A Girl Undone (13 page)

“Maybe we should rethink—” I offered.

“Rethink?” Luke snapped.

I shrank back.

“You mean quit.” He shoved away from the table. “Give up trying to get justice for my family and trying to get rid of Jouvert and Fletcher and the rest of them.”

“I’m not saying quit! But we can’t just show up in D.C. when we don’t have a clue who can help us.”

Luke stomped out the door into the snowy field.

Streicker raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. He glanced at his phone. “Save me some food,” he told Lola, and headed out back.

She passed me a roll and went back to scrambling eggs. The roll was hot and soft, but I could barely choke it down. I had to convince Luke that getting out of the country was the only choice that made sense right now.

Lola piled the rolls into a plastic bin and put a lid on the huge frying pan. She was bringing breakfast to whoever was in the metal building.

I had to see if Mikhaela had returned. “Let me help.”

Lola said something that might have been thanks, and cracked a smile for once.

None of the six girls who swarmed the table as Lola and I set down the food were ones I’d met last night. They were all older than me; I guessed early twenties, and they were laughing and joking with each other like they were on a vacation or a school trip, not trying to get to freedom. “So where are you from?” I said as I passed the jam and butter.

“Red Deer in Alberta.”

“I’m from Alberta, too. From Peace River.”

“I’m not far from you. Grand Prairie.”

“You’re all from Canada?” I said.

Lola bumped me. “Sorry.” She scowled, and I backed away from the table.

They came from Canada? Why?
I saw a girl show off her nails, and heard two others describe the outfits they’d brought. A couple talked excitedly about the “auction,” and the contracts they’d signed with Streicker to get them husbands.

I circled the table, clearing off the plastic forks and paper plates, and I could barely keep from screaming.
Don’t you know what this country is like? Don’t you have a clue what you’ve done?

I tossed the trash and realized I was standing next to a stack of boxes that weren’t there the night before. The labels were in French and English, and I saw they were morning-after drugs the Paternalists had outlawed in the U.S.

My stomach twisted. These drugs, these girls. Luke needed to see this.

“Can I have your attention?” Streicker announced.

The girls quieted down. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to tell them to run.

“We start filming in a couple hours and the auction will go live at six. Once your bids reach the reserve amount we’ve set for each of you, you are free to choose any bidder who has bid more than the reserve. You can view the profiles of each qualified bidder on our site and you’ll have two hours to review those profiles and make your selection. Any questions?”

The girls peppered him with questions, and Streicker became charming, reassuring. I could see their faces light up, and one bounced in her seat when Streicker promised that at the end of the evening they would all have Contracts and be on their way to wedded bliss.

“One last thing,” he said. “From now on you will be called by your American names—the ones on the birth certificates you received.”

A rush of loathing mixed with admiration swept through me. Streicker had traded Mikhaela a Canadian passport for her birth certificate. His plan was brilliant: American girls out and Canadian girls in. I tossed the last of the trash, pulled on my jacket, and went outside.

The sky was a chalky gray and clouds were building to the west. A few flurries drifted past. I made out Luke about half a mile away, walking the property.

He wanted to right wrongs and bring Jouvert to justice, and, yes, I wanted to make Jouvert answer for his crimes, but we needed the right contact—someone who could get the evidence we were carrying to people who wouldn’t bury it.

We’d reached the end of this road and unless we found a new one, we were done.

Streicker came out of the metal building behind Lola, and I marched up to him.

“Luke and I need to go to Canada,” I said. “We can’t force Jouvert out of power without the right contacts, and we can’t risk the feds catching us on the road with the evidence.”

“Luke won’t leave this country,” he said slowly. “You know that.”

“I’m trying to save him.”

“That’s not how to save him.”

“You don’t care if he gets killed.”

“I care, but not the way you do.” He pursed his lips into a kiss.

I felt heat rise into my cheeks, and I wheeled around and started for the house. Streicker was full of it; I wasn’t in love with Luke.

“There’s some interesting chatter in D.C.,” Streicker called after me. “A rumor that a couple of reporters are investigating the homeless man who set himself on fire at the Capitol building.”

