Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) (3 page)

He could circle back to his own apartment in the building near the parking garage or… or…

What was he thinking? The blonde had made a hasty exit from the party—and for good reason. What were the chances she would welcome company, especially a man, after having to fend off unwelcome advances from a lecherous loser?

And if Ben wanted company, all he had to do was go back to the party. Problem was that wasn’t the company he wanted. The woman who’d taken down Gary intrigued him. Her doe-like, dark chocolate eyes captivated him. Her lack of interest in the party scene appealed to him.

What the hell? Ben Alfren never dodged a challenge.
Bring it.

Amber sat on her balcony with her wine and book. Usually they were enough to make her happy—or at least not unhappy. But tonight, she kept staring across the bay at the San Diego skyline, lost in thought. Not even the lights dancing on the dark water or the concrete ribbon of the bridge could distract her. The marine layer had moved in and hung high over everything, threatening to descend and blanket the world. Dense fog would definitely fit her mood.

“Hi, there. You okay?”

A man’s voice, one she didn’t recognize, came out of the darkness.

She glanced along the row of second-floor balconies but couldn’t see anyone.

“Down here.”

Her butt stayed glued to the chair. The voice didn’t sound like Gary’s. Besides, his might be an octave higher now, if he could even talk. Or the man “down here” could be calling to someone else out of her line of sight. Either way, not her problem. She picked up her book.

“I’m Ben Alfren. We haven’t met, but I wanted to make sure Gary hadn’t hurt you.”

Intense blue eyes smiled in her memory. Her stomach did a little somersault. Still, she remained seated.

“I’m fine,” she called. “Thanks for checking on me.”

“Sorry I couldn’t get to you faster, but you didn’t need my help anyway.”

So Ben was the person she’d glimpsed moving toward her and Gary. He’d been coming to her aid. Maybe he was one of the rare non-creeps.

“I’ve taken self-defense classes,” she explained.

“I could tell. Doubt if Gary will be walking completely vertical for a while.”

She grinned. “It’ll be even better if he can’t father children. Best to keep his type out of the gene pool.”

A hearty laugh floated up to her.

“Looks like you’re enjoying that wine, but would you like to go someplace and grab a cup of coffee?”

Hmmm, at least he hadn’t asked to come up and join her. Wariness and loneliness warred inside. In his favor, he had wanted to help her with the Gary situation. He’d also made the effort to search her out. And he hadn’t come directly to her front door, which he obviously could’ve found, hoping to be invited in. And not in his favor, he was a man.
’Nuff said. But…
What if Ben Alfren was a nice guy? And what if she denied herself the infrequent pleasure of a nice guy’s company? Who lost then? She drew a deep breath.

Slowly, she stood up and leaned against the balcony railing. Ben stepped out of the shadows at the corner of the building. They sized each other up for several seconds before she found the resolve to speak.

“We can sit at the top of the stairs out front. Would you prefer chardonnay or merlot?”

“Merlot,” he said and vanished.

Amber stared at the spot where he’d stood a moment earlier. Lisa had labeled him “kinda mysterious.” Maybe he was.

She hurried to the kitchen and filled her glass plus a new one. Hesitating at the door, she considered putting on some makeup.
No. What you see is what you get.
Since all she wanted was an evening of enjoyable conversation, she decided against it.

When she pulled the door open, Ben stood looking across the courtyard at the still-raging party. His legs were spread, his arms were crossed over his chest, and his shoulders seemed a mile wide. His expression said,
You don’t want to mess with me
. He turned, and a warm smile replaced the warning.

Deep blue eyes connected with a jolt. Again. “Hottie” was an understatement; the guy was
GQ
material. Definitely taller than six feet and lean, real lean. How could there be an ounce of fat when his navy blue T-shirt hugged bulging biceps and six-pack abs? His wavy, black hair had just the tiniest hint of red that was too dark to be called auburn. A strong chin, a straight nose, and sculpted lips complemented the allure of his amazing eyes. A nine-o’clock shadow added another layer of sexiness. Narrow hips promised a tight ass on the flip side. What a package. Not that she was checking out
that part
of his anatomy, but…

She gulped. Damn, she shouldn’t be checking him out at all.

“Hi,” she said, handing him a glass. “I’m Amber…” She decided against a last name.

“Thanks.” He swept his hand toward the top step. “After you.”

They settled on the concrete. Cold and hard would provide a good excuse to cut the conversation short if necessary.

He reclined against the banister and peered at her. Her face warmed from being the object of such close scrutiny. Of course, she’d just given him the once-over, so fair was fair.

He took a sip of merlot. “I apologize for Gary’s behavior. Lisa should be required to warn all female tenants about him—in writing. As they say, there’s one in every crowd.”

