VANISHED, A Romantic Suspense Novel (Edgars Family Novel) (23 page)

He studied the stone wall. Then a grin slowly spread on his face. The top of the wall was only about five feet with wrought-iron spikes extending upward another three feet. Very impressive. Except someone forgot to add the last spike before the fence started, leaving about eighteen inches of space. Just enough for him to squeeze through.

Using the scope again he scanned the space between the fencing and the trees about twenty yards off for any movement.

Nothing moved.

He scanned higher. No electronic equipment such as cameras or motion detectors. That could be a good sign or not. Either they only expected trouble to come up the main drive and ignored this area of infiltration, or they were so cocky they didn’t think anyone would find their compound, much less try to gain entrance covertly.

The scope back safe in his pocket, he scaled the stone wall, using the chain link on the right side for grip. He hauled himself over the top and dropped to the other side, then squatted in the shadows to listen around him. No hum of electronics. No alarms. Most importantly, no barking of guard dogs.

Inhaling, he dashed to the copse of trees, then paused and exhaled. His pulse pounded in his ears. He strained to listen over it.

No unusual sounds. The wind rustled the new leaves on the trees. Crickets chirped. The occasional hooting of an owl.

He moved farther into the trees before pausing to pull out his smartphone to study the map again. Increasing the scale of the estate on the screen, he tried to determine how far the trees ran before he’d reach the mansion itself.

Best he could tell about the length of six football fields, or a third of a mile. His old partner Pete always thought in terms of football fields since he’d been a star running back in college. The habit had transferred to him when they started working together. He still used it as a good measure and to honor his friend after Pete retired then died at the hands of a thug who worked for a maniacal cult leader.

Steadily he worked his way through the trees and closer to the mansion, pausing every so often to use the scope to scan the area for movement and listen to the sounds. Nothing moved. And the only sound seemed to be his own breathing. Thankfully it wasn’t autumn or he’d be crunching dry leaves as he went. As it was, the ground beneath him was wet from the last spring rain and nearly silent to walk on—slippery as hell, too.

Finally, he reached the edge of the tree line.

He let out a silent whistle.

Before him was a three-story brick mansion worthy of any European royalty. A few lights were on at the front of the building. He took out his camera and took some photos, zooming in on the cameras at the entrance. Two guards armed with semi-automatics paced near the entrance. Satisfied he couldn’t learn anything more there, he worked his way toward the back of the building, using the trees for cover. This area of the mansion was dark. No floodlights, no guards. He took some more pictures.

Dammit
. Had he been wrong? Was this only the staging area for their flesh auctions? He’d been so sure this secluded spot might be where they also housed the women.

Suddenly a rumbling noise came from the back of the house.

What the hell was that?
He glanced down at the map again.

Fuck.
He’d missed that the estate butted up against Lake Erie. The sound was some sort of boat motor.

Quick as possible without alerting anyone to his presence, he wove his way to where the property met the lake. And here was where all the security focused.

Floodlights illuminated the path from the patio to the wharf out onto the lake where a large boat sat, engines running. Guards armed with the same automatic weapons as up front stood nearby. Several bodybuilder-type men dressed in suits and coats, stood out on the dock as several hands tied the boat securely. Words were exchanged between the suits and deckhands.

Damn, he wished he had some listening devices.

Hunkering down behind a huge fir tree, he pulled out his phone and set the camera feature to record. He zoomed in to try to catch faces. They’d need them to identify the players later on.

One of the men went below decks. When he reemerged he had a young Asian woman by the elbow. She was unsteady on her feet and the man seemed to be helping her across the boat and onto the dock.

Castello focused his camera on the woman, zooming in as close as he could. There were cuffs on her hands with a chain leading up to a collar around her neck. He bit down on the sudden rage that shot through him.

Focus on the details. Know their MO. Focus. Think logically. Emotions can get not only your witness killed, but you, too.

