He muttered something unintelligible back. When they reached the door, he held it open, and she waited for him to open the inner door. Cassie headed to a booth with Jack’s iPad while he ordered their food. He returned with three Dick’s Deluxe, fries, and two chocolate milk shakes.

“When was the last time you had a Dick’s burger?” he asked.

She couldn’t answer because her mouth was already full.

“Did you eat lunch?”

Shaking her head, she took another bite.

“Oh, that’s right because you were down on South Jackson Street.”

She didn’t take the bait and continued to eat.

Finishing her burger, she sighed. “The answers to your questions are I don’t know, no, and yes.” She popped a couple of fries in her mouth. “This is really good. Thank you.”

He handed her a napkin and a pen. “Draw me the tattoo you saw and anything else you can remember.”

“I can do better than that.” Cassie hunted through her purse and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him. It was everything she’d written down.

Jack studied it and took a photo with his tablet. Cassie finished the drawing and he photographed it.

“How can you be so sure of that tattoo? You didn’t mention it when I showed you the photo of the guy with Armstrong.”

“When I saw it a second time, it must have jarred my memory.”

“But how can you be so sure?” Jack finished the burger and popped fries, waiting for her to answer.

With the pen in her hand and a fresh napkin, Cassie closed her eyes, and started sketching what she saw. Jack compared the two drawings, and they were almost identical.

“Last year, an Asian film company came to L.A. to make some movie about gangs, some fiction thriller. They had a couple of scenes shot in Los Angeles where this guy was in hiding. I played a shopkeeper who was harassed by this gang. It’s the same tattoo. When you are sitting around waiting to shoot your scene and everyone is sporting the same ink, it’s kind of hard to miss it.”

Jack had Cassie hold both napkins side-by-side while he took a photo, and then each separately. He e-mailed everything off, closed the iPad, and said, “Let’s go.”

This time, he held every door open and then the truck door, helping her in. Jack took 1st Avenue to the Alaskan Way Viaduct where they clipped along at a reasonable speed. He exited for Harbor Island. Off in the distance, cargo ships and flood lights lit up the area. He pulled up to the closed gate to enter the pier area. Immediately, a guard came out.

He rolled down his window and showed his credentials. “Wyatt. I.C.E.” He pointed to Cassie. “Ryan.”

The guard grinned and leaned in, handing Jack the clip board to sign in. “Yeah, I heard they found some pretty interesting stuff today.” He opened the gate and waved them through.

Jack drove down to the end where two cargo ships were berthed. Tower cranes unloaded containers off the ships. Two men wearing jackets marked I.C.E., a gun and badge clearly visible on their hips, waved when he pulled up and parked. Just like before, he hopped out, came around and opened her door, and held up his hand to help her out. Cassie looked at the waiting men, and then Jack.

“How about if I just wait here.” Nervousness gripped her. It was one thing being one-on-one with Jack, but this was his work.

“No. I want you to come with me.”

She glanced nervously at the men and then back at Jack. She didn’t know why she’d gotten an attack of butterflies.

“You’re fine.”

Cassie grasped his offered hand and stood next to him.

“Just be yourself. But, please, not Sammi with an i.” He squeezed her hand. They walked toward the men, and Cassie saw the quick look one gave to the other.

“Hey, boss,” one of the men called.

Jack stopped in front of them. “This is Cassie. She’s helping us go undercover tomorrow night. Where’s Heather?”

They both grinned. “In there with the contraband.” They motioned with their heads.

“Are you picking on her?”

“No. We just thought we’d get a woman’s point of view of where to search next. Heather is directing us.”

The conversation sounded innocent, but the men’s expression said differently. She was sure they wanted to say more but didn’t because she was standing there. Jack led the way into an enormous well-lit warehouse with forklifts moving cargo. A tall woman dressed identical to the men, also with a badge and gun on her hip, waved to Jack. She stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the opened crates. She grinned at Jack. “You know what we found now, don’t you?” said Heather

“Yes,” replied Jack. “Are the guys giving you grief?”

Heather smirked. “Not now. Not after I said, ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’” Heather reached into the crate and pulled out an enormous rubberized penis and held it up.

Cassie gasped and started laughing.

“That probably shut them up then, didn’t it?” Jack smiled.

“Yep.” She opened her hands and let the penis drop back into the case.