“Or two or three.”

Ben cocked his head. “Sounds like you’ve run into your share of jerks.”

“More than my share. It looked to me like the women here are pretty aggressive too.”

“And I appreciate your granting me asylum.” He shrugged. “Seriously, though, they don’t mean to be pushy. But it’s one of the reasons I don’t participate in more of the social stuff around here.”

“Ah, the mysterious one.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard Lisa say that.”

“So you don’t deny it?”

He shrugged again. “You should draw your own conclusions.”

“I will.” She smiled. “When you’re not busy being mysterious, what do you do?”

He glanced away. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my job. But I don’t broadcast what I do. It makes some people nervous.”

“You’re a satanic priest?”

Ben’s brows arched. “Say what?”

“Satanic priest. They make me nervous.” She pressed her lips together to hold back a grin.

He blinked, then chuckled, and finally broke into a belly laugh. Recovering, he said, “Not even close.”

“Okay, then your job won’t make me nervous.”

He hesitated and sipped the wine thoughtfully. “I work… for the government.”

“Well, that’s vague. Care to be more specific?”

When his gaze came back to her, she felt the disturbing jolt again.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Law enforcement. Not her favorite profession since several varieties had let her down so many times. But it wasn’t the FBI specifically that she had issues with. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?” he asked in an exaggerated tough-guy tone.

“I guess it’s a step above satanic priest.”

“Dare I ask why we rank so highly?”

“Probably not.” Her internal door closed, shutting him out. Happened every time.

He studied her. “All right. Is your job top secret too?”

She forced herself to relax and respond. “No. Like you, I happen to love my job.”

“Which is…?”

“I work at the San Diego Surrogate Agency,” she said after a sip.

A twinkle of amusement danced in his eyes. “You’re a sex surrogate?”

She choked, almost snorting her drink. “Oh God, no. It’s a surrogate mother clinic.”

His now-serious gaze darted to the wine and then to her belly. “You’re a surrogate mother?”

She savored another taste, slowly, making him wait. “Unfortunately not. I’m one of the nurses. Well, for now, at least.” Her mood sank a few notches at the thought of her boss’s warning.

“You’re leaving?”

She sighed. “Not voluntarily. My boss told me today that the company might have to lay someone off. And since I’m the newbie, I’m elected.”

“Anything I can do?”

Let me cry on your broad shoulders.
She started at the wayward thought. Where had that come from? Not wanting to reveal too much about the clinic’s financial troubles, she joked, “Would you like to hire a surrogate mother?”

“Not today. But tell me more about this business.”

* * *

Amber’s love of her job came through loud and clear as she described the surrogate services provided by her employer and her role in them. She practically glowed with excitement while telling him of the joy of giving childless couples a way to have babies.

When the conversation switched to his career, he shared his personal satisfaction with catching bad guys. Of course, he couldn’t disclose anything specific about his cases, but he was able to relate generic stories of his work. Although she listened politely and asked pertinent questions, he detected a general, underlying distaste for or distrust of his profession. What had happened to her to create those feelings?

Two hours and two glasses of wine later, fog engulfed the complex, and goose bumps covered Amber’s arms. He tamped down the urge to wrap her in a warm embrace, so instead, he did the next-best gentlemanly thing: made up an excuse to call it a night.

“I don’t know about you, but my ass is numb,” he said, standing up stiffly.

“Oh, mine too.” She checked her watch. “No wonder I’m cold.”

He extended his hand to help her up and didn’t release it immediately. “I really enjoyed tonight, Amber. I’d like to hang out again. May I have your number?”

She glanced over her shoulder at her apartment. “Um, you know where to find me.” She pulled her hand free and moved quickly to her door. “Thanks for a nice time. It was much better than the party.”

Ben stared at the closed door for a minute before trotting down the stairs. He ignored the women shouting to him from the party, which was still going strong.

Back inside his apartment, he headed straight for the second bedroom, which he used as a home office. He planned to jot down some notes about the sex trafficking and kidnapping case, but his brain wouldn’t cooperate. His thoughts kept drifting to Amber and beyond. To Marissa Panuska, his ex-girlfriend.

Finally, after two awful years, he could think of Marissa as his ex without a stab of pain. Although they had been together for three wonderful years while they’d worked together in DC, she had refused a transfer to San Diego with him. He’d never understood why until she was able to explain it to him when he visited FBI Headquarters a couple of months ago.

