“I don’t know. Rachel!” Chloe gasped and jerked back.
His grip tightened. “She’s fine. Cold and would probably like some dry clothes, but she’s safe. Finally.”
“Good. That’s good.” Chloe swiped a hand over her eyes, trying to ignore the adrenaline crash. Law enforcement had taken over the craft and she noticed they were headed back toward shore. “So, the judge is safe now?”
“Maybe. We’ll keep the marshals on him until we get everything sorted out.”
She frowned.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Something Neal said. It doesn’t add up. He said, ‘He’s not going to be happy.’”
“Referring to who?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I think he was working with someone else.”
He sighed. “All right. We’ve definitely got to fit all the pieces together. It’s going to be busy over the next few hours getting statements, but when we’re done, let’s go back to my house so I can start getting Rachel settled back at home.”
“You don’t need me there. Why don’t you take her home and we’ll talk later? The chopper will fly you back?”
Blake nodded. “Thank you for understanding that she has to be my priority for now.”
“Of course.”
“But—” He shifted, his eyes sliding away, then back to hers.
“But?”
“When I know Rachel’s okay, could we . . . you know . . . get coffee or a steak or pizza. Or something?”
“Or something?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”
27
He threw the glass of bourbon against the wall. Heard the shatter. Watched the glass and ice bounce on the hardwoods. Grief welled, erupting into a howl of rage and pain that vibrated the four walls around him. He fell to his knees, clutching his hair.
He’d failed.
The judge was alive. He’d faked his death and even his children hadn’t known.
It was a punch in the gut. A slap in the face.
Completely unacceptable.
His plan to avenge his brother’s death had been so well thought out. Nothing could go wrong. He’d planned for months, concocting scenario after scenario until one had finally seemed perfect. Planned to the last detail, with very few unknowns to deal with. He’d started with the threatening letters sent to the judge, detailing the man’s death and the suffering he would experience. Those had given him such satisfaction to write.
Knowing the marshals would be brought in and studying each one, discerning who would be the weakest link.
Blake MacCallum had been the chosen one. The fact that the man wouldn’t kill, even to save his daughter, had been a definite kink in the plan. And the wreck with the girls, allowing Rachel to escape . . . “Argh!”
He closed his eyes. Idiots. That was the problem. He’d had idiots working for him. Even the backup plan at the courthouse with his hired killer had gone awry.
Unbelievable.
There was something to the saying, “If you want something done right, you must do it yourself.”
He stood and walked to the gun cabinet. A quick twist of the key opened the wooden door. He chose his weapon and checked it.
“So, Judge Worthington, I guess I’ll just have to take care of you myself.”
Sitting around the conference table at headquarters, Chloe and the rest of the task force finished their closing briefs with satisfaction—and questions.
Linc stood front and center. “We recovered a laptop that Annie was able to access.”
Hack into was more like it. Chloe shifted and Hank nudged her arm, asking for an ear scratch. She obliged while listening. And she listened while her mind spun.
“On that laptop,” Linc was saying, “were messages between Neal Young and Carson Langston, also known as Ethan Wright. The two grew up together and were high school buddies. They were both in the foster system. Neal had a record, but Ethan didn’t. Neal was obviously the instigator in convincing Ethan to do his part as Carson Langston.”
“His job was to lure the girls in, right?” Chloe asked.
“Right. He was also charged with guarding them—along with another young man named Manuel Garcia who was also friends with Ethan and Neal.”
“And who is also dead,” Derek said. “What’s the connection between Neal and Alessandro Russo?” He sat next to Jo, who was video conferencing the meeting over a secure line so Blake could be a part of it.
“There isn’t one. At least not one that we can find. Once we presented to Stillman everything that happened yesterday, including the fact that his boss, Clyde Harrison, was dead, he started talking. Stillman’s connection with Russo was just a fluke. Doesn’t look like Russo has anything to do with this particular group of human traffickers. Like we knew before, Stillman was just a low man on the totem pole for Russo, and when he went to prison, he was off Russo’s radar. However, Stillman met Garcia in prison, and once they were both out, they kept in touch. When Neal needed muscle with the girls, Stillman didn’t hesitate to take Manny up on his offer of easy money. Same with the other guys we rounded up. Just a bunch of ex-cons who don’t care what they have to do to make a lot of cash fast.”
Chloe leaned in. “I want to know about Penny. Maria mentioned keeping up with the ‘transactions.’ Is there a way to know where each girl went?”
“Yes. Annie’s working on that now,” Linc said. “I’m hoping to hear something before the end of the day. Once we find as many girls as we can, we’ll form teams and start going after them.”
Excitement and hope swirled inside her for the first time in a long time, and Chloe sent up a silent prayer for her cousin.
But something niggled at her. “Neal and Ethan were working together, which means Neal had something to do with Penny’s disappearance. I want to see the evidence you gathered from his office and home.”
Linc shrugged. “Help yourself.”
“So let me get this straight. Neal and Carson and the rest had this human trafficking ring going for at least a year. When the judge came out with this new legislation and his strong stance on the death penalty for traffickers, they decided to get rid of him.”
“Sounds like,” Blake said. “And they figured out they could use Rachel to persuade me to do the dirty work.”
“But what about Alan Garrett?” Chloe said. “Why would Ethan Wright visit him in prison? Why say he was his brother?”
“They were in that foster home a long time. What was the family name? Hopkins? Maybe they called themselves brothers because they had no other family.”
Chloe jerked and snapped her head up. “Hopkins?”
Linc frowned. “Yes. Why?”
She snagged her phone and tapped the screen. “Because. I found this when I was searching for the keys in Neal’s desk.”
Linc took the phone. “What? Neal’s desk? As in the guy I shot?”
“Yes.”
“Let me take a look,” Blake said.
Linc passed him the phone. “Does one of those boys look familiar to you?”
“Alan Garrett?”
“Exactly. But what about the tall kid?”
Blake slowly lifted his eyes. “I think we now have our true motive for wanting the judge dead.”
28
He parked his sedan in the driveway and made his way to the front door. His knock was answered by Parker Hunt, one of the marshals he’d done extensive background checking on—as he had done on all the others as well. “Oh, hi, Miles. Come on in. Paula didn’t say you were stopping by.”
“Thanks, Parker. Paula didn’t know.” And he hadn’t realized Paula would be there. That meant she would have to die too.
Oh well.
Miles pulled his hand from behind his back and shot the man in the chest. Shocked surprise flickered briefly in his eyes before he went down and didn’t move.
His partner, Justin, rounded the corner, weapon in front of him. He spotted the gun in Miles’s hand, his partner on the floor.
He fired and missed.
Miles didn’t.
He swept the weapon aside and stepped over the man clutching his bleeding abdomen and shot him once more in the head.
A scream brought his gaze up to meet Paula’s. She broke off and stared. “Miles? What are you doing? What—”
“Where is he?”
She blinked. “Who?”