Witness (3 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

T
WO
D
AYS
L
ATER
, Brock walked into Bailey’s room, a duffle bag over his shoulder. She’d been in the hospital for almost four days and was officially being released…finally.

“Hey, Bailey.”

“Hi,” she said carefully.

“Doc fill you in?”

“On?”

Brock frowned. “He didn’t fill you. You’re coming home with me.”

“Excuse me? Coming home with you where?”

“Ali’s in some deep trouble, which means by association, you’re in some deep trouble, which means, you’re heading to a safe house.”

“A safe house? Deep trouble?” She pushed herself up on the bed. “For how long? When can I go back to my place?”

“Not for a while, Bailey. It was pretty trashed.”

“Trashed? By whom?”

“I’ll explain everything on the way, but we stopped by your apartment and grabbed a few things. Hope it’s the right stuff.”

A shiver ran through her. The thought of him sifting through her undies both excited and terrified her. “Wait. Grabbed a few things? You went through my stuff?”

“Well, no, not me personally. A female agent did.”

In a weird way, this both relieved and disappointed her. “Oh. Okay.”

He laid the duffle on the bed. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay. I’ll be right outside.”

She nodded and watched him leave before unzipping the duffle. Whoever this female agent was, she knew what to pack. Bailey pressed the call button and waited for the day nurse to come. Macey wasn’t on shift, and that was a bummer in Bailey’s opinion. Macey had a way of calming Bailey.

The door opened and Brock stuck his head in. “You okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You called a nurse.”

Bailey rolled her eyes. “Yes. I did. I’d like to take a shower and I have strict instructions not to do it alone.”

He gave her a sexy grin. “I’d be happy to help.”

“Brock Williams, are you encroaching on my job again?” the nurse asked. “Get your skinny butt out of that room.”

He looked as though someone had just killed his cat, but he did as he was told.

Bailey watched as the nurse walked in. Jenna, something she couldn’t remember, smiled at Bailey. “Did you need some help, hon?”

“I want to take a shower, actually.”

“Okay.” Jenna gathered up plastic to cover Bailey’s cast and then opened cabinets and pulled down soap and shampoo and such. “I won’t come in with you, but I’ll get you in and then hang out in case you need me.”

Bailey smiled in relief. “Thanks.”

Jenna did as she promised and Bailey took the quickest shower in the history of the world, drying off with one hand was nearly impossible, but she managed it and also managed to dress with Jenna’s help. What she couldn’t do was dry her hair, and Jenna got called to an emergency situation, so Bailey sat on the bed, a towel wrapped around her head and hoped Jenna wasn’t long.

A knock at her door brought Brock, who glanced at her and frowned. “I take it you’re not quite ready.”

“Can’t dry my hair with one hand,” she said, and pointed to her head.

He chuckled and walked up to the bed. “Shift.”

“Huh?”

“Shift, Bailey,” he repeated, and she did.

Brock pulled the towel from her head and gently dried her hair. “Got a brush?”

She nodded and reached for her brush in the duffle, handing it to him. He made quick and painless work of her less than ideally conditioned hair, braiding it and grabbing a band from the end of the brush to secure her braid.

“Wow. You’ve done this before.”

“Nieces,” he said. “Ready?”

“I just need to sign out.”

“That’s taken care of.”

“Oh, okay. Then, yes, I’m ready.”

“Rules say I have to wheel you out.” Brock pulled open the door and guided the waiting wheelchair inside. “I’ll grab your bag.”

Bailey nodded and walked slowly to the chair, a little dizzy, but Brock was right beside her to steady her. She lowered herself into the chair and he helped her with her feet, set her duffle carefully on her lap, and then wheeled her out the door. Dallas nodded at her and followed, and they headed to a large black SUV idling at the hospital entrance.

Dallas took her bag, threw it in the back seat, and then Brock helped her in next to it, buckling her belt like she was a small child. Brock drove, Dallas rode shotgun and they took off to an unassuming suburban neighborhood in Vancouver, Washington.

She watched a garage door attached to a little blue ranch-style home open at the touch of a button and Brock maneuvered the car into the garage and then closed the door. Brock, not Dallas who was closer, opened her door, unbuckled her and then virtually lifted her out of the car. “Who lives here?” she asked as he set her on her feet.

“As far as the neighbors think, Dallas lives here. He’s lived here for six months and I’m his brother, visiting for a few weeks.”

“And who am I?”

“Well, no one’s going to see you, Bailey, so you don’t have a cover.”

“Oh,” she said, and followed him into the house.

She was surprised by the home. It was gorgeous. The large kitchen had a center island long enough to seat four. The great room offered a flat-screen television, a black, leather sectional, and a couple of overstuffed chairs circling a fireplace in the corner.