He’d known for a long time that Marissa had premonitions. Unable to otherwise explain the eerily accurate warnings, they joked that her Czech gypsy genes were the source. She’d shared many of her premonitions having to do with cases, but she’d never told him of her premonition about them breaking up if he moved to San Diego. Unfortunately, her refusal to come with him resulted in the warning coming true. They’d both suffered immensely, but his last visit had started the healing process. However, there were definitely scars, and he never wanted to experience heartache of such magnitude again.

Certainly, he’d dated since the breakup. Even had a couple of short-term relationships. But tonight, simply talking with Amber was the first time he’d enjoyed just being with a woman in the past two years. He had no interest in a serious relationship; he definitely wasn’t ready for that yet. And he sensed similar vibes from Amber.

In fact, he’d felt a much stronger emotion emanating from her. Resolution? Fear? Whatever the cause, it manifested itself in her sitting outside instead of inviting him into her apartment, in her unwillingness to discuss her past, and in her refusal to give him her phone number. Amber Last-Name-Unknown was protecting herself against something. Physical or emotional, he couldn’t guess. But even more puzzling was why her reaction to him produced feelings of protectiveness and not irritation.

* * *

Amber had peeked through the blinds as Ben crossed the courtyard, climbed the stairs, and entered an apartment in the building opposite hers.
Now I know where he lives.
Her gaze slid toward the pool area but jerked back when she caught movement in the shadows near the entrance to the parking garage.

Someone stood there.

She couldn’t see any detail, but the figure appeared large enough to most likely be a man, not a woman.
Is it…?

Without moving away from the window, she hit the light switch next to the door, throwing the apartment into darkness, making it harder for someone to see inside, for someone to see her.

She waited, frozen. Watched, unblinking. Her breathing turned shallow; her heart pounded.

The figure didn’t move. For a minute. Two. Three.

She knew exactly where her gun was hidden. She knew it was loaded. She knew how to use it.

When the man suddenly stepped to the corner, she stiffened. But instead of walking across the courtyard, he leaned around as though looking for someone at the party. Then he turned and headed toward the street.

On Monday morning Amber rode the elevator to the eighth floor with a Hispanic woman carrying a large manila envelope. She turned the corner to go to the employee entrance, but a strange feeling made her stop in the adjoining hallway. She waited until she heard the elevator arrive again before easing her way back to the lobby. Peeking around the corner, she watched the woman approach the exiting passengers. She spoke briefly to the couple and then handed them a pink sheet of paper. After hesitating, the couple proceeded to the San Diego Surrogate Agency door.

Amber wanted to get her hands on one of those papers, but her scrubs would easily connect her with the only medical business on the floor. Something didn’t smell right, and if it had anything to do with SDSA’s current financial problems, she needed to find out. And she had to do something before she lost her job. She narrowed her eyes in concentration and smiled when a seed of a plan sprouted.

* * *

“You know this will be next to impossible,” FBI Special Agent Staci Hall said. She held up the pictures of the kidnapped women. “The Hermosillo cartel’s sex trafficking operation is so widespread, there isn’t a chance in hell we’re going to find these girls.”

“Your positive attitude is one of your best attributes,” Ben responded.

“Second only to your stubbornness,” Special Agent Dillon O’Malley chimed in.

The three agents sat around a conference table in the San Diego FBI office. Their boss, SSA Rex Kelley, had already given his instructions and left Ben in charge to plan the operation.

“You didn’t talk to their husbands and boyfriends. Those guys were willing to give up their chance at a better life in the States to find their loved ones. That’s gotta count for something. We have to at least try.”

“Yeah, well, I want to go on record as thinking this is a total waste of time,” she said.

“So noted.” Ben exhaled. He and Staci had first met at the FBI Academy and become friends. She was, however, beyond a doubt one of the most infuriating people he’d ever met. In addition to her negativity and stubbornness, her dislike of Marissa during those early years still grated on him. Because Staci didn’t know about Marissa’s premonitions, he could never share that his ex-girlfriend’s vision about their breakup involved another woman, presumably Staci. Strangely, that part of the premonition hadn’t come true, because nothing more than friendship had ever developed between Ben and Staci. Since he had only recently learned about Marissa’s vision himself, he wasn’t sure if it would affect the friendship in the long run.

But this was work, not their personal lives. He wouldn’t tolerate her attitude. “Quit bitching. If you can’t handle this investigation, talk to Rex.”

Staci glared at both men. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

“The damn sex trafficking whorehouses pop up all over like Whack-a-Moles. There one day, gone the next. It’s a constant battle to find them in time to shut them down and free the women. Probably every police department in San Diego County, as well as the Sheriff’s Department, is familiar with the problem. The girls are primarily from Mexico or other Central American countries. The targeted johns are mostly transient Hispanics. Everything and everyone is mobile.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Staci muttered.

