Chapter 9
Doralee
I don’t mean to come on to Cricket, but he smells amazing and his body vibrates as I hold on to him. Couple that with the vibrations against my ass and the tingles shooting to my pussy, and I’m low-key hitting on Cricket.
Trailing my hand down his chest, I catalogue every ridge of muscle under my fingertips. The man is carved from stone, chiseled to perfection, and I can’t stop my mind from conjuring images of licking a path from his collarbone to his Adonis belt, and then to…
I pull my head back and take a deep breath of the night air, but all I smell is him and it makes me feel intoxicated, giddy, and unburdened for the first time in years. A crazy desire to press kisses to his shoulders fills me, but I won’t do that.
I can’t.
That would definitely be against the rules.
Leaning back with my hands on his hips, I look up at the near full moon overhead and breathe deeply—the fog clouding my judgment lifting.
“You okay back there?” Cricket says clearly despite the road noise.
“Yeah.” I lean forward again, his warm body soothing to mine. “It’s been years since I’ve ridden on the back of a bike.”
“Do you ride?”
“I have, but it’s been a while. A car cut me off, and I laid down my bike on the beltway outside of DC a few years ago.
My bike slid forward, bounced off the concrete divider, and ended up underneath the middle tires of a semi.
I slid underneath a car and missed having my head crushed by inches.
” Giving up my internal debate, I wrap my arms around his waist again and rest my cheek against his shoulder. “I was really lucky.”
“Sounds like it.” He turns his head and presses a kiss against my forehead covered by the balaclava.
Yeah, this is inappropriate, but I can’t seem to care at the moment.
I’ll regret it later, but now?
Nope.
We ride in comfortable silence for another thirty minutes before he pulls off the road and parks his bike. He points to a dim light in the distance. “That’s an old cattle ranch.”
He hops off the bike and helps me do the same, before pulling out a phone with GPS monitor software on the screen. “The same two SUVs I clocked earlier are there. I guess they’re staying the night or some shit.”
I pull off my balaclava and smooth my hair down after he removes his. “If they have dozens or more people in there—men, women, and children—they’d need vehicles to move them. A fleet of minivans won’t cut it.”
I’ve been thinking about this for the last few hours.
There are a lot of logistics associated with an in-person auction.
These men, women, and children were stolen from around the country—whether arrested by ICE or local police or straight up taken off the streets—and are not local.
Housing and maintaining them, even poorly, is an operation within itself.
Is this location where they’ve been held all along—from the day they were kidnapped until the moment they are shipped off to their new prisons?
“School bus? Semi-trailer?” Cricket suggests.
“A school bus would be too visible unless it was renovated as a schoolie or some shit. Otherwise, a fleet of buses would draw attention, don’t you think?”
“A convoy of semi-trailers would be best. No one blinks an eye when they pass six to ten semis in a row on the highway, and they can be disguised as really anything with god knows what going on inside.”
“Do you think they’re keeping the captives moving between auctions?
” I haven’t been able to bounce these ideas off anyone else, but hosting auctions in different cities isn’t for the convenience of the buyers.
So why be on the move if not to evade law enforcement?
Or is it that one corrupt city, county, or state official will only risk so much heat for so long before they want the trash moved out of their jurisdiction?
If they’re not confident they’ll be protected, that gives me hope we’ll be successful in tearing their crime network apart.
Cricket thinks about it, his eyes up at the stars before coming down to me. “Could be, although there’s just as much risk of something going wrong on the move as there is staying in place. It bodes well for us if they don’t feel safe while stationary. It means they don’t trust each other.”
I smile big and feel like I have someone who finally gets me. “That’s what I was thinking.”
His face relaxes as he stares into my eyes. There’s a moment where I think he might lean down and kiss me, and where I think I might let him. “You’re a good agent, Doralee. I’m sorry the other agents don’t appreciate you.”
“Well,” I shrug, “who needs them anyway?”
“We do, unfortunately.” He rubs his lips together. “Any chance I can get you to stay here while I run inside?”
