“Why?”
John clears his throat. “Because apparently, Madeline has been actively helping them recruit young women for many years.”
“Oh, shit," I mutter. "Why doesn’t that surprise me? What do we do now?"
“Hang back for now. Madeline gave them an address to an old warehouse in Van Nuys. She claims she was just there last week and that a group of about a dozen young women are currently undergoing seasoning. The feds are going to see if it checks out, and we’ll know where to go from there.”
“Is it normal for the FBI to share so much information with a contractor?”
“Not at all.” John clears his throat. “But Rafe knows the more information we have, the more we can help, and he trusts me to decide what should and should not be shared. For him, the rewards far outweigh any possible consequences in this situation. Let’s just say you’re not the only one with a personal stake in this.”
Huh.
“So, you’ll get back to me soon?”
“I’ll get back to you soon,” John confirms.
Chapter 24
JAZZ
“You’re doing great, Jasmine. When the light turns green, go ahead and take the northbound ramp up ahead.”
I glance at Evan, my driving instructor, out of the corner of my eye. “But, that’s an on-ramp to the freeway!”
“Exactly. I think you’ve proven you can handle the surface streets well enough. Let’s see how well you do with merging into traffic on the interstate.”
Okay, here we go.
I turn on my signal and pull into the right lane leading to the on-ramp.
“Good,” Evan says. “Now, hold steady on the accelerator and make sure you check your blind spot before merging left.”
I swear my pulse is racing a mile a minute, but I manage to follow his instructions without clipping someone’s side panel. Of course, the freeway is packed; this is Los Angeles, after all.
“Now what?”
I see him fiddling with his phone out of my peripheral. “Oh... uh... this is good. Just stay in this lane and watch your speed. Be on the lookout for cars in front of you suddenly hitting their brakes. We’ll go down for a few miles and then pull off.”
“Okay.”
I check my rearview and side mirrors periodically but mainly focus on the road ahead. I get a little heavy-footed on the brakes, causing Evan to jerk forward in his seat a few times, but he’s too busy playing on his phone to bitch about it. What the heck is going on with this guy? The few other times we’ve gone out, he’s been really attentive and helpful. Today, he seems distracted.
My instructor points to the green sign up ahead. “In one mile, take that exit and keep to the right. We’re going to switch, and I’ll drive us back.”
“What? Why? Am I not doing okay?”
“You’re doing just fine, Jasmine.” Evan’s thumbs fly over his phone screen again before he finally tucks it away in his jacket pocket. “Traffic is getting pretty thick, so I want to take over.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Well, that’s a bummer, but I guess I see his point. Even if the freeway is jam-packed with vehicles in LA, people are still speeding down the asphalt like they’re auditioning for a new Fast & Furious movie. I successfully make it back onto the surface streets without crashing into anything and follow Evan’s instructions through an industrial area. There’s hardly any traffic here—I’m guessing that’s because it’s Saturday and the surrounding businesses aren’t open on weekends.
“Go ahead and pull against that curb.”
I steer the car over toward the curb and manage to park less than a foot away from it, which is actually pretty impressive for me. For some reason, I can’t judge the distance between tires and curbs. Don’t even get me started on parallel parking.
“Good job, Jasmine. Go ahead and leave the keys in the ignition and step out of the vehicle.”
I undo my seat belt and get out of the car. I make my way to the passenger side, where Evan is kneeling on the sidewalk, tying his shoe.
“Sorry, give me just a sec to tie this, and we’ll get out of here.”
“No problem.”
I lift the door handle, and I’m just about to swing it open when I feel a sharp prick on my neck.
I slam my hand over the spot. “What the hell?”
Did I just get stung by a bee? I turn around, and that’s when I see my driving instructor throw a syringe to the ground.
“I’m really sorry, Jasmine, but it had to be done.”
“What had to be—” I stumble backward when a wave of dizziness washes over me. “Whoa.”
Holy shit, did he just drug me? The last thing I see before blacking out is Evan coming at me with some rope in his hands.
*
The first thing I notice is rocking—a rhythmic, bobbing motion of sorts. Then, there’s the burning ache in my arms. I try to move, but my wrists are tied together above my head.
What the fuck is going on?
I’m lying on something soft. A mattress, I think. I wiggle my fingers and find that my hands are bound with a soft rope. It almost feels like satin, but it’s thick. I give an experimental tug, but it’s useless. These things aren’t going anywhere. Whoever tied them knows how to tie a sturdy knot. Crippling anxiety seizes me when I remember how I got into this predicament. My driving instructor obviously drugged me with something, but why? Goddammit! How do I keep ending up in these situations?
Get it together, Jazz. Okay, take deep breaths and focus. Try to figure out where you are. Damn it, it’s no use. I can’t see shit. My eyes are open, but it’s pitch black in here. The whirring of an engine causes steady vibrations to rattle around me. When my brain connects that with the rocking motion, it finally hits me.
I’m on a boat.
“Fuck,” I mumble to myself.
“Don’t worry, Jasmine. There will be plenty of time for that,” a deep voice purrs. “Sooner, rather than later, since we’re almost ready to set sail.”
I frantically search the darkness. My eyes must be adjusting because I can see a man’s silhouette in the area where that arrogant voice came from.
“You. ”
I blink a few times when the light flickers on and quickly look around. I’m surrounded by dark wood and neutral colors. Plush fabrics and expensive-looking fixtures. The front wall is made of curved windows, but they’re covered in heavy jacquard drapes at the moment—blackout, I’m guessing based on their effectiveness. By the sheer the size of this room, I’d say we’re in the master suite. My eyes make their way over to the posh sitting area where Preston Davenport is lounging, looking incredibly smug.
“Yes. Me .” I flinch when Preston stands and begins walking toward me. “Were you expecting someone else? My son, perhaps?”
God, I hope enough time has passed for Kingston to know I’m missing. I subconsciously try reaching for my locket, but the headboard I’m tied to shoots that idea down real fast.
“Where is Kingston?”
“How should I know? I’m not his keeper.”
Preston takes a seat at the edge of the bed, smirking when I scoot as far away as I can. I flinch when he circles his fingers around my ankle and strokes the exposed patch of skin between my jeans and low-cut socks. I have no idea where my shoes went, but I send a silent prayer to all the gods that I’m still dressed.
I narrow my eyes. “What do you want with me, asshole? How did I get here?”
Preston tightens his grip on my leg, so much so, I know I’m going to have a ring of bruises there. “You certainly are a mouthy one, aren’t you? I see my son hasn’t cured you of that yet.” He tsks. “Shame. Although I can’t say, I won’t enjoy breaking you.”