Dallas set his keys on the counter and moved to the fridge.

“You get the master,” Brock said.

“Why?”

“Because you do.”

“That’s nice.”

“Dallas is a nice guy,” he said, and grinned over his shoulder.

Bailey smiled. “Good to know.”

Brock nodded to a room on the right as they walked down the hall. “Dallas is bunking here. I’m bunking in the room next to you. There’s a bathroom between me and Dal, and another in your room.”

A wave of dizziness hit her and she leaned against the wall to steady herself. Brock was next to her in a flash, wrapping his arm around her waist, and giving her a gentle squeeze. “I got ya, babe.”

She settled against him, letting him take the majority of her weight. “I feel sick.”

“Okay, sweetheart, let’s get you to bed.”

He walked her into the master. A large king-sized bed sat against the wall and was surprisingly not overly masculine. It wasn’t feminine either, but at least it didn’t have things like leather sheets or weird stuff like that. It was made, it looked clean, and it looked comfortable.

Brock settled her on the bed.

“I’m okay Brock.” She took a deep breath. “If I’m going to be here a while, what should I do about my car? It’s at my apartment. Won’t that worry people if it looks like it’s been abandoned?”

“We’ll take care of it. Just give me your keys and all the information and we’ll move it somewhere safe.”

She nodded to the door adjacent to the bed. “Is that the bathroom?”

“Yeah,” Brock said.

“I kind of need to use it.”

“I’ll help you in, okay?”

Bailey nodded and held onto his arm to steady herself.

A large soaker tub, shower, double sinks, everything that made up a nicely appointed bathroom greeted her. She sat on the edge of the tub and Brock pushed a panel on the bathroom wall. A door popped open, causing Bailey to gasp. “What’s that?”

“It’s the panic room,” he said. “I say go to the panic room, you go to the panic room and you don’t come out until me, Dallas, or Jaxon get you. Got it?”

“Who’s Jaxon?”

“You’ll meet him later.”

“What if you tell me to go to the panic room
before
I meet Jaxon?”

Brock faced her and chuckled. “You don’t miss much, huh?”

“Not really, no. My mom says it’s annoying.”

“How so?”

“Ladies are supposed to be demure and let the men do the thinking.”

“You’re not serious.”

Bailey shrugged. “She’s old-fashioned.”

Brock dropped it, but she could see he was trying to decide whether or not to pick the subject back up. He didn’t. Bailey was glad.

“I’ll leave you to do your thing,” Brock said. “Call me if you need me.”

“Thanks, Brock.”

The rest of the day passed without incident and she crashed before ten in the unbelievably comfortable bed in the not so comfortable prison disguised as a safe house.

CHAPTER FIVE

A
F
EW
D
AYS
later, Brock pulled Bailey into the great room and sat her down in the chair facing the window. He sat on the coffee table in front of her and his shoulders slumped forward. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He appeared to be having difficulty finding the right words.

“What is it?” Bailey asked. “What happened?”

“We found Ali.”

A spark of hope ignited in Bailey’s stomach. “You found her? Is she okay?”

“No, Bailey. She didn’t make it.”

The flame of hope snuffed out, Bailey covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. Brock gave her a few minutes to process before he scooted closer to her, grasping her hands in his. He studied her waiting for her to calm.

“What happened?” she asked.

“We’re still trying to get all the facts, but she got caught in something bad and couldn’t get out.”

Bailey nodded, forcing back tears. “What about the kids?”

“There were no kids, Bailey. She was alone, but—”

“No,” she gasped. “There were other kids. I think there were eight of them. We were trying to keep them from freaking out.”

“Babe, you didn’t let me finish. I believe you. It looks like Ali left some clues, but not sure what they mean yet. Like I said, we’re figuring out the facts.”

She squeezed his hands. “You have to find those children, Brock. Where’s my phone? I took pictures.”

He studied her. “Please tell me you backed everything up, or sent those pictures to someone.”

“Why?”

“Your SIM card’s missing.”

Bailey bit her lip. “I did back them up. As soon as I took them.”

“That’s a girl.” He smiled and pulled out his phone. “Hey, it’s Brock. Bailey backed up her phone, pull what you can from her account. How long will that take? Seriously? Shit. Well, do what you can. Thanks.” He hung up. “Our tech team is on it, but it could take a couple of days. Do you think you’d be able to describe the kids?”

“You mean for a sketch artist?”

“Yes.” Brock smiled. “I’ll talk to Jaxon. He can come later today and see what you come up with.”

“He’s a sketch artist?”

“Not officially, but he’s an artist and we use him in situations like this because confidentiality is necessary.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Come on, I’ll get you some coffee.”