“No, but I promise to let you take the lead while I stay down and out of sight as much as possible.”
He blows out his breath. “Okay. Follow me.”
We jog the mile and a half to the fence line, staying clear of the lights illuminating the driveway. There are some cows, but not nearly enough to justify a ranch or a dairy farm.
“Ready to get shit on your boots?” Cricket raises his brow before pulling the balaclava back over his head.
Nodding, I do the same and follow him through a dry field littered with cow pies. Thanks to the ample moonlight, it’s easy to avoid most of them as we make our way to the edge of a giant industrial-sized barn. Inside, we hear men talking while hammers swing and bright lights shine overhead.
I peek through some weathered slats to see workers building a walkway to a stage set three feet off the ground.
“A stage?” I whisper.
“For the auction.” Cricket taps my arm and follows the outer wall to the back, where three giant garage doors are closed.
“This is how they load cattle from the arena to the transports and vice versa. If your theory is correct, I’m betting they’ll back them up here and off-load them into a staging area before bringing them out in lots for the buyers to view. ”
“Like, ten women ages eighteen to twenty-five?” My stomach twists at the thought.
He nods. “Lot thirty-three or some shit.”
“Jesus.” I shake my head.
Cricket grabs my hand and squeezes to comfort me. “Come on. There are no women or children here. Let’s check the other buildings and confirm the whereabouts of the assholes from the hotel before we get out of here.”
We slip in and out of three more buildings equipped with showers, towels, and soap to clean up the people before sending them down the runway.
This honestly isn’t what I was expecting.
When other agents have told me about similar undercover operations, the auctions were done in nice open ballrooms in underground clubs where champagne flowed despite the horrors being committed in front of seemingly normal people.
This is legit the sale of livestock, only the cattle are human beings.
“This isn’t what I expected.” I lean against the back of the fourth cabin and place my hand on my stomach, ripping the balaclava off my head to breathe in the stale air. Bile rises in my throat, and I’m second guessing my ability to do this.
Cricket stands next to me with his cool fingers wrapped around the back of my neck. “It’s okay, Doralee.”
“It’s one thing to talk about this, or strategize a plan of attack, or even look over pictures from other operations, but being here right now makes me realize how real this is.” I shake my head. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can, and you will, because we are going to save people’s lives and kill any scumbag who tries to stop us.” He says it so matter-of-factly, I wonder if he’s talking to me or himself.
I turn my face up to his, those purple-gray eyes bright in the darkness. “I’m glad you’re here, Cricket.”
“Me too.”
“What would we have done if we had found victims here tonight?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“We couldn’t set them free,” I state the obvious. “Not tonight, even though that’s what I would’ve wanted to do.”
“Me too.”
“This is fucked up. Part of me is glad they’re not here since I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it, anyway.”
He palms my cheek and slides his thumb over my lips in an intimate touch. “I feel the same way.”
I should bat his hand away, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off of his. His scent grows stronger and overpowers the cattle stench surrounding us. I push off of the cabin wall and stand as tall as my five-foot-six frame gets.
I’m still a good eight inches shorter than him, but if he wants to kiss me right now, I won’t stop him.
Hell, I’m practically daring him to, aren’t I?
“Shit.” He pulls his hand away and crouches, pulling me down with him. “There are two heading this way.”
With my mind back in the game, I listen for clues—footsteps or voices—but it’s another thirty seconds before I hear them approach.
“I’m telling you, man. A big ass mountain lion jumped on the roof of Sethegh’s car and he shit his pants. He had to change his clothes as soon as we got back to the hotel,” one guy chuckles.
“How fucking weird is that though? A goddamn bear and a goddamn mountain lion popping off with us in the middle of a road,” Guy B says.
“We were in the national forest.” Guy A snorts, his voice considerably more lighthearted than that of Guy B, who sounds like a two-pack-a-day smoker.
“Still. I’ve seen weird shit like that before when I was deployed. Bears, wolves, big ass cats appearing in the middle of fucking downtown Fallujah.”