“Where’s the DEA guys?”

“Over there.” Heather pointed to a group of men in a cordoned off area. A forklift operator was delivering two more crates.

“Heather, this is Cassie Ryan, and she is going undercover tomorrow night with me. I need you to outfit her with everything she needs. We’re supposed to be Russian.”

“Oh, so that’s why the new look.” Heather ran her hand across her cheek. “Okay. Let’s get away from the crate of dreams, and you can tell me everything.” Heather pulled out a smart phone from her back pocket and motioned for Cassie to follow.

“Great job, Heather. How did you figure this one out?” Jack motioned to the crates.

“Something about the waybill bothered me. The shipper and the receiver were almost identical on the ecstasy bras, and the weight seemed off to me for a bra. Once we opened the crate and I saw the size and style being shipped, it didn’t make any sense to me until I fingered the padding. So the guys and I took a look at the rest of the manifest and at all the Saipan shipments. I Google-earthed the address in Saipan and found both the bras and the sex toys came out of the same building but with different street addresses. Same warehouse, but two different streets fronting each side. I concluded that House of Dong was the same as the 44-Double D Ecstasy Bras. Jim took a knife and sliced through the rubber toy and white powder streamed out. The rest is history.”

“Do they know what it is yet?” Jack asked.

Heather shook her head.

“One thing, make sure you outfit Cassie with a hidden camera for tomorrow night.” He turned and headed to the group of men.

Jack greeted the men and surveyed the cache. If it was ecstasy, forty pounds equaled a million dollars of street value. He estimated a half million dollars so far. Rude jokes spilled out from the agents while they sliced the elongated rubber, pouring out the white powder.

“Doesn’t look like coke or meth to me,” said Jack.

“According to the lab, it is GHB, the date rape drug,” replied one of the DEA agents.

“Where was it headed?”

“A warehouse in Kent for the Notty and Nyce Party group. Someone has a warped sense of humor if you ask me. It’s one of those women party get-togethers where they have sex toys instead of Tupperware.” The agent grinned at Jack’s expression. “They’re very popular.”

“Well, wonders never cease.”

Jack glanced back to see if Heather and Cassie had finished. Heather gave him a thumb’s up, so he excused himself and joined them. Jack confirmed details with Heather, and when they finished, he and Cassie headed back to the truck.

Once on the main road, Cassie asked, “Where to next?” Jack was headed away from downtown.

“Get the iPad out. I downloaded a Russian language app. You can coach me while we search for a massage parlor around Sea-Tac.”

“What massage parlor?”

“The one I got a tip about. I just want to see its location and what might be going on at this time of night.”

“You do realize you’re not going to master Russian in an hour, don’t you?”

“In three hours?”

Cassie pulled out the iPad and tapped on the app. “Listen to the sounds first. Then we can go over words.” She followed along. When it finished, she asked, “Did you hear the sounds that form at the back of the throat?”

He looked at her and raised his brows. “Are you serious? I heard gibberish.”

She shook her head. “Give me your phone. I want to find a site and send it to the iPad. You need Gareth Jameson.”

“Who?”

“An actor who teaches accents. You can listen to his voice, and then you can hear the language course. He explains it way better than I can.”

Jack handed Cassie his phone. By the time she downloaded the app, he had pulled into a rear parking lot shared by an old motel. He backed in and parked in the dark shadows and shut off the engine. Jack reached behind his seat and pulled out a set of binoculars. Only the half-lit No Vacancy sign blinking on a pole pierced the darkness.

“Are you ready to listen?” she asked.

“I am. Keep the sound low and the light concealed.” He adjusted the night vision binoculars and peered into the night.

For thirty minutes they listened to the voice coach, with Cassie replaying the lessons. Jack mumbled through Russian when he said, “Bingo. We got something. Hand me the camera from the seat behind you.” He traded Cassie for the camera and started clicking away. She adjusted the binoculars to her face and scoped the area. “Look at the first three rooms of the motel but in the back area,” he instructed her. “Tell me what you see.”

“I only see a man standing in the shadows.”

“That’s right. He’s the guard. The girl and the man entered the motel room via a back door. What nationality?”

Cassie studied the man. He lit a cigarette and turned just enough for her to see the majority of his face. “He reminds me of the man with Rob Armstrong.”

“That’s what I think too.”