* * *

Jaxon Quinn arrived close to six that evening with dinner and a sketch pad. Bailey noted his short, dark hair, tattoos, and all around pretty boy look and determined he looked more like a rock star than an FBI agent.

“Bailey, this is Jax,” Brock said. “We’ll eat and then you can give him the descriptions you remember.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bailey said, and shook his hand.

“You too, Bailey.” Jaxon smiled.

As they ate, Bailey allowed the men to do the majority of the talking, happy to sit back and watch. Once they finished eating, Dallas and Jax grabbed the empty plates and took them to the kitchen, leaving Brock and Bailey in the great room.

“You okay?” Brock asked.

Bailey nodded with a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Not at the moment.”

“I heard something about you,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“CPS interviewed Conor and Callie, and according to the child psychiatrist, they both said you put your life on the line for them.”

Bailey shook her head. “I don’t know about that.”

“Hey.” He squeezed her knee. “Don’t minimize what you did. From what those kids said, they would be where the others are if it hadn’t been for you.”

She shrugged. “They were sweet kids. I couldn’t just let them be taken too.”

“You ready, Bailey?” Jaxon called from the kitchen island.

“Sure,” she said.

“You and I are gonna talk more later,” Brock said.

Bailey didn’t respond as she joined Jaxon in the kitchen.

CHAPTER SIX

J
AXON
L
EFT
T
HREE
hours later with basic sketches of six of the children. Although Bailey couldn’t quite recall every specific detail, she was able to provide hair color, size and build for each child. She worried that it wouldn’t be enough to identify the children, but Brock assured her that she’d given them more information than any other source, and that every little bit helped.

“I’m heading out for a few hours,” Dallas said.

At the kitchen island, Brock appeared deep in thought, staring at his laptop screen, but he lifted his chin in acknowledgement and Dallas walked out of the house. Brock set his computer aside and made his way to Bailey who was in one of the overstuffed chairs by the window. “You in pain?”

Bailey grimaced. “A little. How did you guess?”

He checked his watch. “Because you haven’t taken anything for a little over six hours.”

Bailey was a little surprised by his attention to detail, but she tried not to read into it.

Dr. Stone had been by earlier that day with refills of her pain meds, something he’d done twice before. Brock stepped into the kitchen for her pills and water. She took them and then dropped her head onto the back of the chair.

“What happened that night, Bailey?” he asked quietly as he sat on the sofa.

She looked at him. “You’re not going to let this drop, are you?”

“No. Whatever happened to Ali will happen again to some other girl, unless we catch the scumbags who did this. I need your help.”

She took a deep breath. “I went to a party with Ali. I didn’t want to go, but she insisted. And there was this guy there, Asher, he gave me the creeps. I’d only met him once, but still, something about him just didn’t seem right to me. He watched Ali like she was a steak and he wanted a bite. It was… weird. Ali had taken something. A pill. I don’t know what it was, but I saw her wash it down with a cocktail. She partied like no one I’d ever met before and at the beginning it was exciting, but then she started doing stuff that wasn’t like her. She went too far, but I had her back, so stuck around and made sure I stayed sober. I stuck to water bottles I opened myself. No open cups offered by creepy guys.” Bailey swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut.

“It’s okay, Bailey. I’m here.” He leaned forward and took her hand. “These are just memories, okay?”

She nodded. “Then everything changed. Everyone left suddenly and we were alone with Asher and his friends. I told Ali it was time to go, but she was so messed up. Asher started making out with her and she just ignored me.”

Brock smiled sympathetically.

“Everyone was just standing around watching them make out. It was so awkward. I kept yelling at her, and telling her I wanted to go, but she didn’t care. I tried to pull her away from him, but one of his goons grabbed me and wouldn’t let go of me.”

Brock frowned. “Why didn’t you just leave?”

“Because she’s my friend and I couldn’t just leave her there with them. She was out of her mind!” she snapped.

“Hey, no judgment, babe, just a question.”

Bailey stared at him. Wrong move. He was so sincere and his face was so gorgeous and she wanted to kiss him so bad, it made her sick to her stomach.

“Can you keep going?” he asked.

She nodded. “Anyway, I was yelling at Asher, pointing out that Ali was high and probably drunk and maybe he should be a real man and not take advantage.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “And that was the last thing I remember. I woke up in a concrete basement with Ali and several kids. Ali and I were zip-tied, and so were a couple of the older kids. The younger ones were just sitting where they’d been ordered to sit. Conor and Callie were the two kids closest to me. When I woke up, they were trying to wipe the blood off my forehead. Just a couple of kids, and they were trying to take care of me. I remember smelling bleach and something else, like vanilla. I wasn’t sure if it was air freshener or what, but it made me nauseous. I knew if we didn’t get out of the basement, we were screwed. I knew my arm was broken and I knew I must have looked bad, because they kept whispering about my wounds. Ali woke up a few minutes after me and we tried to put together a plan.”

