Cargo: A Leine Basso Thriller (3 page)

The woman said something to the gunman who pointed his weapon at Kylie and her cellmates and shouted orders in Thai. Not sure what he’d said, Kylie didn’t move as the women began filing out of the cell. Sapphire turned back and nodded her head toward the others.

“
Mama-san
say we go.”

“Go where?” Kylie asked, nausea rising in her throat. She didn’t like the
mama-san
or whoever this woman was and didn’t want to go anywhere near her.

“Wherever she want.” Sapphire shrugged and joined the rest of the women.

Kylie hung back, her natural obstinacy rearing its head. Terror fueled her anger, and she decided she wasn’t going anywhere, with anyone, ever.

After the last woman had exited the cell, the remaining gunman, obviously upset that she didn’t follow orders, waved the barrel of his gun at Kylie and yelled. Kylie crossed her arms and flattened her back against the wall. Her knees shook, but she stood her ground. The words “fuck off” caught in her throat.

The
mama-san
laid her hand on the gunman’s arm and he backed off. She walked back into the cell, stopping just short of where Kylie stood. Kylie was at least a head taller, but the woman’s bulk and gravitas told her she had all the power in the situation. A cloud of sickly sweet perfume engulfed Kylie and her eyes watered.

“You go now,” the woman said in English, her eyes narrowing. “He kill you if you no do what I say,” she said, nodding toward the man with the gun. “You my property, now.” With that, the
mama-san
stepped away from Kylie and motioned to the gunman.

Kylie darted to the side as he approached, intending to run past him, but he stopped her short, blocking her escape with his gun.

In panic mode, Kylie turned away, but he seized her around the waist and wrestled her to the floor. The
mama-san
grabbed her legs, surprising Kylie with her strength when she secured her ankles with a plastic zip tie. Kylie screamed at them to stop and kicked with both feet. The
mama-san
drew her hand back and struck her hard across the face. Stunned by the pain, Kylie went mute as hot tears skidded down her cheeks. The gunman flipped her over and the woman lassoed her hands behind her back.

Her wrists and ankles burning from the forced restraints, Kylie bit her tongue until she tasted blood, now afraid to anger either one of them. The
mama-san
said something to the gunman, and he dragged Kylie from the cell, taking her down the hall and into a rabbit warren of alleys.

They continued along a passage to where another gunman stood near an open doorway. The man had a fierce expression with a deep scar running from the corner of his mouth to his ear, reminding Kylie of the bad guys in the late-night kung fu movies she’d watched with her brother before he died.

As they drew near, she realized he was culling the women—the man with the scar would nod at specific girls as they passed and another man would pull them out of line and hand them off to someone else. When she and the gunman dragging her made it to the front of the line, the man with the scar directed them through an open doorway toward an idling van.

Blaring horns and countless cars and scooters filled the crowded, narrow street with dozens of people racing by on their way to somewhere. No one paid any attention to them. Exhaust saturated the air, and Kylie held her breath so she wouldn’t choke. Advertising signs written in Thai cluttered the street, assuring her she was still in Thailand.

The man carrying her shoved her head first into the open cargo area of the van. Kylie tucked her head and rolled to keep her face from skidding across the floor. She rocked to a sitting position, scuttling out of the way when another woman was pushed in after her.

Kylie scooted back against the bare metal side of the cargo van and pulled her knees up. The door slammed closed. She raised her head and found herself staring into Sapphire’s almond-shaped eyes.

“You should not fight,” Sapphire said, nodding at Kylie’s bound hands and feet. Sapphire’s hands and legs were free.

Another captive, a woman in her early twenties with light brown hair, sat across from them, her back to the rear doors. Her face was bruised and swollen. Kylie wondered what she’d done to deserve the beating. She caught Kylie looking at her and turned her head.

The cargo area smelled of diesel fuel and rotting fish and was cut off from the front of the van by metal bars. There were no windows, and no interior handles visible for either the back doors or the side. The man with the scar climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed his door closed. He maneuvered into traffic, horns blaring from every direction.

Soon the driver broke free of the gridlock and the van began to move at a more determined clip. Kylie was grateful for the slight breeze coming through the driver’s open window, but the air was still thick.

“What’s your name?” Kylie whispered to the battered woman. She needed a diversion or she’d scream.

