Secrets of the Dead (21 page)

He walked over to the computer now, sank down on the stained couch. Frowned as he looked at the screen. GPS would provide him with a foolproof way to be certain of the boy’s location before he put himself into danger by going after him.

But something was wrong. The map surrounding the blinking light didn’t show the area where Raiker’s compound was located. It was two hundred miles to the south and east.

A jolt of rage seized him. Had Sorenson double-crossed him? Tossed the device into a passing car?

“Lafka, what is the matter?”

He couldn’t answer. Could barely see through the fog of fear and fury that was consuming him. He zoomed in on the map. Looked closely at the surrounding area. It was on the ocean, or close enough to it that it made no difference. Why would the old lady’s bag be… Comprehension swept through him then. Gallagher had lied to Shuang. To the other men. The boy wasn’t on Raiker’s compound at all.

He was a couple hundred miles away. Safe. Or so Raiker believed.

Malsovic began to laugh and Zupan took a careful step away at the ugly sound. This was too good. Much too good. He had been afraid that Shuang’s plan would get them killed and all this time he had been right. Gallagher must have deliberately attempted to set them up. The video that showed the boy on Raiker’s compound had been a fake.

And Shuang was prepared to send her men into a trap.

“Come.” He closed the computer and unplugged the power cord, leaving the small MiFi device attached. It would allow him to access the Internet even in the truck, and they would be taking a trip now.

“Where are we going?”

He glanced at the other man. “Bring the beer you saw in the refrigerator. We have a trip ahead of us.” First they needed to walk to where they’d parked the rented panel truck he’d picked up today, and which Zupan had used to pick him up earlier. The lot they’d left it in was at least at a mile away. “I will drive you to the hotel. You must go to my room, bring me all the digital equipment I have there and my passport from the safe.”

Zupan had looked much more enthusiastic about the beer than he was about the return trip to the hotel. “I thought you said I didn’t have to go back there?”

“You don’t. Not to stay.”

The man set the six-pack on the table as he picked up his coat. “I should get my passport, as well. I will go in the back entrance. Take the cargo elevator. No one will see me.”

There was no reason for the man to get his passport, because Malsovic had no intention of leaving the country with him. But that news was not for now.

“Yes, you must get your ID. Then we have a drive ahead of us.”

Once he made certain he’d found the right property where the kid was being kept, there was still much work to be done, and quickly.

Urgency pressed at his skull as he donned his coat, picked up the computer and headed out the door. Zupan carried the six pack inside his jacket. Malsovic had everything in place. He just needed to adjust the location.

Success felt so close he could all but taste it.

_______

“No need to
flip for the bed.”

“Honesty compels me to admit that I was planning on cheating anyway.” Declan prowled through the space after he’d unloaded their weapons and put them away. Checking the security, Eve thought, but also mapping the condo where they’d be spending at least the next several hours.

“Really.” She smirked. “I was going to use my own coin. And flip it myself.”

“You…” In the act of poking his head into one of the bedrooms, he turned to look at her over his shoulder. “I would never have suspected it. And you look so innocent, too.”

“Sometimes that comes in handy.” Eve walked over to the other bedroom and was surprised to discover that her bag was already sitting on the bed. Someone had packed their things and delivered them here. She wondered if Burke had drawn that duty, too. “Maybe you’d like to play a game of Blackjack later.”

“Why do I have the feeling I’m being sandbagged?” There was a tinge of amusement in his tone. She was pretty sure that she’d rob him of that after four hands of cards. As well as most of what he had in his wallet.

“Dibs on the bathroom first.”

Because it was her bag on the bed in the room before her, she went in to take out her toiletries and fresh clothes. It gave her an odd feeling to know that a stranger had packed her things. But that feeling was the last of her worries when she got to the nicely appointed bathroom and shed both sweaters before taking a look in the mirror for the first time in hours.

“Oh. My. God.” Her voice was aghast. She leaned closer to the mirror to assess the damage.

“What?” He was across the apartment and by her side so quickly she jumped a little. Clearly she’d neglected to lock the door.