She shivered when Brock ran a thumb gently down her bruised eye. “What was the plan?”

“Callie wasn’t bound; neither were a couple of the others, so we tried to get them to find anything sharp. Scissors, knives, anything. Conor is the smartest little kid. I don’t think I’ve ever met a kid so on top of things. He was able to guide his sister, keeping her calm and encouraging her like a big brother ought to. She found bolt cutters and when you see a petite six-year-old holding a pair of bolt cutters that weigh almost as much as she does, the thought of her wielding those to cut your restraints is a little overwhelming.”

“I bet,” Brock agreed.

“One of the little ones wanted to help, I think he was five, but Callie is six and she said felt she could cut the zips off us better than Caleb—” Bailey gasped. “Caleb. He’s the little blond one I couldn’t remember. His name’s Caleb. Tell Jax. Tell him now in case we forget.”

“
Okay
, babe.” Brock smiled as he grabbed his phone and sent a text. “Done.”

“Callie was amazing. She got Ali’s ties cuts and then Ali took it from there. She wanted to do mine because she said she didn’t want me in anymore pain, although, Ali didn’t look much better than me. She cut me and the kids loose and then we looked for a way out. There was a window we could get to if we scaled, but that meant that one of us had to stay behind to lift the kids up. Ali said it had to be her because I only had one usable arm, so she hoisted me up first, high enough for me to use my legs and good arm to crawl out. I then turned around and reached down for Callie, then Conor.” Bailey felt the tears clog her throat.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Brock took her hands again.

“Someone was coming and Ali waved for me to go. There wasn’t time to get the other kids, so I had to go. She threw my purse at me and hissed that I was to go and not look back. I had two of them, and I knew that if I could get them somewhere safe, at least they would be okay. Then I would come back for Ali. Maybe I could even find some help. So we ran. We ran until Callie fell and she just couldn’t go any further. I picked her up, but for obvious reasons, once the adrenaline started to wear off, I just didn’t have the strength to keep going. The pain was overwhelming. So, Conor and I saw a house without any lights on. It appeared to be boarded up, so we tried to find a way in. We did. I told them not to touch anything, watch where they stepped, and to stay close to me. I would try my best to protect them. So we found that room and saw that it had a mattress which was gross, but really at this point, we were exhausted and didn’t care, and we all just kind of collapsed on it. Callie settled beside me and Conor wrapped his little arms around both of us.” Bailey let the tears fall. “Seriously, that kid is the most incredible kid on the planet.”

Brock nodded.

“When we woke up the next day, I saw my phone was dead, and the kids were still frightened, so we sat for a little while just talking. I needed a plan. But you guys came in and the rest is history.” She cocked her head. “Why were you there?”

“Reports of kids going into a known abandoned meth house had a few of the neighbors on edge.”

“It’s good it was you who showed up and not…” Bailey wiped her tears and took a labored breath.

“It’s okay, babe. It’s over.”

She closed her eyes again, the memories flooding in. “I heard Ali scream. I heard her from almost a block away. I knew. I just knew she wasn’t okay.”

“Do you remember anyone speaking Russian?” he asked.

She shook her head as Brock reached out and pulled her to him and she broke down. She let herself relax into Brock, let him hold her, and reveled in his protective arms.

Brock kissed her forehead and wiped her tears, keeping her close to him. “The kids were being ransomed.”

Bailey sat up. “What?”

“Conor and Callie’s parents were told that if they didn’t send three-point-two million dollars to an off-shore account that the kids would be killed.”

Bailey gasped. “Oh my god.”

“You saved their lives, sweetheart.”

“But what about the other ones. I failed them,” she said, and burst into tears again.

He pulled her against him again. “No, you didn’t. Look, we have that off-shore account number and we’ll be able to trace the other parents. What’s disturbing is that no kids matching the descriptions you gave Jax have been reported missing. At least none that resemble the sketches, so there are some scared parents out there who are trying to work this on their own, but we’ll find them, Bailey. I promise. We could never have gotten this far if you hadn’t put your life at risk for those kids.”

“You’ll find them?”

“Promise, baby.”

She yawned. “Why am I so sleepy all of a sudden?”

“I gave you a muscle relaxer as well as your oxy.”

“Sneaky,” she said on a yawn.

Brock slid his body down, settled his feet on the coffee table and pulled her up against his chest. “Sleep, baby.”

“On you?”

“Yeah.”

She yawned again. “’Kay.”