Chapter 17
The conference room at Devlin & Associates had always felt like neutral ground to her. They broke down cases, built strategies, and made sense of messes other investigators left behind. Nothing fancy. Just the work.
Tonight, it felt smaller. Not because of the number of bodies around the table but because of the two FBI agents seated at the far end. They had their jackets off and sleeves rolled up. A clear sign this wasn’t a courtesy visit.
Dev stood at the head of the table, arms folded, expression unreadable. The low murmur of conversation cut off the second he spoke.
“You all know Special Agents Keene and Price, assigned to the Human Trafficking Task Force out of Miami.”
Keene gave a short nod. Price didn’t bother. His attention was already on the screens Callan was bringing up for the briefing.
“They’re in on everything from here on out,” Dev said. “No more separate channels.”
That landed with weight. Costa Rica had changed things.
Beside her, Gaby felt Rhys react—subtle, almost imperceptible—but she’d worked with him long enough to recognize the signs. His posture stilled. His attention locked in.
Whatever rift lay between them, it didn’t affect their work. They communicated, didn’t miss steps, and worked clean. That was something, at least.
Keene picked up the briefing from Dev, his voice steady.
“álvarez has been on our radar for over two years. Financial anomalies, offshore shells, and ownership layers were enough to raise suspicion but not enough to move on. Money trails point us in the right direction. Witnesses and victims allow us to act.”
His gaze tracked briefly to Gaby, and she understood the message beneath it. They were relying on Natalie to get them their warrant.
Callan brought up the first image—a satellite view of a small island surrounded by deep-blue water.
“álvarez Island,” Callan said. “Private dock. Helipad. Main residence. Outbuildings. No confirmed underground layout.”
He clicked again.
“We’ve tied the alias ‘Red Butterfly’ to two confirmed trafficking operations in the Caribbean. It appears in shipping logs, buyer communications, and medical transfer records.”
Long since healed, the blue ink on her shoulder tingled. Nat’s damn butterfly tattoo. She’d been shocked when her sister got it, still thinking of her as twelve. Aunt May, part hippie and fully supportive, had taken her. And if not for that tattoo, they might still be searching blind.
“But,” Callan continued, “we still don’t have proof álvarez has Natalie. Or that Farfalla Rossa refers to a specific victim. It’s all still speculation.”
“Not according to my gut,” Gaby murmured.
“We’ve learned to put weight in hunches,” Dev said, backing her without hesitation. “Especially when missing persons are family.”
Price spoke next, blunt where Keene was measured. “Be that as it may, without strong factual evidence, we can’t get a warrant to move on álvarez.”
Keene added, “And we didn’t dare go in black before now. We were afraid to tip him off and lose any girls he was holding, permanently.”
Silence settled over the room. Not stunned but heavy with consequence.
Gaby leaned in and whispered to Rhys, “Going in black?”
“Without government backing. If things go south, they deny all knowledge.”
“Leaving our asses hanging out to dry,” Mateo concluded.
Dev broke it cleanly. “That’s not going to happen, which is why Rhys and Gaby are going in.”
Every eye shifted toward them, mostly toward her. She was young, inexperienced, and the only woman in the room. No pressure.
“Do we have the layout of the main house?” Rhys asked.
“When you own the entire island, there are no permits, no surveys, no inspections required,” Callan said, bringing up an aerial view.
Gaby studied the screen. They called it a house, but it was a compound.
Three stories at the center, two sprawling wings, twin pools, and a broad courtyard anchored by a fountain and reflecting pool.
At least a dozen smaller structures ringed the perimeter.
Natalie could be anywhere in what had to be tens of thousands of square feet.
Callan switched the screen again to signal grids and communication arcs.
“There’s another complication,” he said.
Of course there was.
“The island operates in a closed satellite zone. Nothing leaves their internal system. No outbound communication without security authorization. All devices are confiscated on arrival.”
Keene nodded. “álvarez doesn’t offer privacy. He enforces it. Once you’re on that island, you’re off-grid.”
Gaby felt the air constrict in her lungs as doubt rose within her. The more they talked, the more impossible this sounded.
“You will have a wearable recording device,” Callan explained. “It stores locally but cannot transmit. If you lose it, we lose everything you collect.”
Alec leaned forward. “If they’re compromised?”
Dev lifted one hand slightly, and Alec fell silent. His gaze moved from Leland to Mateo to Rhys, and finally to her, before answering that question himself. “You stay alive long enough for us to get you out.”
That was Dev—no bravado, no false reassurances, just the unvarnished truth.
Price leaned his palms against the table.
“Let’s be clear about the plan. Your job is to locate Natalie and record proof that álvarez has her and others as we suspect.
“Once we have that, it stops being a covert op and becomes an international criminal case. At that point, we activate the OIJ to conduct a lawful search.”
“And they are?” Gaby asked.
“Costa Rica’s version of the FBI,” Rhys explained. “They work with the Coast Guard on the maritime side. Once we have proof, they can execute warrants, seize the island, and make arrests.”
Keene picked up the thread. “During that seizure, Natalie and any other girls are removed to protective custody.”
Rhys’s shoulders tensed noticeably. And she understood why.
This wasn’t a rescue. It was a trigger.
Gaby asked what she hadn’t heard discussed. “What’s our jurisdiction once we’re off U.S. soil?”
Keene answered her directly. “There is none. We don’t execute arrests. We don’t kick down doors. We build the case. Once we confirm Natalie is on that island and that álvarez is directly involved, Costa Rican authorities take point.”
Price added, “Your job is to get the evidence. Not to be heroes.”
The words landed with brutal clarity.
Price looked at Gaby. “If it comes down to perfect evidence or your sister, you choose your sister. We’ll build the rest.”
Mateo broke the tension with a low exhale. “So we walk into a billionaire’s playground blind and mute, with a snowball’s chance at tipping the right domino.”
Leland regarded Gaby, steady and grave. “Pay him no mind. We’re going to find your sister and get all our asses out alive.”
Rhys squeezed her arm. “That’s my plan too.”
Dev let the silence sit before speaking again. “You’ve got an excellent team behind you, Gaby, but I need you to understand, once you board that plane, you are on your own. There is no cavalry waiting just over the hill.”
“I’d settle for a few armed men in a canoe over the next wave,” Mateo quipped, but no one laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “Just trying to introduce a little levity into this tense-as-fuck briefing.”
Rhys turned to face her. “Our cover is solid, or we wouldn’t have been invited into álvarez’s sanctum. But there are risks, especially on a remote island, more so than at a five-star hotel on the mainland. Any questions?”
Gaby asked the one question that mattered. “When do we leave?”
Leland chuckled. Mateo grinned, adding, “I like a girl with big brass balls.”
Rhys squeezed her arm, respect gleaming in his eyes.
Dev didn’t smile, his focus unwavering. “The plane leaves at daylight tomorrow.” His gaze swept through the team gathered. “If there’s nothing else…”
The room emptied quickly but silently. Even Mateo had nothing to say. A rarity. They moved as if a course had been set, one they couldn’t turn back from. Rhys and Gaby remained at the table, reviewing cover identities, arrival protocols, and behavioral expectations one last time.
Outside, orange and pink streaked across the sky as the sun set on another day. The city carried on, oblivious that beyond the horizon an island waited, gleaming and silent, ready to devour anyone who mistook it for paradise.
That wouldn’t be Gaby, Rhys, Leland, or Mateo. And it for damn sure wouldn’t be Natalie. Because come hell or high water, she wasn’t leaving that island without her sister.