“This.” She gestured to her face. “I look like the wrath of God. If God got as irritated as I do by frizzy hair and a banged up face.”

He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. When had he unbuttoned his shirt? Because her gaze wanted to linger on that wall of muscled chest with its neat pattern of hair, she forced her eyes back to the mirror again. Winced.

“I think God might cut you a little slack, given the day you’ve had.” His eyes met hers in the mirror. “You’d be wise to do the same. The cuts will heal. And the curls…” His mouth quirked. “They’re actually sort of cute when they do that spiral thing.”

Cute. She couldn’t prevent an eye roll. All that was missing was a pat on the head and a lollypop.

“Great. What’s next, the inevitable Shirley Temple joke?” She’d heard it ever since she could remember. And the child star had been a grown woman Eve’s entire life.

His brow furrowed. “Who? You mean that little kid in the old movies? You look young, but not that young. No one would mistake you for a kid, Evie.”

There was heat in his eyes, a sudden flare of it. And that quickly her ire dissipated. She was tired. Surely she was misinterpreting the look in his eyes. The note in his voice when he called her Evie.

“The cut on your forehead bled the worst.” His jaw went tight. “Seems like they always do. You had blood in your hair. Pouring down your face. I thought you’d been grazed by a bullet. Or worse.” She watched, frozen, as he reached out to touch the shoulder of her tank. There was a quarter-sized bloodstain there, which meant that the blood had soaked through her sweaters. She hadn’t noticed. Just like she hadn’t noticed until now that the holster tank was body hugging tight.

Eve swallowed. “I think…there were a few spots where I got nicked in my scalp. They cleaned them out with antiseptic. They probably bled…the most.” The intensity in his gaze made it difficult to think. She had the oddest urge to raise her hand, to stroke his shadowed jaw. To press her mouth to its hair-roughened surface before moving her lips to his.

There were reasons—good ones—why the idea was unwise. But they seemed difficult to summon. Possibly because her thoughts had scattered. His face lowered to hers. Without conscious volition she took a step closer.

The distant sound of a voice had her jumping as though she’d been scalded. Uncomprehendingly her gaze met his. The desire she saw there had everything inside her going molten.

Then he looked past her, to where the receiver sat on the counter. “We’ve got audio.”

She turned to grab the ear buds, fumbling to put them in place. It took a moment for her to make sense of what she was hearing. “Shuang is on the phone. Speaking Malay.” She listened intently for a minute. “She’s trying to convince someone named Umar to help arrange contact with Rizqi bin Osman.” Eve broke off, focused on the conversation a while longer. “He must have refused, because she’s hung up and she’s furious. Throwing things, from the sound of it and muttering some very imaginative curses in Chinese.”

Declan looked as mystified as she felt. “Why would she be so desperate to speak to the man who had enslaved her up until seven years ago?”

“Maybe Brina was wrong. Maybe Shuang isn’t the owner of the hotel.”

She didn’t even complete the thought before he was shaking his head. “You think she’s working for him? Again, why would she? And if she were, why would she have to arrange contact through a third party?”

Shuang’s tantrum seemed to have subsided. It sounded as if she were typing at her keyboard. “We might discover those answers tonight.”

He cleared his throat. Didn’t meet her gaze. “No telling how soon Stillions will call. I’ll take the shower after you.”

“Right.” She could be as studiedly nonchalant as he was. More so. She turned to rummage in the cupboard for a towel. Clutched it tightly as she gestured to the door. “I’ll just… get started.”

“Yeah.” He still wasn’t looking at her. “Okay.”

It helped, a smidgeon, that he appeared as discomfited as she. “If you could….” She made a shooing motion. “Go.”

The word seemed to jolt him into action. Silently he turned and went through the door, easing it shut behind him. She propped her free hand on the counter, the strength streaming from her limbs. That was twice the listening device had interrupted them, and the irony wasn’t lost on her. Hopefully Shuang would be in custody in a matter of hours. And when she was, Eve would have to figure out a way to resist Declan Gallagher on her own.