They sat in silence and watched. Movement in the shadows caught Cassie’s attention. “Jack, here’s another one.”

An Asian girl in stiletto heels wearing a faux fur coat was followed by a man that was clearly the customer, with another man behind.

Putting the binoculars down she said, “I can’t watch this; it makes me sick. That girl doesn’t look more than fourteen. Can’t you do something?”

“I will, I promise. Just not tonight.” He continued to click away until they left. He knew by her folded arms she was upset. “Are you okay?”

“It makes me angry. She didn’t look old enough to understand what’s going on.”

“I know.” He reached over and squeezed her hand.

“When do you turn it off?” she asked, facing him.

“Lately it seems like never.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” She reached over and stroked the back of his head and let her fingers rest on his neck. Surprised, Jack looked at her. He wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but he knew what he was. He leaned in, and it seemed the most natural thing for their mouths to meet.

Chapter Twenty-Three

"T
hanks,” he murmured and cleared his throat.

She smiled. “For what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Caring? Unpredictable?”

“I like unpredictable.” Cassie touched his cheek.

“Me too.”

Cassie thought about his words. In the past, she’d read meaning into words that didn’t exist. This time, she would take it at face value.

Jack let out a deep breath. “I need better photos to nail those bastards.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure…”

Jack started up the SUV. With all the lights off, he drove it out of the darkened parking lot and repositioned down the street. With the GPS on his phone and the truck’s, he compared the data.

“Supposedly the street dead ends at the motel. So if we come around from the other side, at the back end, we should have a better view. We might have to sneak through some bushes.”

“We?”

“You don’t have to come. You can stay in the truck.”

“I’m not staying in the truck without you.”

He looked at her and frowned. With his expression, Cassie wasn’t sure what to think. Jack hopped out, opened the rear hatch, and returned with two I.C.E. hoodies and handed them to her.

“Your coat will be ruined. Put one on, but turn the other inside out so markings can’t be seen.”

Pulling out on Highway 99, Jack made a left, continued a block, and then made another left. Turning off the truck lights, he made a right, putting them behind the back of the motel in an industrial lot. Bushes and fir trees blocked their view. Before he shut off the engine, Jack surveyed the area with the night vision binoculars.

“We’re clear.” For a moment, they sat in silence. “You’re sure about coming along?”

“Yes.” Cassie wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

“Use the hood or see if there is a stocking cap in the side pocket. Put it on.”

Sure enough, she reached down and pulled out a black cap. With her hair shorter, she tucked everything under the hat.

“You’re in charge of the camera until we get in position. Then we’ll switch. Block your side of the headlight when I click the truck lock. Shield the light with your body.”

Cassie wasn’t sure about all the instructions, but she did what she was told and followed his example. When Jack locked the truck, the lights flashed, but only against her. In the black of the night, he led the way. Up against a hedge of bushes, he motioned for her to crouch low. Cassie recognized the barrier hedge as scotch broom from when they were kids, making camps and hiding in it. This hedge was sturdy and at least six feet tall, which was not unusual for an untamed batch of scotch broom. She poked Jack and pointed under the branches.

She crawled right behind him. Jack turned and motioned for her to stop. He’d reached a rotted fence. Using the binoculars, he inspected the area. He gave Cassie a thumb’s up. Carefully he pulled a plank away, which gave them a clear view of the back of the motel. Like Jack indicated, no one stood guard, which meant the tricks were not inside.

“Rub dirt on your face,” he whispered.

Cassie followed his example. Between the scotch broom and the trunks of a couple of fir trees, they were well hidden. Using a fallen fir branch, Jack camouflaged the camera even more. She positioned herself behind him with the binoculars.

Her pulse quickened, and she sucked in her breath. Jack glanced at her. She motioned with her fingers; someone was coming. Anger turned to rage watching an identical scenario take place. She didn’t know why or how this young girl came to be in this situation, but she knew a victim when she saw one. More than anything, she wanted to beat the crap out of that guard standing there.

Photographs could identify, but a study of a person also revealed details. Cassie refocused on the guard and watched. When the trick was done, the young woman exited the room pulling her coat around her, but not before her breasts were revealed. The guard grabbed her arm and said something to her. She gripped the collar of his jacket, yanked at it, spitting out words Cassie did not understand. In her high stiletto heels, she hugged her coat and headed back to the massage parlor building. When the guard adjusted his jacket, he revealed the identical tattoo Cassie had seen earlier on the man at South Jackson Street. She didn’t dare move and hoped Jack had gotten a photograph. The customer emerged from the room and started yelling at the guard, who promptly screamed back. Unfamiliar languages filled the night air.