“What are you suggesting? The military trains and deploys Apex predators as soldiers?”
“Don’t be a fucking idiot!” Guy B snaps.
Guy A laughs. “If you’re not saying that, then what are you saying?”
“I’m just saying it’s fucking weird, that’s all.”
The door to the cabin opens, the lights come on, and the two men tinker around for a minute before flipping off the light and moving toward the next cabin.
“What time do the guests arrive tomorrow?” Guy B asks.
“After dark. The boss doesn’t want them here longer than twenty-four hours.
So we get them in, clean them up, show them off, and then load them back on the truck.
” Guy A seems to be more knowledgeable. Could he be in charge of security?
I wish I could see him, but I honestly can’t see anything right now.
“I can’t wait until we’re done with this shit. I need a vacation,” Guy B grumbles.
“Quit your bitching. This is easy money. Six figures and no time in the sandbox.”
“I guess.”
They move out of earshot, and that’s when I notice Cricket has crept around the building to look into the cabin’s windows. He motions for me to join him and points inside. “Weapons.”
“What kind of weapons?” I can’t see anything because the window he’s looking in is six feet off the ground.
“I see AR-15s, XM7s, M4s, plus RPGs and an assortment of ammunition. Everything you need to pull off the terrorist-chic look this fall.” Cricket grins when I roll my eyes. “I think we’ve learned enough tonight. Are you ready to get out of here?”
“Yes.” I sigh. I’m more than ready to get out of here, take a hot shower, and maybe have a drink—or ten.
He nods. “Follow me.”
We ride back to the compound in silence.
Occasionally he places his hand over mine on his non-existent belly, reminding me that maybe for the first time I’m not alone in this.
His scent and the heat coming off his body calms me, and I’m very relaxed with my face buried between his shoulder blades when we park next to our two SUVs.
But that contentment is quickly ruined when the outer door swings open and Crash storms through, his face twisted with rage.
“Do you want to explain yourself?” he hisses, stepping up to the bike.
“I’ve tried that before, Crash, but you didn’t want to hear it.”
I hop off the back of the motorcycle and pull the balaclava off my head, injecting myself into this feud. “Explain myself?”
“Not you, Agent Baker. I have no authority over you. But you—” He points his finger in Cricket’s face.
“Sometimes you have authority and sometimes you don’t. This was one time you didn't.”
Crash stares at Cricket without saying a word. This goes on for nearly a minute when suddenly Cricket barks out a laugh. “Sniff the air, dear brother. You didn’t know what you were talking about then, and you definitely don’t now.”
“What are you talking about?” I glance between them.
Cricket wraps his fingers around my shoulder and gives me a gentle squeeze.
It’s not sexual, but familiar, similar to what a friend would do.
“You did great tonight, Doralee. Maybe we should spray the cow shit off our boots, grab some food, and debrief the lieutenant and any agents you choose with what we’ve learned? ”
He says it like it’s my choice, and since he makes no move to lead me away from this tense situation, I suppose he is leaving it up to me. “Yeah, I like that idea. How about the four of us talk first and figure out what we can share with the others in the morning.”
“Boots first for me.” Cricket wrinkles his nose. “There’s enough bullshit inside already. I don’t want to track in more.”
He walks away and leaves me with Crash staring after him with a look on his face like he’s on the verge of imploding. “We got some good intel, Crash. Why don’t you grab Pitch and we’ll find a soundproof room to debrief in? Say, in thirty minutes?”
Crash tears his eyes off his brother at the other end of the building, where there is a hose and a pump, to look at me. The respectful warmth he showed me earlier is gone, replaced by an icy indifference that causes me to take a step back. “Wilco. Meet us in the SpecOps office when you’re ready.”
I watch him retreat into the building, but the dominant presence he’s always carried is gone, and it makes me sad.
What the hell is it with these two that inspires such hatred? Something tells me it was a girl, because it is almost always about a girl.
Shit. Am I the girl?