Chapter 27
RYDER
“You guys are slick, but how about a little forewarning when you’re going to leave a mess for me to clean up?” Rodrigez leans back in his chair, crossing his tattooed arms as his shaved head falls to the side.
Damien is our contact with the Feds, who oversee an undercover unit for human trafficking.
When necessary, he helps turn cheeks when we disrupt and disturb things.
Fun fact: when people find out children are being trafficked through their establishment, they suddenly stop throwing around words like “damages” and “lawsuits.”
We’re able to do things the Feds can’t with all the red tape and pre-bust planning parties.
It takes far too long to be effective at saving lives when those needing help compounds exponentially.
They spend months and years planning takedowns when these kids are on the move and disposable to those holding them.
There’s no time in trafficking. When you see an opportunity for rescue, you go.
“Security footage is wiped, and hotel management is telling the media it was a drug deal gone bad, but you might have to cough up some change for the damage,” he winks at me. “You just couldn’t get out of there without leaving blood on the carpet.”
“Have you been tracking this guy Nichols?” Tracker asks from his spot opposite Rodrigez.
“Not for trafficking. From what I know, the man rolls up in his jet or his yacht, takes a quiet spin around town, hits a couple of golf courses, and rolls out. I don’t like his disappearing act.”
“No shit,” TJ says.
“How’d you find him?” Rodrigez asks.
Tracker eyes me, and I stand, moving into the sun spilling through the conference room windows while Tracker relays the details. TJ fills him in on what he gathered during his surveillance, purposely excluding Van’s assistance in tracing him.
Neither of them mentions Cole’s involvement, which is for the best. I have enough to worry about when it comes to the big football star. I don’t need anyone jumping down my throat about involving him when I simply did what I had to do. And I’d do it again.
“Nichols got spooked,” TJ adds. “He left the hotel and went straight to the airfield. He’s gone. That’s not a coincidence.”
Rodrigez nods. “My guys will be watching for his return. I’m checking to see what we know about his business partners and dealings. I want to know who he’s connected to.” He stands and shoves his phone into his pocket, wrapping up our little debriefing.
“When are you joining my team?” He leans against the windowsill with his eyes fixed on me. “I need your instincts and your brain,” he smiles, pointing to his temple, a devilish grin revealing his straight white teeth.
I’m pretty sure Rodrigez offers me a job every time we meet. The man looks like he belongs to a biker gang. He’s muscular, tattooed, and has a look that tells you he’s no stranger to the hardest sides of life.
“Stop offering her a dead-end desk job. She’ll quit the first day,” Tracker says over his shoulder. “I’m grabbing coffee. Meet me in my office,” he orders me, following TJ out of the conference room.
“You did good getting that kid out of there.” Damien’s voice drops to a soft, serious tone.
The man is all hard edges and not someone you’d ever want to find yourself in a dark alley with, but he’s gentle to the core when it comes to these kids.
“You all right? That fight had to leave more than that bruise on your cheek.”
My hand falls to my side, remembering Cole’s careful fingers as he inspected the wound and his curious eyes when he saw my mark. He held in every question that rolled through his brief pause. But when I leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around me, I wanted to stay there with him forever.
“I’m fine.”
His sly smile returns at my lie. “I’ve seen the pictures. Didn’t know you were into pretty-boy football players. That must be interesting when you show up looking like you took names in a bar fight.”
I’d love to know what exactly Cole thinks, but I’m too afraid to ask. That enemy called shame slides over my stomach and punches it a few times to get it to wake up and take a big whiff of reality.
I woke up to the sound of Cole’s phone buzzing on his nightstand. I’d fallen asleep in the chair and stayed there. His sleepy eyes held mine for only a moment before he answered.
Greg, his GM, demanded a meeting with the head coach this morning to discuss yesterday’s poor performance and his playbook being switched.
We rushed out the door, and it’s what I needed—time to work and try to make sense of just one thing because any of these thoughts and feelings related to Cole are…too much and too…intense. I can’t name or identify any of it. It’s all more frightening than what I encountered at the hotel last night.
“Did the database kick back anything from the kid’s picture?” I switch the subject, unwilling to discuss Cole on any level.
Rodrigez’s lips twitch at my dodge, but he shakes his head. “Not yet. You know it’s like sifting through a mountain of sand, but let me know if you get anything new out of him. My guess is he’s like the rest.”