I stopped in my tracks, seeing Sparrow flick the lighter.

Streicker strolled up to me until he was closer than I liked.

“These two reporters don’t believe Sparrow’s the crazy that the media claims she is. They think she was the protester at the Capitol that day, and they want to find the proof she said she had of Jouvert’s crimes.”

I followed the black square of Luke’s jacket moving through the brush. He wouldn’t rest until he handed off the evidence. “But they’re just reporters. Won’t they end up dead?”

“We’re all going to end up dead—someday.” Streicker jerked his head at Luke. “Here’s the deal. I’ll take you to Canada, but you have to tell Luke about the reporters.”

“But if I tell Luke about the reporters, he won’t go.”

Streicker grinned and leaned in until the tattoo on his neck was almost in my face.
Blessed is he who shepherds the weak.

“Take it or leave it, Avie. That’s the deal.”

Screw you, I said with my eyes.

Streicker walked away, whistling as he strolled through the brush in Luke’s direction.

Bastard.
I won’t help you get Luke fired up over a rumor and watch him charge off and do something crazy. I won’t be your pawn.

Back inside the house, Lola was kneading bread. “Let me do that,” I said, needing to push something around so I wouldn’t do anything worse. Lola sat and silently sipped her coffee while I pummeled the dough.

Then a stream of gunshots rang out, and I whipped my head up, trying to determine where they were coming from, but Lola merely pointed a finger at the window. I peeked through the curtains at the field outside.

Streicker stood by, arms folded, while Luke fired away at a target with a semiautomatic. Luke blasted round after round, the sound so loud I felt it. I couldn’t look away. This wasn’t the Luke I once knew who’d stalk a deer and take it down with one clear shot. No, this Luke acted possessed.

He lowered the semiautomatic, and Streicker traded him for a rifle with a long scope. I’d seen guns like this in movies. Snipers used them.

Streicker ran up to the target, and I thought I saw him mark a spot on it before he ran back to Luke’s side.

Luke lifted the rifle. He aimed at the target, stilled himself, then took the shot. The gunshot echoed through the house as Streicker whooped and clapped Luke on the back.

I stomped back to the dough and hit it with both fists. I didn’t know what that was about out there, but this thing with Streicker and Luke had to stop. When Luke finally came inside, I dragged him into the back bedroom. “What’s going on between you and Streicker?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said. The door was shut, but I kept my voice down.

“Yeah, well, what about you? Streicker told me you made a deal.”

My cheeks flared, and I didn’t answer.

“Let me guess,” Luke said. “He offered to take you to Canada.”

“Not me, us! We’ve run out of options for now. We don’t have anybody we can trust to pass the evidence to.”

“I am not out of options.” Luke said it so slowly, so defiantly, I almost stopped breathing.

“What are you going to do?”

“You should go to Canada, Avie. Take your phone, and the hanging, and get them out of the country.”

My heart skipped a beat. “You’re planning something. Tell me.”

“It’s better if we split up.”

“Why? Why is it better?”

His jaw clamped shut and he stared past me.

“Why?” I said. “Because I keep arguing with you about what to do?”

He shook his head. “You got it all wrong.”

“Then why? Are you afraid I’ll get hurt?”

He blinked, and I realized what was really going on. “You’re planning something dangerous. So dangerous you don’t want me there.” When he didn’t answer, I moved in so he couldn’t escape me. “Luke, please. You’re scaring me. I need you to tell me what you’re going to do.”

“There’s nothing to be scared about.”

“Stop it. You’re up to something and—” The truth hit me in the gut. “Holy— You
want
to die!”

He pulled away and my eyes filled. “Luke, no—”

“Living, dying, they don’t matter so much anymore. Not when the feds are torturing my family.”

I squeezed Luke’s arm so he’d look at me. “Beattie will keep Jonas and Sarah safe. She won’t let anyone hurt them. And Nellie and Rogan are strong. They’ll be okay.”

“You go to Canada, Avie. You’ll be safe there.”

“No. I refuse to listen to this.” Luke was losing it. I had to stop him from falling off the cliff.

