Bad Seed (Jubilee, Kentucky #5)

Chapter 1

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Mid-January

It had been snowing since daylight.

A true cold day in hell for the gang at the warehouse who’d just been arrested.

A light at the end of a tunnel for the hostages who had been but a day away from being trafficked to foreign countries.

For Harley Banks, it was just the end of another case, but one she needed to witness to be able to sleep at night. The horror of knowing women and children were disappearing monthly from this site was the stuff of nightmares. She wouldn’t let herself think of how many had been packed into shipping containers and loaded onto ships bound for other countries, or how many had died before the ships ever reached port, or how long it had been going on.

Today was the culmination of long weeks of investigation, and she was just another face in the crowd as she watched federal agents bringing out men in handcuffs. The line of ambulances waiting to transport hostages stretched past the second block.

As she was watching, her phone signaled a text. Satisfied that she’d seen enough, she turned and headed back to where she’d parked. By the time she was in her car, the snow was coming down hard. She started the engine to let it warm up, and then checked the message.

Well done. Final payment has been sent to your account.

W.C.

Harley nodded to herself. If Wilhem Crossley was satisfied with her work, then she was satisfied, too.

Being a private investigator was her job. Corporate crime was her specialty, which is why Crossley had hired her to find out what was happening to his import shipments. Being a CPA only added to the skills she often needed to do her job. The audit had been a tricky one. It had taken her a while to figure out that while the invoices were there showing the shipments had arrived, and there were records of every payment that went out to the companies who’d shipped them, the goods had never reached the warehouse. Crossley thought he was being robbed, and he was, but not like he’d expected.

After checking out the validity of the companies shipping products, it didn’t take Harley long to figure out the goods were ghost buys. Invoices from foreign companies that didn’t exist. Payments going to offshore accounts that were shell companies all belonging to a crime syndicate, and the mole they had planted in the Crossley company just happened to be Maury Paget, one of Crossley’s accountants. Crossley had trusted the wrong people, and Harley uncovered their scam. Even though Paget had been identified and arrested, they suspected someone else was running it, but she’d never uncovered a name. It bothered her, but Wilhem was satisfied knowing they’d turned over everything they had to the authorities, and left them to find the boss.

After receiving the text, Harley pocketed her phone and looked up. They were bringing the hostages out now. She couldn’t see their faces from this distance, but she could see the way they were clinging to their rescuers, and the ones who were coming out on gurneys, and the children who were being carried out. One thought went through her mind as she put her seat belt on.

Today, I made a difference.

Then she put the car in gear and drove away, unaware she’d been targeted in any way.

***

Wilhem knew what was going down this morning, and yet his son, Tipton Crossley, who was co-owner in the company, didn’t even know about the missing money, or that he’d hired an auditor to find out. Now, Wilhem had waited too long to tell him and, at this point, could say nothing. The feds had cautioned him not to alert anyone else about the discovery or the ensuing raid until it was over.

Tip was in China on a buying trip and was going from there to Japan. Wilhem consoled himself with the fact that even if Tip knew, there was nothing he could do about it, but his night was sleepless. The raid was going down at this moment, and he owed Harley Banks far more than the money she’d earned.

He rubbed a hand over the top of his bald head as he stood looking out into their garden. It was already blanketed with several inches of snow, and more was coming down. What a miserable day all around. He couldn’t save the hundreds of women who were already gone, but maybe they could save these before it was too late.

***

Phil Knickey had been living his best life as a professional hockey player until he’d crushed both his knees and his dreams in a car crash eight years ago. After that, his whole life went downhill, until he found a new gig—being the man bait for a gang involved in human trafficking.

It wasn’t hard. His name and face were still known. Women still flocked to pro athletes, even the broken ones. And once he had one hooked, the moment she headed to the bathroom, there were others waiting to make her disappear. It was money in the bank.

And, Phil knew tomorrow was shipment day. The women in holding were being shipped out, and today, it was all hands on deck getting them ready. But Phil overslept and was late leaving his apartment. To make it even more frustrating, snow was slowing his travel.

