Finders/Keepers (An Allie Krycek Thriller, Book 3) (3 page)

“You add it to the profile. Three people. Two men and one woman. One of the men has a slight accent. He’s almost lost it, but it’s still there if you listen closely enough. It’ll narrow down the search.”

“We’ll definitely do that,” Miller said, though there was a lack of conviction in his voice that made Hank grind his teeth just loudly enough that the detective heard it. “You okay, Hank? You don’t sound so good. Maybe you should get some rest and call me again tomorrow when you think of something else.”

You mean “something else more useful?”

“Yeah, okay,” Hank said, and before Miller could say anything else, he hung up the phone.

He sat still for a moment, hands on the dusty oak table that his wife had bought years ago from a garage sale, determined to put it in the RV they would eventually buy when he retired and they drove around the country doing whatever it was that old married couples did. Instead, Hank ended up putting it in this used manufactured home parked barely fifteen miles from the house they had spent so many good years in together.

He was literally sitting in his own liquids, water dripping off his head and soaked clothes onto the carpeted floor. The little rivulets of red coming from his thigh looked more pink now, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to the floor, then gingerly went to work on his pants, grimacing every time he ventured too close to the bandaged thigh. He finally got the pants off and flung it away, but it didn’t get very far (Damn, was he getting weaker, too?) and watched it land in a pile next to the shirt.

Hank found himself staring at his wet clothes. He was tired and didn’t move. He didn’t
want
to move. And there was something—

What the hell is that?

There was something sticking out of one of his pant pockets—the sharp corner of a white piece of…something. Hank bent down and picked the still-wet pants off the floor and stuck his hand into its pocket.

He rummaged around, found it, and pulled it out.

It was a folded piece of paper—one of those slips the waitresses used to jot down orders at Ben’s Diner. This one was for a cheeseburger (with extra pickles), diet soda, and a side of fries. There was no reason it should have been in his pocket. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to order before his bladder forced him to visit the bathroom first, and then the robbery had happened—

So how the hell had it gotten into his pocket? Did someone…
put
it there?

He flipped the piece of paper over and saw a phone number scribbled on the empty white spaces in blue ink. The numbers were slightly distorted because of the water and heat from the shower he had taken, but there was still enough intact that he could make out all ten digits. He didn’t recognize the area code; it wasn’t a local number.

“Grab his phone,”
the Brit had said.

“He doesn’t have one,”
the woman answered after going through his pockets.

She had gone through his pockets. While she was doing that, it wouldn’t have taken much for her to leave something behind—like a piece of paper with a phone number on it.

But why
would she do that? That was the part that didn’t make any sense. Why would you put a piece of paper with a phone number in the pocket of the guy you just shot?

Then again, she had also refused to finish him off, and even argued with the other two over it.

What the hell is going on here?

He stared at the phone, then at the piece of paper in his hand…then back at the phone.

He didn’t move or act for the next five minutes.

Finally, Hank picked the old receiver off the cradle and punched in the numbers. He swallowed, then cleared his throat, then spent the next few seconds waiting for the number to connect, going through a few hundred scenarios about what he was going to say when someone finally picked up—

“Hello?” a female voice answered on the other end.

“Um, hello,” Hank said.

“Who is this?” the woman
(girl?)
asked.

“Someone, uh, gave me your number.”

The girl (Hank was sure of that now) didn’t answer right away. But she didn’t hang up on him either, because he could hear breathing on the other end. Was that because she was nervous? Suspicious? Maybe both. And where exactly was she? Hank had called a lot of numbers in his life, but he still couldn’t recall the area code he had just punched in.

“You still there?” Hank said, if just to be sure. Who knows? He was getting old, and weren’t eyesight and hearing the first things to go—

“Is she okay?” the girl asked.

“Who?”
he was going to say, but stopped himself in time. The girl was looking for information and was clearly just as uncertain about him as he was about her, so the last thing he wanted was to spook her. Right now, she was his only link as to what had happened at Ben’s and to the woman who had shot him.

