Chapter 16 #2
For the next two hours, men, women, and children are paraded in front of us wearing long white baptismal robes with different colored cords cinched around their waists.
I don’t know what the colors mean, and no one takes the time to explain them.
We can’t ask because we’re supposed to be professional buyers, but it’s not a detail I’ve seen in one of our debriefs.
“What’s blue?” I whisper to Crash.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t appear to have anything to do with gender, age, or skin color, but I think the white cords are…”
I glance over at him as he trails off. “What?”
“Untouched or virgins.” He swallows hard and continues. “They’ve all been younger, mostly females but some small boys, and have gone for considerably higher amounts.”
“Goddamnit,” I curse without moving my lips.
“Not a lot of full-grown, able-bodied men here either,” he adds, as if talking will help me through this.
“They’re probably harder to control.”
“Yeah, maybe.” His jaw flexes, his eyes covered like mine.
“I need some air.” I’ve placed winning bids on a dozen individuals, while Crash has won almost as many. Hundreds of thousands of dollars spent between the two of us—on people.
The last teenage boy stumbles while being escorted off the stage. “What do you think they have them on? Some kind of barbiturate that keeps them upright, but docile and compliant?”
“I legit know nothing about recreational drugs. It’s not part of our mission.” Crash shakes his head. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
“Please.”
We leave the auction with Sethegh and Vantz’s eyes on us, but no one says a word as we enter our vehicles, pull out of the parking lot, and head north back toward Dunham.
“Did that seem too simple?” I ask everyone.
Castor nods. “Something’s off.”
Crash shows me his phone, the secure app on the screen with a withdrawal for $235,000 and the description, “Contractor services.”
I pull out my phone, hiding my smile as I swipe past a missed text from Cricket to open the same app.
$345,000—same description.
“I guess we did what we came to do.” Crash slips his phone back into his inside pocket. “Rumpert, take a right at this road coming up.”
“Why? Where are we going?” Rumpert asks as he hits his turn signal, clearly annoyed by the unplanned deviation.
“We are not going anywhere. You are dropping me off with my team.”
“Are Cricket and Pitch meeting us?” My heart flutters as Cricket’s name rolls off my tongue.
He shakes his head. “Not Cricket, just Pitch.”
Agent Castor turns in the passenger seat and frowns back at us. “I really wish you SpecOps guys would share your intel with the task force.”
Crash nods solemnly. “I promise, Agent Castor, when I can share stuff that has to do with this mission, I will. We are working something in tangent, otherwise you’d be in the loop.”
“When will you be back?” I ask as we stop next to Crash’s truck, Pitch sitting behind the steering wheel.
“I’ll check in tomorrow morning.” He opens the door and makes eye contact with Castor and me before side-eyeing the back of Rumpert’s head. In a low voice, he says, “Keep your heads on a swivel.”
“Those guys suck,” Rumpert grumbles while pulling a U-turn, the second SUV with Melon, Caldwell, and Bennett following behind us.
“They don’t have the red tape we have.” Castor looks back at me quizzically as I slide across the seat to put myself behind Rumpert. He’s been glancing at me in the rearview mirror, but now he’s straight up staring.
“That doesn’t mean they have to be assholes. And where’d the doppelg?nger go? Must be nice to waltz in and out of an op without telling anyone.”
I glance down as a new text message alert from Crash pops up on my phone.
Don’t be alone with Rumpert. Stick close to Castor and Caldwell. I trust the FBI, but not the rest of them.
Responding with a thumbs up emoji, I move to my missed texts from Cricket.
1858: Hey babe. Miss you already. I know Crash has your back, but I wish I could be there too.
If anything feels off, protect yourself first. Fuck the rest of them.
We haven’t wrestled yet, but I’m positive you can handle yourself.
If everything goes right, I’ll meet you tomorrow night, wherever you are.
1903: BTW - I love you too
A smile spreads my lips, and my fingers hover over the keys as I contemplate my response. I never told him I love him, although he acts like I did. Is that what he meant when he said I was talking while passed out? Did I declare my love for him?
Searching the deepest recesses of my mind, I don’t remember what either of us said, but saying I love you feels familiar. It feels right. Do I fight this crazy, whirlwind connection or jump right into it? What’s the worst thing that can happen if I do?
I get my heart broken, but honestly, I think it’s too late to protect myself from that.
2041: You love me? That’s good, because I love you. Hurry back to me so we can say it face to face.
I hit send seconds before the rear passenger side of our SUV is struck, sending us careening off the road onto the shoulder. A cacophony of broken glass and crushed metal sounds off as the vehicle rolls to a stop on the passenger side, me and Rumpert hanging by our seatbelts.
“What the hell did we hit?” I moan and shake the glass out of my hair. We’re in the middle of nowhere with nothing except dry grass fields for as far as the eye can see. I saw no oncoming headlights, nor did I hear a horn. Did a wild animal bounce off our backend?
Before I can voice more questions, Rumpert turns in his seat and punches a dazed Castor across the jaw, knocking him out cold. The second SUV slams on its brakes behind us, too many doors opening and closing for it to be only one vehicle before I hear a single gunshot.
“No!” Melon’s voice yells. “No killing.”
“Fuck you, boy. You’re not in charge here.” A gruff voice barks back. “Open your mouth again and I’ll put two in your belly and leave you out here for the wildlife to feed on.”
The man who asked for our passcode at the gate peers into the front windshield. “Turn off the lights.”
The vehicle is rocked until it’s upright and another ex-military guy is at my window, a pistol in his hand. “Behave yourself, Agent Baker, or I’ll make it hurt.”
Another guy applies a pry bar to my door, wedging it open as I unfasten my seatbelt and scurry across the seat, prepared to kick anyone who touches me in the face.
Rumpert turns to crawl through the two front seats, and at first I think it is to help me fight.
His eyes narrow and his lips curl, changing my focus from the two guns for hire outside the vehicle to him.
He reaches for my thigh and I kick him in the face, knocking him back against the steering wheel.
“Fucking bitch!” he screams as blood gushes from his nose.
A third security guy appears in the open door with FBI Agent Caldwell held up by his bicep, a bloody wound staining the abdomen of his suit. “Cooperate or the next one is in his head.”
A hand reaches through the broken window behind me, fisting my hair and pulling me backward through the opening.
I scream, reaching up to dig my nails into the gloved hand with a relentless grip on my scalp.
Another set of hands slip under my arms and pull me out, dumping me unceremoniously on the ground.
Rolling into a crouch, I prepare to fight and look up into my boss’ face. “What the hell, Lucas?”
He frowns and shakes his head, pointing a dart gun at me. “It wasn’t supposed to go this way, Doralee.”
Before I can reply, he fires.
It takes less than ten seconds for the world to go black.