Chapter 4
Doralee
As a woman in a male-dominated field, one of the first things I learned was to take a seat at the table.
And if there isn’t a table, take a seat near the head of the room.
None of this wallflower bullshit, because I promise you, even the most junior inept man will act like he’s in charge given the chance.
And he’ll speak over the most knowledgeable woman in the room every time.
I’m not letting that happen.
Britney sits beside me on one end of the table, while Colonel Packard, Crash, Agent Castor and Agent Caldwell with the FBI, and Agent Rumpert with the ATF take up the other five chairs.
There’s a handful of other agents and analysts in the darkening room, my computer up with an image displayed on the screen.
Clearing my throat, I pause as the back door opens and the newcomer steps through, quickly leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
My eyes go to Crash, the cut on his face healing nicely considering it’s only been a few hours. He also looks to the back of the room, his eyes narrowing.
I guess their little spat isn’t over.
“This is the meet and greet tonight.” I point to the poolside at a local hotel on the screen.
We’re in Dunham, Wyoming, not a mecca for organized crime, which I suppose is why they chose it for such a nefarious auction.
I mean, who the hell would think to come to a small western town with a population of five thousand to buy children?
“Crash and I expect to meet two, maybe three traders tonight, and they know we’ll be arriving with our own security team.”
Crash nods. “Two vehicles. Agent Baker and I will be in one with Castor and Rumpert. Cricket and Melon will be in the second vehicle.”
Cricket. That’s the only name I don’t know, so I assume it’s the new guy. What weird call signs these guys use.
“What route are we using?” Caldwell asks Crash, who turns his gaze pointedly to me.
I must say, I appreciate him not trying to take over my op.
“We’ll be on the main road through the center of town. There’s no intel to suspect they know anything about our operation, so any perceived nervousness on our part could be devastating.”
“What kind of firepower are we carrying?” Rumpert also asks Crash, which pisses me off. “The ATF thinks we should add another surveillance team outside of the facility and follow them after your meeting.”
“No, because we have at least three more auctions to be invited to across the Continental Divide—from Canada to Mexico, therefore we aren’t going to spook them by doing something stupid like tailing them after the first meeting.
” I flash both men a placating smile. “There are many arms of this operation, gentlemen, but since human trafficking belongs to DHS, this one is mine. Anyone not DHS is invited as a courtesy so that all agencies have the same intel and can build their cases from there. SpecOps specifically asked to be involved in the human trafficking aspect of this investigation, which is why Crash is my partner versus Agent Melon. Are there questions?”
Rumpert narrows his eyes. “You know, Doralee, you need to take the stick out of your ass. I know this is your big break, but—”
“That’s enough.” Crash raises his hand to silence him.
“I don’t need you—” I turn to Crash, ready to verbally and physically do my own sparring.
Colonel Packard and he stand, effectively cutting me off too. “What time are we leaving, Agent Baker?”
I’m so shocked, I take a second to respond, “Eighteen hundred.”
He nods. “See you then.”
Visceral rage courses through my veins as everyone at the table stands and walks out without being dismissed by me. A few others at least have the decency to nod in my direction before they gather their things and leave, Britney being one of them.
I say nothing, and notice Crash’s doppelg?nger Cricket hanging out in the background. He’s still leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles as he watches me.
Slamming down the lid of my computer, I unplug it from the overhead screen and walk through the chairs to the back of the room to stop in front of the newcomer. “Are you another SpecOps guy?”
His nostrils flare and the veins in his neck bulge as he closes his eyes and drops his head, not saying a word to me.
You have to be fucking kidding me with these guys.
I arch my brow. “Excuse me? What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? Or do you not talk to women?”
His lips part and a deep, pained, guttural sound comes out of him as he shakes his head, his eyes anywhere other than on my face.
What the actual fuck?
My need to punch something is all I can think about as I push past him, muttering under my breath, “Great—another macho asshole on the team. Just what I need.”
I’m going to spend the next three hours punching a bag before I have to get ready for tonight.
My phone rings as I walk back to the barracks. I pull it out of my pocket to see it’s my boss, Agent Lucas. “Yes, sir?”
“So, that went well,” he says casually, and I now know that Agent Melon is here to spy on me as much as anything else.
“I have it handled.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir.” I grit my teeth and slide my key into the door lock of my temporary apartment.
“You know I think you’re a good agent, Doralee. Don’t let these assholes from the other agencies push you around.”
“I won’t.”
“But you did.” He sighs. “Anything new to report? Any word on detention centers or key players?”
“Detention centers, no. And I haven’t heard the FBI drop any names as to who they are gathering information on.
” This is not completely true, but only because Britney tells me things they are otherwise not talking about outside of the soundproof FBI office.
They have identified three billionaires with private islands and two US Congressmen, although she hasn’t told me which ones.
“Hmmm. That’s disappointing.”
“It’s not our jurisdiction, anyway,” I mumble, unsure why he cares.
“Not true. The money behind the detention centers will help us find more properties and unravel the entire criminal network. Make no mistake, Agent Baker, we want to be the ones to take everything down. Rescuing women and children is nice, but rooting out corruption makes careers.” I imagine he’s standing on a soapbox and wonder if he’s reading from cue cards.
“You want to be a field office chief one day, don’t you? ”
“Yes,” I lie easily. Honestly, I flip-flop a lot.
