Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jiena strode toward the detective. Her eyes flashed with fire. “Stop threatening these women, Detective. You have neither the power nor the authority to shut this place down. Before somebody corrupted it, it was the most successful rehabilitative program in the state. If you can’t see what happened here was a setup, then you’re an even bigger idiot than you’re presenting yourself to be right now.”
“What the hell do you mean?” the detective demanded.
“Must I draw you a picture? Someone knew the camp’s routine. Someone targeted Dee and Barbie. Someone sent a guard whom no one knew to replace Whitcomb and Macintosh. This isn’t a normal kidnapping. Dee and Barbie don’t come from wealthy families. No. This is something else.”
“Such as?”
“My guess is human trafficking.”
Whitcomb and Macintosh relaxed, almost sagging with relief, and exchanged a meaningful look. Jiena deliberately threw them off by not playing the drug card. Tawny silently applauded her tactic. She wanted Whitcomb and Macintosh to feel they had nothing to fear from the FBI.
“Human trafficking, huh?” the detective scoffed.
“Yes. We’ve been tracking an increase in missing women from Southern California for years. The fire camp in Chino Hills is the perfect hunting ground for victims. Abandoned women no one cares about. So what if they go missing?”
Jiena presented a strong, compelling argument. The detective did not respond to it, but Sheriff O’Grady agreed.
“SAC Cofield is right. Chino Hills is only two hours away from Tijuana. It’s not a stretch of the imagination to assume Dee Rogers and Barbie Lewis have been taken across the border. If that’s true, they’re lost. We’ll never find them.”
His sober observation caused cries of dismay among the Titans.
“Don’t worry,” Jiena spoke in a soothing tone. “I’ll do my best to find Dee and Barbie.”
After that reassurance, law enforcement left the fire camp. They hardly had time to regroup when Moira received an emergency call. A school bus filled with students on a nature hike had crashed. The Titans rushed to help with the rescue efforts.
Tawny feigned sleep. She lay in her bunk in the second bunkhouse for the past two nights, tense and anxious, waiting for Whitcomb and Macintosh to make a move. She’d felt their eyes on her more often during the past forty-eight hours and knew she’d been targeted. She assumed they would use chloroform to knock her out while she slept.
They did not.
One of them jabbed her in the thigh with a needle. Then nothing…
Muffled voices…jostling… Her body as heavy as lead, unable to move her arms or legs, unable to open her eyes even for a moment…
Sinking. Drowning. Helpless to cry out. Helpless to think. Brain on fire…
A sharp pain in her side caused her to groan. Another and another forced her to consciousness. Though difficult, Tawny opened her eyes. She blinked as her vision adjusted to the darkness illuminated by a weak, single bulb. Her senses began to relay information to her sluggish brain.
She lay curled on a cot. Spring coils in the mattress poked her ribs. She smelled blood, sweat, and urine. Bile rose in her throat, and she gagged around a dirty piece of cloth stuffed in her mouth. Zip ties secured her wrists and ankles. Tawny noted the adobe walls and a single window. Outside, a quarter moon shone.
Fully awake now, she sensed someone else in the room with her. She flipped to her other side and winced from excruciating pain. Her ribs were bruised, if not cracked. Tawny focused on a pair of military-grade boots. Her gaze traveled upward past camouflage cargo pants and an olive-colored T-shirt and landed on a cruel face with sharp angles, dark, emotionless eyes, a thin mouth, a mustache, and a short beard covering his chin.
Her captor spoke to her in English with a thick Mexican accent. “You are now the property of the Network. We own you. We can do what we like with you. To you.” He licked his lips. Lust darkened his eyes even more.
Tawny braced herself for his sexual assault. With her wrists bound behind her back, there wasn’t much she could do to stop him except thrash on the cot and use her zip-tied legs as a defense.
“No. Not her. Not until I’ve broken her.”
Whitcomb moved out of the shadows into her line of vision. She spoke, but the words sounded like gobbledygook. He let out a chuckle and yanked the cloth from her mouth. Tawny sucked in great gulps of air and gasped in pain.
“Sorry about that. My friend here was a little overzealous and might have broken your ribs.” Whitcomb’s thumb caressed her dry, cracked lips. “You were saying?”
Tawny bit his thumb. He jerked back and slapped her. “I said you’re a fuckin’ asshole.”
He slapped her again. Her head snapped to one side, and she shook off the sting in her cheeks.
“You’re too soft. I’ll teach this mouthy bitch a lesson she won’t soon forget.”
Whitcomb ignored him. “Do you know what’s about to happen?”
“Let me guess. You and your buddy will take turns raping me before you sell me to the highest bidder.”
Whitcomb laughed. “You’re only partially correct. You’re not being trafficked, though that might not be such a bad idea in the future. No. You’re carrying drugs for us.”
“This is so cliché. Drugs, huh? Well, forget it. I’m not doing your dirty work for you. You might as well sell me.”
“Oh, you’ll do it.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.” Whitcomb snapped his fingers at his companion. He left and returned with Yolanda. They’d bound her with chains that clanked loudly when she moved.