“What none of us knows is why the cartel didn’t keep all eight women. Why only the five? As awful as it sounds, I can’t see any reason—appearance, health, age—why the three who were returned wouldn’t have made good prostitutes.”

“Yeah, it is strange,” Dillon agreed. “Generally H uses the whole shipment of people. The women are forced into prostitution, and the men are put to work as mules or minions for the cartel’s drug operations.”

“Exactly. I thought about it all weekend.” Ben paused when he realized his statement wasn’t totally true. During the two hours with Amber, this current case hadn’t entered his head once.
Interesting.
“The behavior is enough of a divergence to explore. My gut says H is spreading his poison into something new, something equally profitable.”

“Like what?” Staci asked.

Ben shrugged. “Don’t know yet. But finding the women is the first priority. Hopefully, they’re the key.”

“If we don’t know what the new venture is, how do we know where to look?” Dillon said.

“Absolutely, that’s a challenge. We have to start with H’s known businesses: drugs, prostitution, weapons. We’re aware of his money-laundering operation, but I can’t see a use for these women there. They don’t have any financial education or skills.”

Staci frowned. “What about terrorism? There have been a ton of busted plots involving women in the past year.”

“Have we connected H to terrorism?”

“Not yet. But, as you said, this could be new.”

“How would the women be used?” Dillon asked.

“Smuggling,” Ben said immediately. “Given some decent fake paperwork, these women could cross the border in both directions without attracting much attention.”

“H already has a superb mule system, exclusively men. Why use women?”

“True. We need to figure out what a woman would be better at smuggling than a man.”

“Sounds like a wild-goose chase to me,” Staci said.

Ben rubbed the tight muscles at his nape. “Let’s hope not. There’s got to be a reason why only five women were selected, and everyone else allowed to proceed north.”

“What’re our assignments?” Dillon asked.

“We’re going to start by mining all the local law enforcement agencies for info they have on any of these transient whorehouses. See if we can raid a few before they disappear. Even if we don’t find the women, maybe we’ll pick up clues to a new cartel business.” Ben handed the other agents a paper. “I’ve also e-mailed you these lists. I’ve split up the agencies. I’ll take the two largest: San Diego PD and the County Sheriff’s Department. Not all of the smaller departments will have separate vice personnel, but they all should have someone handling prostitution.”

“When do you want this?” Staci asked.

“We’ll meet back here at two this afternoon.”

* * *

“Amber, do you have a minute?” her boss called as Amber exited one of the medical procedure rooms.

“Sure. What’s up, Laura?” She hoped whatever it was didn’t take long, because she needed to check on the woman in the lobby before eating lunch.

“I just wanted you to know I had a call from Joe Ranger earlier. He canceled and refused to reschedule the second consultation appointment.”

“Did he say why?” Amber asked while she thought,
Did it have anything to do with the blue paper in his pocket?

“Most definitely. And rudely. He claims we’re a ‘rip-off.’ Apparently, we charge way too much for our services.” Her angry expression turned sad. “I don’t understand why this keeps happening. I’ve spent a good deal of time recently confirming with other clinics that our fees are reasonable within the industry. Unfortunately, the repercussions from these cancellations affect the entire company. I’m really afraid we may lose you.”

“I-I’ll be okay. I’m a survivor. I’ve landed on my feet many times.”

“But you’re so skilled, and you fit in perfectly with the rest of the staff. I’ll miss you.”

Amber swallowed hard. “Well, let’s don’t give up hope yet.”

Laura managed a wan smile. “You’re right.” She checked her watch. “I have to run. The doctors and I are having a working lunch meeting in ten minutes. This news isn’t going to help the mood.”

Amber watched the kind woman hurry down the hallway. She’d been tempted to tell Laura what she suspected, but she really didn’t have any proof. Yet.

She cut through the office and slipped out the employees-only door. When she peeked around the corner at the elevator lobby, the woman with the papers was no longer there. Instead, a Hispanic man sat in one of the armchairs, reading a newspaper.

The SDSA front door opened, and a couple emerged. The man slanted a glance at them from behind his paper and then pulled a phone from his pocket. While surreptitiously eyeing the couple, he spoke quietly for only a few seconds. Amber slipped around the corner and pushed the call button after the couple caught the next down elevator. When she stepped into the main lobby, she scanned the area. The Hispanic woman from that morning had corralled the couple before they could leave the building.

Amber hid behind a column and watched. As expected, the woman gave them a sheet of paper before letting them go.
Damn.
She couldn’t prove it, but she was sure the man on the eighth floor had called the woman down here and given her a description of the couple to intercept. Maybe the paper distributor had realized she was being spied on this morning, and someone had devised a less obvious way to approach SDSA’s clients.