He was less than three blocks from the docks and at a red light at an intersection waiting to turn, when a phalanx of black vans, dark SUVs, and three armored SWAT vehicles rolled through the light with ambulances following, all heading for the docks.

His heart skipped. It could mean nothing, or it might be everything. Within seconds, Phil was on the phone to Ollie Prine, Mr. Berlin’s right-hand man. The phone rang twice before Ollie picked up.

“Hello?”

“Ollie, it’s me, Phil! Are you at the warehouse?”

“Almost. Why?” Ollie said.

“I’m three blocks away and just saw a small army of black vans, dark SUVs, and three armored SWAT vehicles heading toward the docks. Have we been made?”

“Oh shit! I don’t know, but don’t come in unless I give you the all clear,” Ollie said, then hung up and backtracked to a safe distance away to watch.

To his horror, Phil’s hunch was right. Before Ollie could alert the men on the ground, federal agents were swarming the warehouse by the dozens, with SWAT teams leading the way. He sped away from the docks, calling Berlin as he went. The phone rang repeatedly, to the point Ollie thought it would go to voicemail, and then the call was picked up.

“What?”

“Boss, it’s Ollie. We’re being raided as I speak. Phil and I got away.”

“How the hell did this happen?”

“I have no idea,” Ollie said. “The only unusual thing at the company offices was an auditor on-site, but I think it’s over.”

“What? An auditor? Why?”

“I have no idea, only that the old man had one on-site for the past three weeks.”

“What’s his name? Would you know him on sight?” Berlin asked.

“It’s a woman, and yeah, we’ve seen her. She’s a looker.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Berlin gave an order.

“Go back to the area. If you see her anywhere on-site, then that means she knew this was happening and she’s way more than an auditor.”

“Yes, sir, and if she’s there, what do you want me to do?” Ollie asked.

“Follow her and make her sorry.”

“How sorry?” Ollie asked.

“Dead sorry,” Berlin snapped. “Then let me know when the job is done.”

“Yes, sir,” Ollie said.

The call ended. He turned at the next block and headed back to the warehouse district. The area had already been cordoned off, so he parked outside the perimeter, jumped out, and headed toward the gathering crowd, keeping an eye out for a tall woman with long, black curly hair.

The moment he saw her, he ducked into an alley to watch what she was doing, and when she finally got in her car, he shifted gears.

Make her sorry , Boss said. Dead sorry. He could do that.

Shivering from the cold, Ollie watched her drive past him, then went running toward where he’d parked to follow her. He came around the corner on the run and then skidded to a stop. The car was gone! Either someone had stolen it or towed it, and he was afoot in a snowstorm.

He began cursing a blue streak as he headed up the street to a local bar, and as soon as he was out of the weather, he called for an Uber. He had no option but to wait. An hour later, he was still waiting and at the point of going to heist the first vehicle he found empty, when his ride finally showed up.

“It’s about damn time,” Ollie said, as he slid into the back seat.

The driver glared. “You’re lucky I made it. There’s a foot of snow on these side streets. Whada’ya want from me, dude?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Ollie said.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“The Logan Philadelphia at One Logan Square.”

The driver rolled his eyes and eased back into the streets with the wipers aimlessly swiping at the still-falling snow.

***

Unaware of the danger on her trail, Harley was already on her way to catch a flight. She’d checked out of the hotel when she left this morning. Her luggage was in the rental car, and she would return the car when she got to the airport. But her drive was hampered by the weather, and by the time she got her luggage checked and her rental car returned, she was running to the gate to catch her flight. She made it with minutes to spare and didn’t relax until she was in her seat, on the way home to Chicago.

***

It was past noon by the time Ollie’s Uber dropped him off at the hotel, but he’d done his homework. While he was riding, he’d texted the wife of a friend, who was a maid at the hotel, and after some coaxing and the promise of a hundred dollars, she reluctantly gave him Harley Banks’s room number.

Ollie finally reached the hotel, jumped out, and entered behind a party of five getting out of a shuttle. He went straight to the elevators and up to the sixth floor, then headed down a long hallway, looking for Room 645. But when he got there, the door was propped open, and there was a cleaning crew inside. His heart sank.