The woman shook her head and began to cry. The driver yelled what must have been a command to be quiet, for she immediately fell silent. Kylie did the same, not knowing how to speak to her in her own language. Sapphire settled in, stretching her legs in front of her, and lit a cigarette. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror, but didn’t stop her.

Kylie sighed as her own tears pricked at her eyelids. A group of missionaries visiting her church who’d been held at gunpoint in the Sudan had said that when in a dangerous situation in another country you shouldn’t react—no crying, or anger, and especially no demands. The more docile you are the better chance you have of survival.

She hadn’t passed the first test. It was hard
not
to fight back. She’d just screwed herself
.

Kylie stared down at the welts and bruises on the sobbing woman’s face and neck and, although it went against everything Kylie believed in, steeled herself to be as accommodating to her captors as possible.

But would it be enough?

“
You bought him
a what?” Leine asked as she dabbed perfume on her wrist. She and Santa were in the bedroom, getting ready to go to his former partner’s birthday dinner.

“You know, like a punching bag, only better.” Santa shadowboxed in front of Leine, a grin on his face. “This one comes with a masked cartoon bandit, complete with a revolver.”

“And just where is he going to put it? Did you talk to Dana?” Dana was Don Putnam’s wife of over thirty years and ruled the part-time pugilist with an iron hand. He bitched about it incessantly, but Santa had confided that Don secretly loved how ballsy his wife was. She was the reason Putz was still out on a medical after an earlier cardiac event, and was trying to get him to retire permanently from the LAPD.

“She said I can install it in the garage provided I don’t stoke his dreams of coming back.”

“But you want him to come back. How’s that going to go over?”

Santa shrugged and gave her a sly grin. “She doesn’t have to know.”

Leine rolled her eyes and grabbed a sexy black dress from the closet. Santa whistled as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I love that dress. You know I won’t be able to keep my hands off you if you wear it.”

Leine turned in his arms and smiled. “I’m counting on it.”

Santa returned the smile and took a step back, wagging his finger. “Oh, I get it. You’re wearing that so we don’t end up staying too long. Is that your nefarious plan?”

Leine brushed past him, headed for the bathroom. “You think you know me, don’t you, pretty boy?”

“Damned right I do. And your plan would work if it was anybody else’s party.” Santa grabbed a crisp white shirt and dark slacks from the closet and laid them on the bed.

“That isn’t why I’m wearing this dress. If you must know, it’s because Bodacious Brodie’s going to be there, and even though I’m totally secure in my wily feminine ways, she’s a knockout and I’d rather you looked at me.” After Putnam was sidelined on the medical, Heather Brodie had been assigned as Santa’s new partner. Leine made her peace with the change, but damned if she was going to let an opportunity slip by to remind Santa what he had at home. “Besides, you two are together every day.”

Santa raised his eyebrows. “The great Leine Basso is
jealous
?” He grinned and shook his head. “That’s something I never, ever thought I’d see.”

Leine gave him a look. “Be serious. I’m not jealous. I’m—” She paused for a moment, searching for the right word. “Competitive. Completely different animal, darling.”

“Yeah. Whatever you say, Leine.” Santa chuckled to himself as he got dressed. “I just can’t believe you’d think a California surfer girl could hold a candle to your indescribable charms. Been there, done that.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m not worried. Really.”

Traffic was light, and half an hour later they arrived at the Putnam’s bungalow. The grounds were immaculate, benefitting from the birthday boy’s forced retirement. By the sound of it, the party was in full swing with most of the guests congregating in the backyard.

“You go in,” Santa said as he opened the trunk, revealing the punching bag. I’m going to snag a couple of the guys to help me set this bad boy up in the garage.”

Leine rang the doorbell and walked into the house. Several people greeted her on her way to the backyard. As she suspected, Heather Brodie was surrounded by a gang of off-duty, single cops, a couple of whom Leine recognized from RHD. She had that thrown-together, California-casual look with a body that made men salivate and put women on edge. Her natural blond hair had a just-got-out-of-bed look, and the woman never seemed to need makeup. Not that Leine wore much, actually hated the stuff, but still. She was tempted to hand out bibs to the men surrounding her.

Most of the women had grouped up and were enjoying cocktails at one of the tables so Leine headed toward them, grabbing a beer from a cooler on the way.