Back upstairs, Amber ate lunch with her colleagues in the employee lounge. Despite the lively conversation, she didn’t participate. What was she going to do? Was there really anything she could do? Building management had a no-solicitors policy, and they’d posted signs warning potential violators. But these people weren’t going door-to-door selling anything, so did those rules even apply? Instead, they appeared to be handing out flyers with information of interest to potential SDSA clients. Was it an advertisement for surrogate mother services at cheaper prices? Nothing illegal about that. So how was she going to save her job?

* * *

“What’d you find?” Ben stood at the head of the conference room table shortly after two on Monday afternoon. His own research into the Whack-a-Mole whorehouses had been frustrating, so his expectations were low.

“I located one in Carlsbad near the flower fields. It’s a recurring one. Last raided two months ago. Usually revives every four to six weeks,” Dillon reported. “And I got an address for one in Oceanside not far from the harbor. Lots of illegals work on the fishing boats leaving from there.”

“You live in North County, right?”

Dillon nodded.

“Check those sites out tonight and report back tomorrow. What’d you find, Staci?”

“Two in National City and one in Chula Vista. I don’t live in those areas, but I can drive down there this evening and surveil the houses for any activity.”

“Sounds good. I don’t want any contact by either of you while you’re flying solo. This is strictly intel gathering. If a place looks promising, we’ll consider a raid.”

“Did you get any hits?” she asked.

“A few. Most had already been shut down, so now it’s just a matter of time until they pop up somewhere else. But I got the locations of some up in Fallbrook around the avocado groves. One in Barrio Logan, close to Chicano Park. In San Ysidro by the border. Even one downtown.”

“Jesus. Didn’t know San Diego County had so many horny guys who couldn’t score on their own.” Staci shook her head. “All those poor women.”

“World’s oldest profession. Sad, but true,” Dillon said.

“Let’s see if we can put a dent in their business. I’ll reconnoiter the Barrio Logan and downtown sites today. I sent word to our Mexican informants to keep their ears open for anything new in the Hermosillo business conglomerate. Hopefully, I’ll hear back before we meet tomorrow morning at nine.”

* * *

Amber had been so engrossed in the computer research she was doing on surrogate mother fees that she’d lost track of time. When the doorbell rang at seven thirty, she glanced up surprised. People rarely came to her door.

She grabbed the can of pepper spray from the drawer in the table by the front door before checking through the peephole. She smiled and relaxed at the sight of the blue eyes staring back at her. After stashing the can back in its hiding place, she undid the dead bolt and the extra lock she’d installed herself and opened the door.

“If you haven’t eaten dinner already, would you like to run over to Franco’s and grab a pizza? Or just join me for a beer?” Ben asked after they’d exchanged hellos.

She hesitated. Had she forgotten to eat dinner? A growl from her stomach answered the question.

“Sounds great.” She glanced down at her camisole and pajama pants. “Give me a minute to change.” Without waiting for an answer, she closed the door in his face—and locked it.

After she threw on jeans and a comfy blouse, she popped into the bathroom. Once again, Ben had seen her makeupless. Should she stay that way? Maybe perfume and lip gloss wouldn’t be going too far. Before she could change her mind, she dabbed and swiped. A quick brush of her hair, and she was ready.

As Ben escorted her to the parking garage, her insides quivered with hyperawareness. His musky cologne tickled her nose, and his size made her feel protected. Silly really. It’d been ages since she’d allowed herself a date, and this would hardly qualify. They were just two people who needed a late dinner.

When he led the way to a dark blue BMW sports car, her eyes widened. “Nice wheels.”

“It gets me where I need to go,” he said modestly. But when he revved up the engine, he revealed his pride in the car.

Fifteen minutes later, they settled at a window table in the pizzeria on Orange Avenue, the main drag of the small town of Coronado. Mouthwatering aromas filled the air. Dozens of empty Chianti bottles hung from the low ceiling, and a multitude of candles created a cozy, grotto ambiance. At eight o’clock on a Monday, few customers remained.

They ordered a large pizza and a pitcher of beer and were soon consuming both with gusto.

“Do you trust me enough yet to tell me your full name?” Ben asked out of the blue.

Her hand stopped halfway to her mouth with a slice of pizza. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. You definitely aren’t. It isn’t an accident that you haven’t mentioned your last name.” Ben studied her over the rim of his glass.

Busted.
“No biggie. Amber Jollett. Glad to meet you,” she said, wiping her greasy right hand on a napkin before extending it across the table.

“Better. Now tell me what or who has you so spooked.”