“The woman who was in this room. Where did she go?” he asked.

One of the maids shrugged. “She checked out this morning.”

His gut knotted. Berlin wasn’t going to like this. Ollie headed back to the elevators and, as soon as he was inside, sent a text.

She checked out before the raid. No idea where she’s gone.

His phone rang within minutes. He answered as he was walking across the lobby.

“Hello?”

“What the hell happened?”

“Snow happened. For all I know, she’d already checked out of here and went straight to the airport.”

“Then make it your business to find her,” Berlin said, and ended the call.

Ollie frowned. The boss was a cold bastard, but he paid good. As long as he didn’t get on the wrong side of him, he’d be okay.

***

It was late afternoon by the time Harley got back to her apartment. She paid the cab driver, grabbed her suitcase, and hurried into the building.

The security guard on duty in the lobby recognized her and smiled. “Welcome back, Miss Banks. Travel is pretty nasty right now.”

“It sure is, but it’s home sweet home for now, right, Danny?”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Welcome home.”

Harley ignored the moment of loneliness as she headed for the elevator. It didn’t say much for her personal life that her only welcome home was from the building security guard.

A short while later, she had stripped down to her lingerie and was putting her travel clothes into the washing machine. As soon as she had it running, she headed for the shower. It was part of her homecoming routine—washing away the negativity of where she’d been.

Later, she downed a bowl of cereal, then headed for her bedroom. Throwing aside her bathrobe, she crawled between the sheets, rolled over onto her side, and closed her eyes.

***

It was just past eight o’clock the next morning when Harley woke. The last thing she wanted to do was get out of her warm, comfy bed, but she had things to do. After a quick wash in the bathroom, she wadded her long curly hair up into a topknot and fastened it with a banana clip, then dressed in an old cable-knit sweater and a pair of sweatpants and headed to the kitchen with her phone.

Two cups of coffee and another bowl of cereal later, she was curled up on her sofa, going through missed messages. One from the federal agents who’d debriefed her. Most of them were things she’d respond to later, except the ones from her mother. That she wanted to get over with. They weren’t exactly estranged, but neither of her parents approved of her chosen career and prodded at her constantly for the decisions she made.

Her father, Jason Banks, was a NASA scientist, and her mother, Judith, was an accomplished screenwriter and playwright. They had a penthouse in New York City, a villa in the south of France, and owned a small vineyard in Calabria, Italy.

Harley was a genius with technology and numbers, but that was of no importance to her parents. It wasn’t a showy career. It garnered her no fame. Harley also had no significant other in her life, and had chosen to live in an apartment in Chicago. They had nothing against Chicago, but it wasn’t New York City. She knew they didn’t approve of her adult life, but she’d mostly gotten over letting it bother her.

She wasn’t callous enough to ignore her mother’s calls, but talking to them did require fortification, so she peeled the wrapper off a piece of chocolate and popped it in her mouth. It was melting on her tongue as she picked up her phone, scrolled through her contact list to her mother’s name, and punched the call icon. Judith Banks answered just as Harley’s chocolate was melting down to the chewy caramel center.

“So, you finally found time for me,” Judith snapped.

Harley sighed. “I’ve been on a job for the last three weeks. I flew out in a snowstorm, came home in a snowstorm, and went straight to bed. I just woke up. I will not apologize for the need to rest. I just finished a successful case in which I discovered where my client’s missing funds had gone, uncovered a human trafficking ring, and was responsible for finding the location of forty-four females who were being held by human traffickers readying to ship them all off somewhere overseas. I found out from one of the agents this morning that they were all on the national missing persons list, and eleven of them were under the age of twelve.”

Silence.

“Are you still there?” Harley asked. Then she heard a sigh.

“Yes, I’m here. I was just thinking how ugly your chosen profession is.”

“You think a face without makeup is ugly. You don’t know the depths of ugly, but it’s damn sure not me or my job,” Harley snapped. “Are either of you sick?”

Judith flinched. “No, but—”

“Did you go bankrupt?”

Judith snorted. “Of course not!”

“Are you getting a divorce?”