“Hey, Salvation’s on the news!” Streicker called out.

Luke tried to shake me off, but I held on. “Wait. You have to promise me something before you go out there.”

“What?”

“Promise you won’t make any plans with Streicker without talking to me.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it.”

Luke ripped his arm away. “All right. I promise.”

The door slammed behind him.
You think this is settled, but I’m not giving up. You are going to tell me what you’re up to.

I refuse to let you throw your life away.

I care about you too much.

My hand slipped off the doorknob.
Yes, I care about him. Luke is my friend and we’ve been through a lot together. But just because I said that doesn’t mean I don’t love Yates.

Out in the front room, Luke was studying the aerial view of Salvation on the Sportswall. “The feds released a whole bunch more people this morning.”

“Do we know if they let Nellie and Rogan go?” I scanned the image of snowy rooftops, searching out Luke’s cabin. If Nellie and Rogan were free, maybe Luke would let go of his obsession with Jouvert.

Luke shook his head. “There’s no smoke coming from our chimney.”

Damn. How am I going to stop him now?

18

A little while later, a livestock truck rumbled up the drive. Streicker took off out the back with Luke right after him. I grabbed my coat. I was not going to leave the two of them alone if I could help it.

The truck idled at the gate while Glock and Lugar went nuts, charging the fence around the metal building. Streicker grabbed both dogs and walked them by their collars to a kennel inside the fence, where they barked with their paws on the chain link until Streicker ordered them to lie down.

The truck pulled in, and Luke helped the men lower the ramp. Out came a beef cow with a rough brown coat and white face.

A light snow was falling, and I zipped up my coat. Glock and Lugar eyed me as I passed, and I steeled myself, expecting them to bark.

When I got inside the metal building, the cow was standing in front of the backdrop while a man arranged the lights. Luke was stroking her neck and talking quietly to her.

I couldn’t quite put it together: girls and cows?

The girls crowded the makeup mirrors. They all wore jeans and cowboy boots, and Western shirts embroidered with roses and doves around the yokes.

Streicker stood over his laptop, checking the image of the cow on the screen and giving directions to the guy in charge of the lighting. Then Streicker led a girl onto the set and put the cow’s lead rope in her hand. He made her put her hand on her hip and tilt her body toward the camera. “Chest out, chin up,” he told her. “Now unsnap those top two buttons.”

Smile.

I eased over to the laptop and watched over Streicker’s shoulder as the image of the girl and the cow came up on the screen. He popped it into position on a page titled “LFOD Livestock Sales.”

“LFOD?” I said.

“Live Free or Die.”

The caption read “C Alberta Lass. Hereford.” Below the photo was a list of statistics, and the words: “A polled heifer we really like. Very pretty fronted and feminine, but still shows lots of body mass and fleshing ability. Scarpanol-free. Minimum bid: $17,500.”

My mouth went sour. The cattle auction was the front Streicker was using to sell smuggled Canadian girls.

“Why so cheap?” I asked him.

“Not so cheap. Add a zero and double the price.”

Three hundred and fifty thousand was a lot less than I went for.

“Not everyone is part of a fifty-million-dollar package,” Streicker said, reading my mind. “This is a good deal for a rancher. He gets a nice girl, saves the seventy percent import tax, and can keep his ranch.”

“Yeah, and you make how much?”

“Enough.”

Enough? Streicker made money smuggling girls and drugs out of the U.S., and then made even more smuggling other girls and drugs in. It had to add up to a fortune.

A strawberry-blonde walked over. Her face was clean scrubbed, and she didn’t have her Western wear on. She played nervously with the gold chain around her neck. “I changed my mind,” she said. “I want to go home.”

The rest of the girls stopped what they were doing, and shot looks at each other. Streicker raised his head like a snake. “Come outside and let’s talk.”

The girl reached for her coat, but Streicker said, “Leave it.”

“Okay,” she said warily.

Don’t go, I wanted to tell her. I slipped out after them and hung back behind the cattle truck. Streicker had grabbed her wrist and was dragging her to the dog kennel.

“What are you doing?” She bucked and jerked her arm, trying to wrestle free.