Bought and sold, with no one looking.
“Hey, I’m not paying her to stand around and shoot the shit with you all day.” Tracker stops in the doorway with a fresh, steaming cup of coffee.
Rodrigez pushes away from the sill. “You let me know when your brain and body have had enough. You could teach some of these young bucks how to bust through a metal door without leaving a scratch.”
“It’s called a key,” I say.
He laughs, bumping Track on the shoulder, but turns back, his mischievous dark eyes gleaming. “You let me know if that shiny quarterback steps out of line. I’ll be sure to run into him on a dark street corner.”
One side of my mouth ticks up. “That won’t be necessary.”
He winks again, disappearing down the hallway, and I follow Tracker to his office. He sits in his chair, and I plop down on the one across from him.
“I was gone for four days, and all hell broke loose.”
“You know this world never sleeps.”
“I want an update on everything.” He rests back and takes a sip of his coffee. His plane touched down early this morning, and vacay was officially over.
I fill him in on what happened at the game first.
“So, he’s meeting with his management, but who had access to his wristband? You think it’s someone on the team or a coach?”
I push out a breath, wanting it to loosen the chains around my ribs, but the weight of everything is cinching those links tighter.
“That was my first instinct, but. . .it could be anybody. As we were leaving, an inebriated stadium employee threw a beer can at us and got belligerent in the private parking lot. If Jared had the right connections, he could have paid someone to create a false playbook. He’d only need someone who had access to switch it out. ”
Tracker runs a hand over his jaw. “He would’ve been successful in making Cole appear incompetent.”
I scratch my forehead. “It still doesn’t add up. Is this about football or more?”
I sink down into the chair a little further. My body is sore and exhausted, but I scoot right back up when I feel the cut across my back burn.
“How bad is it?” Track asks, leaning his arms on his desk, shifting to his serious “dad” tone.
“I’m fine. Just a little scratch.”
“Your cheek tells me otherwise. You can tell me, or I’ll bench you, and TJ can take over since Nichols took flight.”
I let my head roll to the side.
Here we go.
“It’s fine. I got caught by a piece of glass. Cole slapped a couple of Band-Aids on it. No stitches necessary this time.”
Both graying eyebrows raise.
Shhiitt.
I don’t need Tracker digging in the box labeled “I Don’t Know How I Feel About Cole Seeing and Touching Me.” That box needs to remain tightly sealed and opened carefully at a later date. Likely never.
“It was a big deal to get him involved.”
I love this man. He stepped right over that bone he could have picked up and gnawed on for an hour or two.
“I didn’t have a choice. I wouldn’t let a kid be sold by the hour while I escorted Cole back to his cushy apartment. I made a split-second decision. He followed directions and went along.”
He lifts his coffee to his lips but stops before sipping. “Sounds to me like he more than went along.” When I don’t say anything, Track drives home his point. “Sounds to me like he helped.”
I watched Cole drop to the boy’s level and ask if he wanted to see a video.
A burn crawled up my throat that was so intense I had to hold my breath to keep from crumbling to the floor at his empathy and compassion for a terrified boy.
He was sensitive and knew just what to do to distract him and make him feel safe.
Cole’s good at that—reading people and knowing exactly what they need without ever having to be told.
“He saw my mark,” I say quietly.
There it is. It just popped out there, and oh, boy. I wasn’t planning on letting that stray cat out of the bag today.
Dammit.
Tracker eases back into his chair, understanding this is fragile territory. “And?”
I drag my eyes from the gray carpet to his. “Nothing. He tore open the bandages and layered them on.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, with a hint of defense in his tone.
“What should I say? Oh, don’t mind that. It’s just a price tag. I was a hell of a deal at one time.” That patch of skin will burn for eternity. “I’m sure he’d love to chew on that for a while with everything else he’s witnessed.”
“It’s about them, not you, Ryder.”
I want to laugh but hold in the deep-seated anger and shame disguised as sarcasm.
“I’d venture Cole glossed over it because he wants you to tell him about it.”
Damn him.
My eyelids fall into a glare.
With everything I know about Cole, Track is right, and the pressure around my lungs increases. It would all be so much easier if he’d backed away in disgust at the melted skin. If his hands had faltered and slowly inched away, no longer wanting to touch me.