It would help, she thought as she moved to turn on the shower, if she could recall why it seemed so important that she continue to do so.

_______

“The cameras were
returned to their normal position around noon today, so if anyone suspected that they weren’t working properly, they’d believe the problem had taken care of itself hours ago.” Declan covered his whisper mic with his hand when he spoke, to avoid having his words broadcast to the tactical team in place outside the hotel.

Eve, Cal Stillions and ICE agent Fred Turpen huddled in the backseat of Stillion’s vehicle, peering at the screen of Declan’s laptop which showed all eighteen cameras. The men were clad in flak jackets emblazoned with their agency name, worn over Kevlar vests. They were equipped with mics, as well. It had been made very clear to Declan that Stillions hadn’t been kidding about his limited role. Although he wore a mobile laptop harness so he could easily carry the open computer, he had strict orders to remain in the vehicle with Eve, providing the team members with intelligence regarding any activity shown on the cameras. If Declan chafed under the restrictions, he consoled himself that any role at all was better than sitting in the apartment wondering what the hell was happening.

Declan tapped on the camera for floor fifteen, bringing it to a full screen view. It showed an empty hallway for several moments. Then the elevator doors opened and Harris stepped out with a slight dark haired woman wearing a very short tight red dress and stilt like heels. He gave her a small push and they headed toward the end of the hallway.

“Brina told Eve that one of the men guarded them all night, so there may be another in room 1501 or 1502.” He checked the time on the computer. Just after one AM. “No way to know whether some of them may still be a customer’s room, but with the electronic bracelets they wear, I’m guessing the prostitution activity takes place on the premises.”

“We’ve got the cards.” Turpen spoke for the first time, his palm covering his mic. “If they aren’t all accounted for in the two rooms, we’ll go looking for them.”

“But what of the guard is armed?” Worry sounded in Eve’s voice. “It could easily turn into a hostage situation.”

“We’ve done this before, Ms. Larrison,” Stillions reassured her. “We’ve got precautions in place.”

Declan sent her a quick glance in the shadowy interior of the car. Declan knew she was astute enough to realize that as well planned as these operations were, something unexpected could always crop up, sending the op haywire.

It was a multi-agency operation. DCPD was providing the tactical team and both FBI and ICE were on scene. But from what he could tell, it was Stillions at the controls.

“Breach in five.” The disembodied voice from the sergeant in the command unit down the street sounded through the mic. Without another word, the two agents got out of the car and disappeared into the night.

Declan brought up the image for the front desk. There was only one attendant working and he was staring intently at something on his phone. The lobby was deserted. He knew from what he’d seen minutes earlier on the other images that officers were already in place outside the other exits. Declan had run off the blueprints of the property that Raiker had provided them when they started this assignment. No one would be escaping the hotel.

Eve angled closer for a better view of the computer. “You’d have to have nerves of steel to do this for a living,” she muttered. He zoomed in on the image of floor fifteen again. “Adult male seen leaving room 1501,” he said quietly into the mic. “Probably leaving at least one guard inside the room.” Harris was walking quickly down the hall and disappeared into an open elevator. He reverted to the screen showing the multiple camera views. The other images for the guest floors showed empty hallways.

Her slight gasp beside him warned Declan. He glanced up and saw a long stream of officers in riot gear running up to the front entrance. He could make out Stillions’ lanky form at the rear at the men entered the facility. Returning his gaze to the laptop he saw that several men splintered off and ran toward the front desk, surrounding the man on duty. “You have an elderly gentleman on floor six with an ice bucket in his hand heading east down the hallway,” he said quietly into the mic.

“Entrance secured,” came a voice.

“Adult male seen leaving fifteenth floor has entered a room on floor eight, south side of the hall,” Declan reported. Malsovic’s room was on the eighth floor, and he wondered now if all of Shuang’s men had rooms close together. “Likelihood of at least four armed accomplices on floor eight.”

“Floor eight, 821, 822, 823. Floor seven, 701. Floor fifteen, 1501, 1502,” came a voice. Declan figured they’d gotten the needed information from the attendant at the front desk.