His old partner Pete’s words from his training days, in that smoke-clogged, gruff voice of his, sounded in his head. He let them smooth out his anger and shove it on the back burner. Inching a little closer, he concentrated on the woman’s face as she stumbled along beside the men leading her up the dock. She looked like she’d just come off a four-day drunk. Which meant they were keeping the women drugged to keep them docile and easy to control.

Had they done the same to Abigail’s friend? Or had the torture been enough to gain her cooperation?

The deck hand disappeared below decks once more, returning with another woman in the same condition as the first. This continued until a total of six chained women, all of apparently Asian descent, stood on the dock, each clad in miniskirts, tank tops and sandals. Given the cool spring breeze coming in off the lake the women had to be freezing, but not one of the men made an effort to give them a coat.

Bastards
.

He clenched his hand at his side. With the element of surprise on his side he could probably take out the guards. But then what would he do with six drugged women and no escape route? Besides, it would tip the masterminds of this group they were under surveillance. Brianna Mathews would be dead before sunrise.

One of the guards stepped forward, handing a briefcase to one of the crew on the boat. Hands were shaken and finally the boat pulled away from the dock. As the guards led the women up the boardwalk to the mansion, he slipped back into the cover of the trees.

Time to get back to the condo. They needed a plan and the stakes just got higher.

* * * * *

Through her non-swollen eye, Brianna watched the new girls being led through what she was now thinking of as
the dungeon
. Minutes before, she’d managed to drag herself over to the door that had a barred window in it and held onto the bars to peek out. Across what looked like a hallway—but was more a path—was another door that looked just like this one. She’d called out to whoever might be held there but no one answered. Leaning first to one side then the other, she’d determined there were more of the cage-rooms farther down the walkway.

How many girls were they keeping imprisoned here?

Was this what she’d stumbled onto? Not corporate fraud, but human trafficking? Had her boss known? Surely not. But Dylan had. He’d been with the men who’d attacked and tortured her. She laid her hand on her swollen jaw. He’d hit her, too.

What was going to happen to her next?

“Get her cleaned up and brought to my room.”

That was Dylan’s voice coming from the top of the stairs. Who was he talking about? Her? What did he want? She couldn’t tell him anything more. She’d told them over and over the information was with Abby, but they didn’t believe her.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

She stumbled back from the door to land on the cot in the corner once more. What would they do if they knew she’d been watching them bring in the women? She couldn’t take any more punishment.

The footsteps stopped outside her door. Keys jangled. She held her breath trying to cower into the thin blanket on the cot.

The door swung open and in stepped her two tormentors.

“C’mon slut. The boss wants us to bring you to his private room,” the smaller of the two said with a sneer in his voice.

The bigger man grabbed her by the arm, wrenching it as he hauled her to her feet. Pain shot through her. He’d done the same thing earlier and something had pulled—a muscle, tendon, ligament? Or maybe a bone had broken? No. She was pretty sure if he’d broken her arm she wouldn’t still be able to use it.

“Please…don’t hurt…me…any…more,” she managed to squeak past her dry, busted lips.

“Oh, the boss has somethin’ different planned for ya now. Ain’t that right, Johnson?” He laughed and Johnson joined in, sending shivers of dread down her spine.

“Sure is, Hal.”

Something different? Every part of her body was bruised, battered or broken. What more could they possibly do to her?

They half led, half hauled her through the path between the cage rooms, up two flights of stairs and finally into a luxurious bathroom. Johnson turned on the water in the shower, while Hal just started ripping what was left of her clothes off her body.

“Please, no,” she whimpered as she tried to fight his hands.

Hal caught her by the hair and wrenched her head backwards. “Boss said to clean you up. Those rags ain’t clean and you’re not going anywhere you need clothes anyways. Hold still or we’ll get rough with ya.”

Like they’d been gentle?

She swallowed the small spark of defiance. Survival was everything. Being a smartass wouldn’t do anything but get her killed.
See Abby? I can learn.
Blinking back the tears brimming in her eyes, she nodded and held still while the brute finished stripping off her clothes.