Tawny drew in a sharp breath. She’d been badly beaten. Her face and eyes were swollen and covered in bloody abrasions and dark, ugly bruises. But her defiant expression raised hope.
“You’ll do it for Yolanda. Because if you don’t, Pedro will slit her throat, and you’ll watch her bleed to death right in front of you.”
Yolanda cried, “Don’t do it, Tawny!”
Pedro smashed his fist into her mouth. She spat blood and teeth. “Fuck! I just had dental work done!”
He pulled a twelve-inch serrated knife from a utility belt around his waist and held it against Yolanda’s throat. It drew blood.
“Okay,” Tawny capitulated. “Okay, I’ll do it. Just don’t hurt her anymore.”
“Excellent. We’ll be back. Sit tight.” Whitcomb chuckled at his clever joke.
Pedro threw Yolanda down on the dirty, concrete floor and followed Whitcomb through the open doorway.
“Damn! I’m sorry, T. I let Whitcomb and Macintosh get the jump on me.”
“It’s okay. Do you think you can help me sit up?”
“Yeah.” Yolanda struggled to her feet. She lost her balance twice but managed to shuffle close to Tawny. She swung her legs over the side of the cot and helped Tawny use her upper body strength to sit upright.
“Thanks. Jesus, Yolanda. You look like you did after our fight.”
She grimaced. “I’m gonna kill that guy for ruinin’ my smile.”
Tawny only half grinned. “Is Terrin here, too?”
“Nope. Just us.”
“Listen, they’re going to force us to swallow balloons filled with heroin. We have to do it, Yolanda.” Tawny turned her neck. “Can you lift my hair?”
“Yeah. What am I looking at?”
“See that tiny incision? There’s a tracker under my skin. My team knows where I am. To make this bust, we have to carry the drugs across the border into California. I assume we’re in Mexico.”
“We are. Wow. You have a whole team?”
“I do. When this is over, I’m pulling strings and getting you out of prison for good. How’d you like to be a cop instead of a firefighter?”
“Me? A cop? I used to hate ‘em until I met you. Can I think about it?”
“Absolutely. No matter what you decide, you’ll be great as either one.”
Keys jangled in the lock. The metal door scraped as it swung inward. Whitcomb, Macintosh, Pedro, and another Mexican man dressed in a white lab coat entered with a tray of paraphernalia. Tawny identified the drug-filled balloons and a numbing agent. Her throat constricted, and her heart pounded an erratic rhythm in her chest.
Yolanda whispered, “Jesus, save us.”
Macintosh moved a small table and two chairs into the center of the room. The man in the white lab coat set the tray on it and slid his hands into a pair of latex gloves.
“Shall we begin?” He gestured toward Tawny. “Her first.”
Pedro cut the zip ties with his knife and pressed it slightly into Tawny’s sore ribs. “Try anything, and I’ll gut you like a pig.”
He pulled her roughly to her feet and shoved her into the nearest chair. Whitcomb elbowed him aside and grabbed a fistful of Tawny’s hair. He yanked her head back, exposing her throat.
“I see your pulse beating,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re afraid, Ginger.”
“No. Just sickened by you.”
Whitcomb wrapped his hands around her throat and choked her.
“Stop!” the man in the lab coat ordered. “She won’t be able to swallow the balloons.”
He released her, and she drew in deep breaths. “As soon as those drugs are out of your system, you and I are going to have plenty of alone time.”
“Fuck you.”
Whitcomb smiled. “Yes, you will. Over and over.”
“Get out of my way.” The man in the lab coat pushed Whitcomb away from Tawny. “I’m Dr. Xavier. I’ll be spraying your throat with an anesthetic that works within seconds, and then you’ll start swallowing these balloons. Do not graze them by accident with your teeth. We don’t want you overdosing on heroin.”
Dr. Xavier pulled down her jaw and sprayed her throat. The anesthetic tasted lemony. He placed a balloon on her tongue. “Swallow.”
She did. Again and again and again. She lost count after twenty-five. Dr. Xavier forced her to consume an oily soup to expedite the process. At some point, they initiated Yolanda, who sat across from her. Tawny lost all sense of reality, unable to think, unable to pray. Balloon after balloon of heroin slid down her abused throat into her stomach.
Dr. Xavier announced, “All done.”
Tawny’s head fell back. Her bloated stomach scared her. She wanted to vomit.
Yolanda’s hand reached across the table and touched hers. “T, you okay?”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” She moaned and squeezed Yolanda’s hand.
“No. Fight it. You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re done.”
Dr. Xavier tidied his tray. “Time to go, ladies. You’ve been given a bowel inhibitor. When you get to your next destination, laxatives will be administered to relieve you of…your burden. Good luck.”
Whitcomb and Macintosh hauled them to their feet, but aware of the drugs inside them, they were more solicitous in the way they treated them. Tawny memorized as many details of their location as she could, but innate fear fogged her brain. She noted a dirt road leading to a low adobe brick building in the middle of farmland. White fencing lined the dirt road. When they reached a two-lane highway, they turned left. Road signs advertised the distance to the border. Fifteen miles.