Judith gasped. “No!”

“Is someone threatening you?” Harley asked.

“No! What’s the matter with you?” Judith asked.

“Since you have no interest in my contributions to world peace, I was wondering why the hell you even called.”

Judith sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes, you did mean to, Mother. You are a broken record when it comes to me. You think belittling me will bring me to my knees and I’ll come running home. Good to know you’re both well. I’m soul-weary. Today, I’m going to have a massage, and eat pizza, and sleep when I want to, or until I get a phone call about the next job, whichever comes first.”

She disconnected the call, laid her head back on the sofa, and swallowed past the lump in her throat. Why, God? In all the world, why did You choose those people as my parents? What do You expect me to learn from them?

Quiet wrapped around her, easing the momentary pain of their rejection. She was still leaning back with her eyes closed when she felt as if she was being hugged, and then a different thought rolled through her head. Maybe they’re the ones who were meant to learn from you.

Tears rolled, tracking down her temples and into her hairline. She swiped at them angrily as she bolted up from the sofa and walked to the windows overlooking Lake Michigan. It was snowing, and she was congratulating herself for taking the red-eye last night instead of waiting to travel today. At least she was safely tucked in for the duration, however long this snowstorm might last.

But the loneliness of her life was obvious. She stood with her forehead pressed against the glass, feeling the cold against her skin, and wondered what it would be like to be loved. Truly loved. Without reservations. Without expectations of anything but loving in return.

***

February: Jubilee, Kentucky

It was a little past 1:00 p.m. when Brendan Pope sped past Bullard’s Campgrounds on his motorcycle. The day was brisk, but the sun was shining, and speed always made him feel like he could outrun his past.

He’d been riding since just after daybreak and was finally on his way back to Jubilee. Once he’d passed Bullard’s Campgrounds, he knew the highway was a straight shot into town. There was nothing in front of him but a long ribbon of concrete bordered by bar ditches full of tall, dried grass and ancient pines pointing straight up to heaven.

All of a sudden, a huge plume of smoke and debris appeared in the distance, like something had exploded. He frowned, worrying about what might have happened, but as he rode closer, he saw a red charter bus sliding sideways on its side, and what appeared to be a moving van barreling into the field beyond it. It took a few seconds for him to realize he’d just witnessed a head-on collision.

He was less than 200 yards away now and flying, but he knew response time was imperative so he began to brake, then pulled over to the side of the highway, tapped into his phone via the Bluetooth in his helmet, and called 911.

“Jubilee Police. How can I help you?”

“This is Brendon Pope. I’m out on the eastbound highway between Jubilee and Bullard’s Campgrounds. I just witnessed a head-on collision between a charter bus and a moving van. The bus is on its side and smoking. The van is off the south side of the highway in someone’s field. I’m about two hundred yards away, riding in now. Hurry. This bus could catch fire any second and I don’t have a fire extinguisher on my bike.”

“Sending all units now,” the dispatcher said, and Brendon disconnected and gunned it toward the wreck.

He was about forty yards away when he parked on the opposite side of the highway, hung his helmet on the bike, and got off running. The windows he could see on the side facing up had most of the glass missing. And because the bus was lying on the loading side, the door was blocked.

He could see some of the passengers trying to climb out of the shattered windows and onto the side of the bus, and he ran to the exit door and yanked it open. Almost immediately, passengers began spilling out of the door and running to get away before the bus caught fire, while others staggered only a few yards before falling down—nearly all of them bleeding in some form or fashion. Brendan was helping the injured down when he spotted movement on top of the bus and looked up.

One young man had crawled out through a broken window, and with obvious injuries. Blood was gushing from a wound in his leg, and jumping down was no longer an option.

“Here!” Brendan yelled, and held up his hands.

The man hobbled to the edge. “I can’t jump!”

“Sit down and slide. I’m tall enough to ease you down, buddy. I won’t drop you. I promise!” Brendan said, then watched as the man dropped down on the frame between two broken-out windows and, with his legs dangling down, slid right into Brendan’s arms.