“Man, look at them tits,” muttered Johnson, squeezing them hard with his beefy paws.

“Don’t leave no bruises there. The boss won’t like it. He always has to be first.” Hal tweaked her nipples hard and leaned in to bite her ear. “But we can have lots of fun with her once he’s done.”

Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed hard trying to keep it inside. Throwing up on her captors probably would get her more punishment, of that she was sure.

Hal released her nipple. “Get in the shower and wash up. Be quick or I’ll be doing it for ya.”

She walked into the enclosed glass shower, then realized neither of them was leaving. The last time she’d washed naked in front of others, she’d been in gym class back in school. That had been with friends and they’d all giggled at seeing each other naked. Having these two men watch her made her skin crawl, but she had no choice.

“Use the soap and shampoo. Need to wash the stink off ya.”

The hot water stung when it hit her cuts, making her hiss at the new pain, but after a few moments, her muscles almost moaned with the relief the heat brought. She took the shampoo and lathered her hair with it, letting it sit piled on her head while she worked a soapy washcloth gently over her cuts and cigarette burn marks. Trying not to remove any scabs and start the blood oozing from them again, she cleaned the caked-on blood from her body. Each spot brought back a memory of the past few days, each torture session, every question, every shot of pain. By the time she leaned her head back to let the shower spray wash the blood, grime and shampoo from her hair, she’d finished crying and was ready to meet whatever fate Dylan had planned for her today.

“Time to get out.” Hal reached in and shut off the water and handed her a towel.

Once she dried off, she started to wrap the towel around her, only to have him rip it from her fingers.

“Boss said to clean you up. Didn’t say nothin’ about coverin’ ya up.”

Heat of a blush coursed through her, but she tried not to let them see how disturbing it was to be led naked from the bathroom down the upstairs hall to the room at the end.

Hal paused before opening the door. He looked her over from head to toe with a leering grin, his yellowed teeth making her cringe again. “Just remember, we always get to play with Boss’ toys when he’s finished with ’em.”

The door opened and she stepped into a room right out of Decorator Monthly. Opulence was almost too cheap a word to describe it. Marble covered the floors, but two beautiful cream-and-blue Aubusson rugs covered the marble. One under the four-poster bed in the center of the room, the other in front of the marble fireplace where someone had set a roaring fire. An overstuffed couch stretched in front of the fire.

In one of the leather chairs flanking it sat Dylan Klein.

The man she’d thought she loved.

* * * * *

“We’ll start again in the morning,” Luke said as stood at the door with Detective Jeffers.

“I’ll monitor the profile on the sites tonight, just in case our girl Mary gets any activity,” Aaron said. “Although I doubt much will happen the first night it’s up.”

Luke nodded. “It’s a long shot, but maybe we can shut down their mode of luring these women in.”

The two men shook hands before Jeffers left and Luke set the condo alarms after him.

“Aren’t you expecting Frank back soon?” Abigail asked, looking up from the spreadsheets on her laptop. Her eyes were crossing from all the information stored there.

“It’s Castello’s condo. He knows the code.” Luke sauntered over, his gun still in the holster around his shoulders. “I think you and I need to talk.”

Quickly, she looked back at the spreadsheets. “I’m not done here.”

“It can wait until morning,” he said, reaching over her shoulder and gently closing the computer, then turning her head to stare into her eyes. “I want you to tell me what happened back there.”

“Back where?” she asked, even though she knew he was talking about her reaction to the conversation about cybersex. She didn’t want to have this conversation with anyone and certainly not Luke, ever.

He took her hand and pulled her up, capturing her lips with his in a soft, pleasurable kiss—no heat, just a man kissing a woman. “Come with me,” he said when he broke the kiss.

Dreading the embarrassment to come, she let him lead her over to the leather sofa. He sank down beside her, leaning so he was nearly stretched out on the sofa and she was snuggled on top of him. Pulling her in close to his body, he took the scarlet-and-grey afghan and draped it around her. The cocoon of warmth relaxed her as he held her close and stroked her hair.