Jack motioned at her with his smart phone. At first, she wasn’t sure what he wanted, but then it hit her. Record the conversation, which she could in camera mode. The yelling of the two men ended with the customer marching off. The guard slammed the motel door and headed back to the parlor.

Jack scooted back next to her. “Let’s get out of here.”

She followed behind him. When they reached the edge of the scotch broom, Jack searched the area.

“Clear.”

He grabbed her hand and they sprinted to the truck. Just like before, they blocked the headlights when he unlocked it. Not until he was two blocks away did he turn on the lights.

“Are you okay?”

She shrugged. “Those girls couldn’t have been eighteen. That was more than prostitution by their choice.”

“I agree. My guess is sex trafficking.”

“I wanted to beat those men to a pulp.” Tears formed and she blinked fast.

“If it makes you feel any better, so do I.”

“That guard had a tattoo.”

“I saw that.”

The night’s events silenced her. Nothing more was said until Jack parked in his condo spot and came around to her door.

“I’m still practicing.” He held out his hand. His sweet gesture with his dirt-smeared face and muddy jacket offset her anger. Silently, they walked to the elevator.

Following his routine, Jack unlocked his condo door, stepped in, and listened. Like always, he’d left a light on. He stepped aside for Cassie to enter and locked up.

“I’d like a drink. Would you? I’ve got Irish whiskey, scotch, beer, and wine.”

“I like scotch.” Cassie looked down at the dirty sweatshirt and her jeans and grimaced. “I’m going to change.” She stopped at the washer, stripped off Jack’s sweatshirt, and dropped it in before heading into the bedroom.

Not a bad idea
, he thought. Jack did the same with his jacket. When he entered his bedroom, he heard the shower running. Cassie’s jeans were on the floor outside the door. Not sure where the night was headed, Jack changed into gym shorts and pulled on sweats for extra protection. He picked up their dirty jeans, tossed them in the washer, and started it. More than anything, he wanted to download all the photos and get them shipped off to his work, but Cassie had brought up a good point: when did he turn it off?

Jack turned on the gas fireplace, poured a scotch, and downed it. Up until now, Cassie Ryan had been a black and white decision. Now, the gray area had muted it all. Had his cell phone not rang a second time, he was pretty sure that dress would be laying on the floor with her not in it.

In three days, the F word and various forms of it had become his favorite adjective, as in this was a disaster waiting to happen. She drove him nuts, he was forty-two years old, and he was hot for her. Jack was on the edge ready to fall. And there was that word again being muttered watching her walk down the hallway in his flannel shirt, barefoot, and face scrubbed. What was it about her? He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. For the first time in their lives, no one was around to stop them. They were consenting adults, but still…

He poured another scotch for himself. Jack held up the bottle for her to see and asked, “How do you like your scotch?”

“On the rocks would be nice.”

He joined her with the drinks and motioned to the leather sofa. Jack slipped his arm around her, and she snuggled in next to him. In a comfortable silence, they sipped their drinks and watched the fire dance.

“You’re quiet,” he said, squeezing her shoulders.

“I can’t stop thinking about those girls. Sex and greed. How you stay calm is beyond me. I wanted those men dead for what they were doing to those girls. They have no dreams, they’re gone. Just like mine. Men can be such pigs.”

“Not all men,” he protested. “Not all men are pigs.”

Cassie pulled away and looked him straight in the eye. “Please, please tell me you never ever acted like a pig.”

“Well, Cass, somebody might have thought that. I mean, come on, I’m a guy.”

Cassie jumped up, glaring. “So you admit it. You’ve acted like a pig!”

“Hey, I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did.” Cassie scowled at Jack with her hands on her hips. “God, I can’t believe it.” She set her empty glass on the coffee table and marched out.

If the conversation hadn’t turned so ridiculous, he would have laughed. Somebody was feeling sorry for themselves.

“Well, buddy,” he said quietly, glancing down at his cock, “I guess we don’t have to worry about tonight.”

Jack finished his drink, grabbed his camera equipment, and headed to the office.