Within seconds, Brendan was helping him to a place of safety. He didn’t know how long it would take for the ambulances to arrive, but this guy was going to bleed out and die before that happened, unless he did something about it.

He grabbed a short, sturdy stick from the side of the road, pulled the bandanna out of his pocket, knelt down beside the man, and began to make a tourniquet above the cut.

“What’s your name?” Brendan asked.

“Alex Fallin. My sister is Josie Fallin. She’s performing at one of the music venues in Jubilee.”

Brendan paused long enough to take his phone out and handed it to him. “My name is Brendan. I work at the Serenity Inn. Call her to let her know what’s happened, and maybe she can be waiting for you at the ER.”

“Thanks, man,” Alex said, wincing as Brendan cut the pant legs of his jeans all the way to the gash on his leg, then made the call as Brendan was applying a tourniquet.

To add insult to injury, it began to snow.

***

Josie Fallin was onstage doing a practice set with her band when her cell phone rang. She’d left it on the piano without putting it on Mute and waved at Trinity, her assistant, to answer it.

Trin grabbed it and hurried backstage to talk.

“Hello?”

“Uh…who’s this? I need to speak to Josie. It’s an emergency.”

“I’m Miss Fallin’s assistant. Who’s calling?”

“Oh, hi, Trin. It’s me, Alex. I’ve been in a wreck. I need to—”

“Oh my lord, honey! Hang on!” Trinity said, and rushed back onstage and thrust the phone in Josie’s hand. “It’s Alex! He’s been in a wreck.”

Josie gasped, waved at the band to stop. “Alex! Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m…oh shit, man…that hurts. Sorry, Sis. There’s a guy putting a tourniquet on my leg. I’m…”

“Oh my God! Are you hurt bad? What happened? Where are you?”

“We were right outside of Jubilee when the charter bus I was on just got hit head-on by a moving van. It rolled the bus over onto its side. This guy…” He groaned again. “I’m getting dizzy. I need to let him talk,” he said, and thrust the phone back in Brendan’s face. “You do it, man. I’m gonna pass out now.”

Josie was in hysterics. “No! Alex… Where…?” And then all of a sudden there was a soft, deep voice in her ear.

“Miss Fallin, my name is Brendan Pope. I live in Jubilee. I witnessed the wreck and pulled your brother off the top of the bus after he got himself out. He has a deep gash in his leg just above the knee. I’ve got a tourniquet on it, and ambulances are already beginning to arrive.”

“Where is he? Where did this happen?” she cried.

“Between Jubilee and Bullard’s Campgrounds, but you can’t come out here. They’ll be putting up roadblocks and setting up a triage for a whole lot of injured people on-site. Maybe you could go to the ER and meet him there when they bring him in?”

“Yes, yes, I will. Oh my God! Thank you for saving him. Thank you!” she cried, and then hung up and told her crew. “Bad wreck just outside of town. A moving van hit a charter bus head-on. My brother, Alex, was on the bus. I have to get to ER.”

***

Alex was trembling and going in and out of consciousness. Brendan could tell shock was setting in as he pocketed his phone. He had to get him to an ambulance.

“I’m sorry, buddy, but this is gonna hurt. There’s no time to waste and I’ve got to move you. Just hang on to me as best you can,” Brendan said. “What do you weigh?”

“About a hundred and fifty pounds, more or less,” Alex said.

Brendan nodded. “I got you,” he said, scooped him up in his arms, and started walking toward the arriving police units as fast as he could.

Police officer Doug Leedy saw Brendan coming and ran to help. “Brendan! What the hell? Were you in this wreck? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I witnessed the wreck. I’m the one who called it in. I just pulled this guy off the roof of the bus and got a tourniquet on his leg. He has a really bad gash. Looks like it might have nicked an artery. He’s gonna bleed out fast if they don’t get him to ER. His name is Alex Fallin. He’s Josie Fallin’s brother.”

“Oh man! On it!” Doug said, and ran for a couple of EMTs who were just getting out of their ambulance. They came running with a gurney, loaded Alex on it, strapped him down, and headed for the ambulance.