“I can’t say,” he said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“I can’t say too much over the phone. We should meet in person. It’ll be, uh, safer that way.”

The girl hesitated.

Shit. Did he just blow it? He had stammered a bit there at the end. Did the girl catch it? Did she know he was talking out of his ass? And the thing about not being able to say too much over the phone. Who did he think he was, James fucking Bond?

Maybe he should have called Miller and given the number to him. The state police had a lot more resources on hand. Hell, they could have just punched the number into a computer and come up with a name—

“Okay,” the girl finally said. “You have a pen?”

Fuck me
, Hank thought.

“
S
o this is
why I’m here,” Allie said. “Why Juliet was here before me.”

Reese nodded. “We’ve found, through trial and error, that they respond better when there’s a woman around. Most of them aren’t inclined to cause trouble, but there’s always a rebel or two in the midst. It’s really just an emergency option—a just in case. Chances are we won’t need you for most of the trip, but it’s better to have you here when we do than not.”

“What exactly am I supposed to do?”

“For now, just keep them calm. Get them to trust you, in case a situation arises later where you’ll be needed. The more cooperative they are now, the easier it’ll be for all of us. And them.” He looked closely at her when he added, “Didn’t Juliet tell you?”

“Not in so many words. But she didn’t tell me you’d make me rob a diner full of people just to see if I could do it, either.”

He smiled. “We had to be sure you had it in you.”

“And are you?”

“The bags of money in the trunk say yes.”

She stared at the door and didn’t move. There were no locks on it, nothing to keep anyone from coming out if they so chose. Except, of course, all the big bad men waiting on this side of the door.

And right now, she was one of those “big bad men.”

“As Dwight would say, it’s not rocket science,” Reese said next to her. “Be…motherly.”

“Motherly,” she repeated.

“It’s the presence of another woman that counts. After all the testosterone they’ve encountered so far, you’ll be a breath of fresh air. Get them to trust you. It shouldn’t be too hard. Reassure them that everything’s fine.”

“So lie, then.”

“Yes, but maybe don’t say that.”

She took a breath (and hoped he didn’t see) before reaching for the lever when he put a hand on her arm. In the two to three seconds after his fingers tightened around her wrist, Allie had to battle every instinct to reach for the Sig Sauer holstered behind her.

She looked over at him instead and matched his intense gaze. He was taller than her, so she had to tilt her head slightly upward to see his eyes. “What?” she said, injecting just the right amount of annoyance into her voice.

“Don’t tell them anything. About us, why they’re here, and more importantly, where we’re going. The less they know, the more pliable they’ll be. Best-case scenario, remember?”

“Got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“In you go, then.”

He removed his hand, and she jerked the lever open and stepped inside before he could say another word.

The room smelled of sweat and urine—and, most of all,
fear
—despite the ventilation and two high windows that were open to allow sunlight and fresh air inside. There was a single squiggly eco-friendly light bulb in the center, and it was just enough to highlight the frightened faces looking back at her—or, at least, the ones who had managed to overcome their terror to look at all. The rest either had their heads turned so that they faced the walls or were leaning into each other’s shoulders.

It took every ounce of willpower Allie had not to turn around and leave the room and shoot every single man outside. The only reason she didn’t was because it wouldn’t have done any good…except lead to her death. And for the occupants of this room, her blaze of glory moment would just be another horrifying ordeal for them to survive.

Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan!

There was nothing inside to make them more comfortable—there was no furniture or even padding on the hard, heavily scratched concrete floor, though it was probably better than where they had been just three hours ago, in the back of the semi. The girl closest to her flinched when something heavy
banged!
outside the room. A car door slammed, and voices (all male) drifted through the thin slit under the door. The windows might have offered some semblance of hope in the beginning, but the girls would have figured out pretty quickly that they were too high to even reach, much less escape through.

They were staring at her—the most courageous among them and the ones that didn’t care anymore. Their faces were dirty, clothes just as filthy and soiled. They were barefoot, and long hair (almost all of them had long hair) hung from their oval-shaped faces like veils of spaghetti strings, hiding their eyes from her.