They crossed the border without incident. A border guard conducted a cursory check of their vehicle and waved them through. Tawny wondered if they’d been warned about the sting operation. In California now, they traveled another hour and arrived in San Diego. They drove to an abandoned building. Its crumbling fa?ade and shuttered windows disguised the drop-off point for the drugs Tawny and Yolanda carried. Whitcomb pulled into an alley and parked in the back of the building. He and Macintosh each grabbed one of Tawny’s and Yolanda’s arms.
Out of habit, Tawny checked for security cameras but saw none as she and Yolanda were escorted up a short flight of stairs to the back entrance. Whitcomb stared into a retina scanner, and the heavy metal door slid open. Tawny glanced over her shoulder, hoping to spot her backup. She saw nothing. Her heart sank. Once these poisoned balloons were out of their system, she and Yolanda would have to fight for their lives or trust that the bust would occur after Whitcomb and Macintosh returned them to fire camp.
More alert, Tawny’s gaze swept the interior of the building. Half a dozen armed men and women sorted thousands of packets of expelled heroin on long wooden tables. In one corner, two pairs of workers rinsed the balloons with a special cleansing solution. Then, the balloons were taken to another set of workers who squeezed the black tar into a small packet and sealed it. These were transferred to the men and women who sorted and stamped them for distribution. Tawny guessed the amount of heroin in this room was probably worth millions of dollars on the street.
“Move.” Whitcomb and Macintosh shoved Tawny and Yolanda forward.
They walked through the large main area into a smaller room. The pungent smell of bleach stung Tawny’s eyes and nose. This room contained twin-sized beds, a table with four chairs, and two spacious bathrooms with shower stalls. Plastic bags filled with pieces of chocolate sat on the table, along with bottles of water.
“Eat up,” Macintosh commanded. “The chocolate is laced with a fast-acting laxative. We’ll give you some privacy.”
“Thanks for being so considerate,” Tawny flung.
“Just wait.” He slammed the door behind him.
Tawny and Yolanda each took a plastic bag and settled on a twin bed. Tawny’s hand shook as she placed a piece of chocolate in her mouth. Her throat now felt like it was on fire, so she let the chocolate melt on her tongue. She ate another and started to sweat.
“T, what’s wrong? You don’t look so good. You’re shaking, and you’re as pale as a ghost.”
“They’re—they’re not here, Yolanda. My team. They’re not here. We’ll have to go back to fire camp…or fight against armed men and women. We could probably disarm one or two, but not all of them.” She placed more chocolate on her tongue and gagged.
The gagging reflex caused needle-like pain in her stomach that morphed into a fiery sensation throughout her body. And she knew. She knew with certainty that one or more of the balloons had ruptured, and death was imminent.
She slumped over on the bed. “Yolanda…tell Finn I love him. Tell him I tried?—”
Darkness crept into the edges of her vision. Then, she no longer felt the beating of her heart.
Yolanda screamed, “Tawny! Oh, Jesus, no! No!” She leaped off the bed and crossed the room. She checked for a pulse. When she didn’t find one, she let out a string of colorful expletives in Spanish and started CPR, as she’d been taught in fire school.
An exchange of rapid gunfire, voices shouting, and running feet startled and scared her, but she refused to give up on Tawny. Tawny would never give up on her. Tears streamed down her dirty face caked with dried blood.
“Come on, T! Come on! You’re strong! You’re the toughest, most badass woman I’ve ever met! Fight, damn it! Fight for your love!”
Someone burst through the door. “Tawny!” Finnigan’s voice reverberated in the room.
Yolanda moved aside as he lifted Tawny into his arms and sprinted out of the room. She ran after him, crying, “Finnigan, I tried! I tried to save her! I tried—” She suddenly doubled over in pain as her bowels let loose. “Oh, fuck me!”
A hunky SWAT officer stopped to help her. In spite of the way she looked and smelled, he carried her into one of the bathrooms. He even waited for her as she did her business. The number of balloons she expelled disgusted her. She took a shower, wrapped her body in a towel, and called, “Sir, are you still there? I’m, um, naked in here!”
She heard his chuckle. “Just a minute, ma’am.” He thrust a blanket through a crack in the door. “It’s all I could find.”
“It’s fine. Thank you!” Yolanda wrapped the blanket around her and stepped out of the bathroom.
The SWAT officer looked down at her bare feet. “I’d better carry you out of here, ma’am.”
“No problem.”
He swung her into his strong arms. “Don’t look,” he advised.
Yolanda shut her eyes. The moans of those still alive after the raid taunted her, and she covered her ears.
Her savior carried her to a fire rescue truck. He placed her on a gurney and started to walk away. As EMTs loaded her inside the truck, she called, “Wait! What’s your name?”
“Tristan. Officer Tristan Ferguson.” He flashed a megawatt smile and lifted his hand in farewell.
“Tristan Ferguson,” she muttered. “Now that’s a name I’m not likely to forget.”