One moment, I want to be the deputy secretary of Homeland Security, and the next—usually after dealing with boys’ club bullshit all day—I think about opening a cute pet boutique or some shit like that in a small mountain town far away from the rat race that is government work in DC.
Why claw my way up the ladder only to have an old man’s saggy balls on the rung above me?
No - no - no, Doralee. Think positively. Tonight will be amazing, and I’ll be back on the deputy secretary train by morning.
“Of course you do,” he says. “Call me tonight and let me know how your initial contact went.”
“Will do, sir.” I barely get the words out before the line goes dead.
Quickly changing into leggings, a sports bra, and an oversized t-shirt that covers my ass, I throw my hair up in a ponytail and slip my AirPods into my ears.
There’s a gym in the back of the second airplane hangar, behind rows of metal containers filled with tactical equipment.
This is a government staging area for the region with equipment belonging to everyone and no one at the same time.
I have seen many assets marked DoD, so I suppose a lot of it came back from deployments—when we bothered to ship shit home.
I wonder exactly what is in each container?
Maybe there’s a Bradley tank we can take for a joy ride down Main Street, Dunham, Wyoming? That would be a blast and would definitely raise the eyebrows of the locals.
Amused by my wayward thoughts, I jump on a treadmill and run for twenty minutes while listening to my girl-power playlist. There’s nobody here, which I like, giving me a bit of breathing room from the bullshit. As I slow down to a brisk walk, the back door opens and lets in the afternoon sunshine.
I track with my peripheral vision as Rumpert walks in with his eyes on me.
Then Bennett enters, and a minute later, Caldwell joins them.
They perform a bunch of half-ass stretches and then climb onto the mats.
Bennett and Caldwell slap box before grappling for each other’s legs while Rumpert cheers them on.
But he’s not watching them, he’s waiting for me to acknowledge them and give him an opening, which I refuse to do.
Stepping off the treadmill, I grab my shadow gloves and walk to one of the three bags hanging in the corner. Over my AirPods, I hear Rumpert call out to me, but I ignore him, jabbing the bag with my side facing them.
Just enough to not make eye contact, but not with my back to them either.
Never with my back exposed.
You’d think we’d all be on the same team as federal employees and law enforcement, but nope. I trust none of them completely.
Not even Britney.
I catch movement closer than I expect and swing a backhand which Rumpert catches with a shit-eating grin on his face. Yanking my hand out of his, I roll my eyes and remove one of my AirPods. “What do you want?”
“Come spar with me.” He winks and tilts his head toward the mats while Bennett and Caldwell watch us.
“No.” I move to put my AirPod back in my ear, but he stops me, his fingers wrapped around my forearm.
“Come on. You know you want a shot at my pretty face almost as much as I want a chance at pinning you flat on your back underneath me.”
I wrench my arm out of his hand. “You’re a pig and it’s never going to happen.”
“Never say never, cupcake.” He reaches up to touch my face and a third hand comes out of nowhere.
“I’m pretty sure she told you to fuck off.” Cricket stands there—but where he came from, I’m not exactly sure.
Rumpert narrows his eyes, jerking his arm away and taking a step back. “Stay out of this, man. While I enjoyed watching you kick that pompous SpecOps officer’s ass this morning, you don’t know me and have no idea what you’re stepping into right now.”
Cricket takes a step forward, putting his face right into Rumpert’s. “I know that I’ve been here for less than six hours, and I’ve already watched this agent tell you to go fuck yourself in a few different, more politically correct ways. Get the hint. She’s not interested.”
I’m so shocked that this asshole who wouldn’t make eye contact with me an hour ago is standing up for me that I let him. Normally, I wouldn’t let a man speak for me, even against another man.
Rumpert’s jaw flexes and he takes another step back. “Another SpecOps jackass, huh?”
“Yeah,” Cricket growls as he takes a step forward.
“Fuck it. You’re not worth this aggravation, Doralee.” Rumpert turns away, but Cricket grabs his arm and pulls him close, whispering something in his ear that makes his jaw drop and eyes widen. His eyes come to mine and his face is bright red. “Apologies, Agent Baker.”
I stare past Cricket’s back as Rumpert retreats out of the building, throwing open the door with enough force to make it bounce off the building and slam closed behind him.
Cricket turns with his head down again, but at least he looks up at me with the same purple-gray eyes Crash has.
Only his are brighter, and infinitely more stunning.
“I came by to apologize for earlier. I have no excuse that makes sense, but please know it has nothing to do with you being a female agent.”
I pull my other AirPod out of my ear and slide them into their charging case. Motioning to the bag, I slip my glove back on. “Do you want to make it up to me?”
“Yes.” He nods wholeheartedly.
“Hold the bag.”
Arching his brow, a small smile curls his lips. “I can do that.”
Standing behind the bag, he keeps it steady as I punch and kick with all of my strength for ninety seconds before slowing down to half-hearted jabs.
“Cricket, right?” I pant.
“That’s right. And you’re Doralee Baker, HSI?”
“Correct. Are you also SpecOps?”
“I was.” He nods, licking his lips. “I separated a few years ago, but Colonel Packard calls us in as contractors every once in a while.”
“Are you related to Crash?” I arch my brow when he brings his eyes to mine. “I mean, you look like brothers.”
“Identical twins, but not exactly brothers.” His gaze goes over my head into the shadows where the metal containers are set in rows. “Not anymore.”
“Yeah, I caught your show this morning. There are a lot of pent-up feelings there.”
He shrugs. “It’s ancient history.”
“It didn’t look ancient to me.”