Her stomach churned and a sickness washed over her, and the small voice inside her gut had grown louder, yelling at her to
Get them out of here! What are you waiting for? Get these poor souls out of here!

But she couldn’t, because she wouldn’t have made it out of the building alive with one of them, never mind all of them. There were too many men and too many guns outside the room, and more out there watching the roads into the place.

No. Her salvation—
their
salvation—lay ahead of them, farther up the road. All she had to do was stick to the plan, and that meant keeping herself, and them, alive until then.

God, I think I’m going to be sick.

She looked back at the door, at the black shadows moving back and forth across the small slit at the bottom. Someone shouted orders, and people scrambled to obey. The smell of grease and spilled oil threatened to (mercifully) overwhelm the hopelessness inside the room with her.

“Help us,” a small voice said.

She turned around and concentrated on the speaker. The girl was small, or maybe she was just thin from malnutrition. Allie couldn’t imagine how long she had been trapped on this nightmarish trip. Not just her, but all of them.

She gritted her teeth.

Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan!

“Please,” the girl said, whispering the heavily-accented word as if she was afraid the men outside would overhear. She wore a single one-piece dress with flower patterns; it had once been yellow and white but was now mostly yellow and brown.

“I will,” Allie said. “That’s why I’m here. To help.”

The girl looked back at her with large, confused dark eyes. She was tan, like the others in the room, or maybe that was just dirt and grease. Allie counted at least twenty other figures huddled in the darkness, but there might have been one or two that had managed to somehow squeeze into the corners. Reese, no doubt, would know the exact number.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” Allie said. “We’re going to stay here for a while; then we’re going to leave. I’ll bring you food and water, and I’ll take care of you. No one’s going to hurt you. I promise. Do you understand? I
promise.
”

“Help us,” the girl said again. “Please.”

“I will,” Allie said, and smiled. Or tried to. It was the best she could do, and just the effort made her want to vomit. “What’s your name?”

The girl hesitated.

“My name’s Alice,” Allie said, and this lie came through easily. It helped that she had chosen an alias close to her real name. “What’s yours?”

“Sara,” the girl said. “Help us, Alice.”

“I will. I promise.”

Something that looked almost like hope flickered across the girl’s face, but it quickly vanished when the door behind them
banged!
open and two men Allie didn’t recognize entered the room. One of them was carrying two milk jugs, except there was water inside and the labels had been stripped away from heavy use. The second man was carrying a plain brown box with stacks of wrapped items inside.

“Reese says to get them to eat up,” one of the men said.

They put the water and box—filled with wrapped sandwiches, she saw now—on the floor next to her, then left without another word, slamming the door after them.

The girls began shuffling (hesitantly) forward, even the ones that had previously hidden themselves in the back. They could smell the food, and even Sara, who had retreated into the shadows at the men’s sudden appearance, leaned back into the light.

“Get them to trust you, in case a situation arises later where you’ll be needed. The more cooperative they are now, the easier it’ll be for all of us. And them.”

She pursed her lips into another forced smile and took out one of the sandwiches, holding it out to Sara. The girl looked at it, then at her, and Allie could almost see the cogs turning inside her head, measuring the risks and rewards of accepting the offer. She might have appeared small and weak, and the face might be dirty, but there was real intelligence between those big dark eyes.

“It’s okay, take it,” Allie said. “I’m here to help.”

When Sara still didn’t move to take the sandwich—and the others also kept back and followed her lead—Allie unwrapped it, broke off a small corner, and ate it. The turkey slices were dry, possibly even past their expiration date, and the white bread was too hard.

Sara watched Allie swallow, then, making her decision, reached out and took the sandwich from her. The girl took a big bite, swallowed it down, then turned around and shouted at the others in Spanish. Allie stood up and backed away as they rushed over, most of them going for the food, but a couple went for the water. They ripped the paper wrappers off—there were exactly twenty-three of them—and devoured the hard bread and dry turkey. In between bites, they took turns drinking from the jugs.

I’m going to hell. Whatever happens, if I survive this, I’m going straight to hell…

Allie turned and walked to the door when someone said, “Alice.”