Brendan breathed a sigh of relief when the young man’s life was no longer in his hands, but the screams and shouts and the cries for help were coming from all directions now. He guessed there were people still trapped in the bus and ran back in that direction, but when he looked inside, the people who were still there were either tangled up in the crumpled seats and lying on windows they’d once been looking out of or unconscious. He turned to look for help and saw a rescue squad from the fire department approaching and moved out of the way. Part of the team headed to the smoking engine with fire extinguishers, and the rest of them piled into the bus to aid the victims.

Brendan turned around, thinking it was time he got out of the way and let the experts do their job, when he noticed a child’s stuffed toy lying on the shoulder of the road about ten feet away from the undercarriage. One wheel on the bus was still turning slowly, and luggage was scattered all over.

He hurried over to get the toy and, as he bent down, heard what sounded like a child’s muffled sobs. His heart sank. “Ah, man…please don’t let this kid be in pieces,” he muttered, and jumped down into the ditch.

Within seconds, he saw a little boy, no more than three years old, sitting up in the tall dead weeds rocking back and forth, bloody, dazed, and crying.

Brendan couldn’t tell if the child had been thrown this far or if he’d somehow exited the bus with the others, then walked away from the smoke and fell into the ditch. He squatted down in front of the child and held out the stuffed toy.

“Hey, buddy, is this yours?”

There was recognition in the little boy’s eyes as he grabbed the toy and clutched it under his chin. Brendan picked him up, and when he did, the little boy laid his head on Brendan’s shoulders and started sobbing.

The sound broke Brendan’s heart. “Hey, little guy…it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you. My name is Brendan. Can you tell me your name?”

“Want Mommy,” he sobbed.

“Then let’s go find her. We’ll find Mommy together, okay?”

He climbed out of the ditch with the toddler and started walking toward the ambulances already lining up on scene.

***

Police officer Wiley Pope was Doug Leedy’s partner. He’d just learned about his brother’s part in the rescue, but he didn’t see him anywhere. The highway was littered with people lying down, and others staggering about in confusion, all of them cut and bleeding.

Police officer Aaron Pope was with his partner, Bob Yancy, setting up roadblocks. Some cars were beginning to line up behind barriers, while others were turning around on the highway and going back the way they’d come.

Aaron knew Brendan had made the 911 call, but knew nothing else about rescuing Josie Fallin’s brother from the wreck. He was talking to their police chief on a walkie when he saw Brendan walking through the crowd, blood all over his clothes and hands, and carrying a bloody child in his arms. “Gotta go, Chief. There was a kid in the wreck,” Aaron said, and headed toward his brother on the run.

“Brendan! What the hell? Are you hurt? Who’s the kid?” Aaron asked.

“No, no, I’m not hurt. I called in the wreck and just found this little guy in a ditch a few yards from the bus. I don’t know his name. He just keeps asking for Mommy.”

Aaron didn’t hesitate. “Come with me,” he said, and hurried them to a waiting ambulance.

Brendan repeated the story to the paramedics and gently handed the child over. “There’s likely to be a woman in that bus frantic about her baby. Make sure somebody tells her he’s been found.”

“I’ll make sure all of the rescuers know,” Aaron said.

Brendan nodded and started to walk away when Aaron stopped him. “Where are you going?”

“To get my bike and get out of everyone’s way,” Brendan said.

Aaron frowned. “I can’t let you ride your bike through here, but I’ll help you push it through the roadblock.”

“Understood, but I can push it. You do what you need to do. Just make sure someone lets me through,” and then he took off at a lope to where he’d parked his bike, toed up the kickstand, and began pushing it up the shoulder of the highway while the snow continued to fall. Once he passed the roadblock, he put his helmet back on, started the engine, and rode the rest of the way home.

Adrenaline was crashing as Brendan pulled up into his driveway. His feet were dragging as he parked in the garage and went inside, took off his biker boots and the black leather biker jacket he’d been wearing and cleaned off all the blood, then stripped and dumped the rest of his bloody clothes in the washing machine and started it to washing. He wanted a hot shower and some clean clothes. After the noise and screaming at the wreck site, the quiet of his house was a relief, and after all those hours on the road, it felt good to be out of the cold.