“Hey, Leine. Glad you could make it,” Dana called out. Don’s wife looked as though she’d already had a couple and was in her happy place. Leine took the empty seat next to her and they touched beers.

“Where’s Santa? Don’t tell me you guys drove two cars?”

Leine shook her head. “No, he’s installing that punching bag he bought Don.”

Dana nodded. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. I told him he could put it in the garage if he promised not to aid and abet Don in his never-ending quest for reinstatement.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how well that’s going to work.”

Dana chuckled. “I know. But I had to have him promise something.” She gazed lovingly at Don Putnam, who was at that moment manning the grill and holding forth with a group of guys Leine didn’t recognize. Apparently, these men were realists and didn’t think they had a chance with Bodacious. That, or they were happily married.

“The job’s going to kill him, one way or another.” Dana sighed and turned her attention back to Leine. “So I hear you picked up intel on a modeling agency front who’s shipping unsuspecting women to Dubai.” She shook her head and took a swig of her beer. “I hope your people find them. They’re not what I’d call progressive about women over there.”

“So what do you think of Don’s replacement?” Leine asked, ignoring her invitation to a feminist discussion. Dana was quite vocal about her views, and adding alcohol to the mix could set her off on a tangent. Not that Leine disagreed, but it was a birthday party, and she preferred to keep things on a less contentious footing.

Dana cocked her head and studied Heather. “She’s cute, I’ll give her that.” She took a drink of her beer. “More importantly, what do you think?”

Leine shrugged. “Santa says she’s got good instincts and she’s teachable, so it’s all good.”

Dana laughed and shook her head. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” She gave Leine a sidelong glance. “I think the dress says it all. You could definitely give Barbie over there a run for her money.”

Leine smiled and the two women touched beers again. “It’s all in the presentation, Dana.”

“That’s what I love about you, Leine. You never have to guess where you stand. It’s so rare these days.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Santa appeared a short time later along with two other guys from the LAPD and went to visit with Don at the grill. Leine’s phone buzzed and she excused herself.

“Leine, it’s Mindy Nelson.”

“It’s great to hear your voice, Mindy. Long time. How are you?” Mindy Nelson had worked as the executive assistant to her old boss, Eric, the same time that Leine was at the agency. A couple of years before Eric died, Mindy decided to quit the workforce to raise her family. One year ago, she and her husband, Paul, lost their six-year-old son in a gang-related shooting in downtown Phoenix.

“Not too good, Leine.” Mindy cleared her throat. “Kylie took off on a backpacking trip across Southeast Asia, alone.”

“Is she okay?” Leine asked. Brandon’s death had been rough on the family, but it was especially hard on their daughter, Kylie.

“That’s why I’m calling. Lou told me to get in touch with you. I—I don’t know where to turn…” Mindy’s voice cracked and she sucked in a ragged breath. “Leine, Kylie hasn’t been in contact for over a week, and she promised to either phone or video call us every few days. She hasn’t missed more than two days in a row.”

“Don’t worry, Mindy. You know how kids are. They find something exciting to do and forget all about their families.” Leine could empathize. A couple of years back, April had been in Europe for months without contacting Leine. Of course, their situation had been different. April blamed Leine for the death of the man she thought of as her father, and refused to contact her.

“No, I don’t think that’s what happened. When we didn’t hear from her, Paul contacted the hostel where she was staying in Bangkok. They hadn’t heard from her for several days and her things were still there.”

“Would you like me to check things out for you?” Mindy had been the voice of reason in Leine’s otherwise chaotic career as an assassin. She credited her for talking Leine down after she realized that she’d killed her lover in a case of mistaken identity carefully orchestrated by her douche bag boss, Eric. Leine showed up at the Nelson’s house the day after Brandon was senselessly murdered in downtown Phoenix. The ability to share the grief of losing someone so close helped keep the monsters at bay.

At least for a while.

“Would you? Oh, Leine, Paul will be ecstatic when I tell him.” The relief in her voice was palpable.

“Of course, Mindy. You don’t ever need to ask. I’ll always be there for you and your family.”

“Thank you, Leine.” She read off the address for the hostel where Kylie had been staying, and gave her Kylie’s phone number and itinerary.

“I’ll leave tonight.”

“Please find our baby, Leine. I don’t think either of us could handle losing another child.”

“I’ll do everything I can.”