She stopped and looked back.

Sara was wiping her hands on her dress and smiling at her. “Thank you, Alice,” she said in accented English.

Allie smiled back, said, “You’re welcome,” then quickly grabbed the lever and stepped outside before the girl could see the terrible truth on her face.

She hadn’t closed the door completely when a male voice said, “Sounds like things went well.”

She forced the anger and disgust down, shoving them deep into the part of her where she needed to hide them, because right now those emotions were liabilities that she couldn’t afford.

Stick to the plan!

“I wouldn’t know; it’s my first time, remember?” she said, looking over at Reese leaning against the wall next to her. He was reading her face, and for just an instant she was afraid he might be able to see her deception.

“Well, no one’s screaming or banging on the door, so I’d say that’s a very good sign,” he said.

She turned away from him, from those sharp, scrutinizing eyes, and took in the vehicles inside the warehouse instead. The place had been converted into a garage, with the semitrailer that had brought the girls parked in the middle as men worked on its engine and refueled it. They had already changed the tires and repainted the sides—it was now red and black instead of all-white. Even the cab didn’t look the same. They had done a complete makeover in less than a couple of hours.

The two guards from the park were moving around outside the building, their weapons still well-hidden inside their jackets. She guessed submachine guns by the shapes. A single paved road led to the front doors of the warehouse while hurricane fencing surrounded them. She couldn’t see the interstate anywhere, even though she knew it was close by.

“You told them to bring in the food and water while I was inside so the girls would connect them to me,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Reese shrugged, but didn’t confirm or deny.

“Why are you only just feeding them once a day?” she asked.

“It’s not by choice. I had to convince our employers just to give the girls this much. They wanted to give them just water for the entire trip, have them starved by the time they reach their destination.”

“They’ll be so grateful for the food they’ll forget they were stolen from their homes and families, is that it?”

“Something like that.”

“What happens if they don’t all make it to their destination?”

“That’s why we’re here, Alice. To make sure they do. Keeping them fit is someone else’s problem.”

“Are they all from Mexico?”

“They came through Mexico, but there are a lot of South Americans. Colombia, Venezuela, as far as Argentina.” He paused briefly, then, “They aren’t all stolen from their homes and families. Some were sold. There are a lot of desperate people out there, and youth and beauty are still prized commodities.”

Allie was grateful for the thick smell of spilled oil and grease around them, anything to force away the memories of the room behind her, of Sara and the others gorging themselves on stale sandwiches, grateful for just a bite, for a splash of humanity…

“You haven’t told me who we’re working for,” Allie said.

“Didn’t you ask Juliet before you agreed to be her replacement?” Reese asked.

“I did, but she didn’t know.”

“And you took the job anyway…”

“The money was too good to pass up.”

“And that’s how it’s supposed to be. We’re all just freelance contractors, Alice. It’s better not to know everything. Safer that way, for all parties involved.”

“But
you
know who they are?”

“Only because Dwight and I have worked for them long enough to have earned their trust. Or as much trust as you can earn with people who sell little girls like they’re canned goods, anyway. Do you know why Juliet doesn’t know who they are?”

“She never asked…”

“That’s right. And she was smart not to. She didn’t want to know about a lot of other things, too, so I never told her. She came, did her job, and left with a nice payday. Be like Juliet, Alice; knowledge is not your friend.”

“Ignorance is bliss, is that it?”

“In this case, yes. The truth is, you work for Dwight and me. And we work for them. That’s all you need to know.”

“What if something happens? What if we get separated and I need to contact them?”

“You don’t. Ever. There’s a reason all communications go through us. Through me, specifically. Your job—your
only
job—is to keep the girls cooperative until we deliver them. Nothing more, nothing less. When we get paid, you get paid, and not a second before. It’s the same for all of these guys. Besides,” Reese continued, “what’s that old saying? Curiosity killed the cat? Do yourself a favor and don’t be so curious, Alice. Do your job and go home and be glad, because this will, in all likelihood, be the easiest money you’ll ever make. You’ll thank me when this is over.”