Author's Note: The characters are talking to me again! I've broken through my writer's block! Thank you to my loyal readers who are still reading and waiting patiently for updates. Thanks are also due to: katbybee, who has joined my beta reading force; to my other beta reader (who prefers to remain anonymous); to my son, who has patiently listened to me read every word of this story and has proven to be a valuable research consultant; and last but definitely not least, to my amazing husband, who also listens to me read my stories out loud and is a constant source of encouragement, while also providing much welcomed constructive criticism to help me improve my work.
Hopefully there will not be as much time between updates now. I've got four more chapters planned after this one, and they are all outlined and ready to be written.
Johnny and Vince arrived at Rampart just in time to see Roy hurrying towards the Emergency Room entrance. Before parking his car, Vince let an anxious Johnny out at the door, where the two former partners joined forces without a word. Inside, they bypassed the ER reception desk and all the standard formalities expected of them now that they were no longer practicing paramedics.
"Gentlemen, you can't just go back th—" The young nurse's protest died on her lips as Dr. Brackett stepped out of an exam room and beckoned the two fire captains to come talk with him.
"Roy, Johnny—I'm glad to see you. My patient insists on seeing Stoker before he'll agree to surgery or even pain relief. Hopefully he'll talk with you two." He opened the door and gestured for the men to step into the room ahead of him.
On the exam table lay an older man, perhaps in his mid-50s, with long salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes were clear and his stoic expression betrayed no hint of pain, but from what Vince had said of his injuries, Johnny knew he had to be hurting.
"Are you Captain Mike Stoker?" the man asked quietly as he locked eyes with Johnny.
"No. I'm John Gage, Billy Folsom's captain," Johnny. "This is my friend and colleague, Roy. I grew up with Billy's sister, Nita—I've been looking for her. Stoker gave us your message."
"Nita is a strong woman, a warrior."
Johnny could see the glow of pride in the man's eyes that accompanied his words.
"Where is she, Tex?" Roy asked, taking a step closer.
"The old Yellow Fin cannery… on Terminal Island." He fell silent for a few seconds, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath, then looked at Johnny again. "Where Terminal Way curves into Seaside Avenue." With his good hand, Tex grabbed at Johnny's sleeve. "Hurry. Lansing will be back soon—he will try to move the women out when he sees I am gone." His dark eyes moved to the door, and Johnny looked back to see Vince standing there, listening. "You trust that officer?" Tex asked, eyes narrowing.
"With my life," Johnny assured him. "He's one of the good ones. Thank you, Tex. We'll be back. You let the doc take care of you now."
Tex nodded. Johnny could see his body relaxing into the bed now, as if he had marshalled all his strength to keep him awake and able to give over his vital information, and now that he had accomplished his task, all that strength was drained out of him. "Just… help her," he ordered.
Outside in the hallway, Kel Brackett waited for the trio to emerge.
"Go on in, Doc." Johnny gestured toward the door without ever breaking his stride. "He's ready for you."
Pete leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Jim question Rudy Delano. The pair had agreed that Reed would get first crack at the interrogation, and Malloy would take over if needed. Delano's hulking figure overflowed his chair, but Jim did not seem intimidated. So far, Delano had denied all knowledge of illegal activity perpetrated by Denny Janssen. In fact, he claimed it was impossible for Janssen to be involved with human trafficking. "I'm telling you, Detective—Denny isn't like that! He's a good guy and a solid cop."
"Internal Affairs thought otherwise," Jim commented drily.
"Thought," Delano growled. "Couldn't prove. He was framed."
"Perhaps your friendship with him is clouding your judgement?" Jim suggested.
To Malloy's practiced eye, it seemed Delano fully believed what he was saying. Jim probably saw it too. Over the years, they'd both developed the ability to get an accurate read on a suspect. Delano wasn't involved, and sincerely believed Janssen was innocent. They were going to have to cut him loose, but then they ran the risk that Janssen—or whoever the dirty cop was—would hear about it and get word to Lansing.
"Detective Reed," Pete said, taking advantage of the break in the interrogation. "Can we talk outside?" He nodded toward the door.
"Sure, Lieutenant." Reed turned back to Delano. "You stay here. I'll be right back."
They stepped out, into the observation room, just as Crockett was on his way in to find them. "How's it going?" the older detective asked.
Jim threw up his hands in frustration. "It's going nowhere at the moment. Delano's not involved."
"I agree," Pete said. "But if we let him go, we risk word of our investigation getting to Janssen. Delano really thinks we're railroading the guy, and he may just feel the need to warn him."
"Think there's any truth to what he says," Jim asked, "that Janssen was framed?"
"Well, it may or may not be true. But whatever the case, Delano sure as hell believes." Malloy paced the length of the small room, anxious for a break in the case.
"Well, we may have another lead soon." Crockett broke in with his news. "Vince called in to say he and Gage found the lockbox. They're at Rampart now—the witness turned up there and they went to meet him. I think we should call them in so we can open the lockbox to see what we find. I've already put in a priority request for a warrant."
Pete nodded. "Sounds good, Ron. Jim, you warn Delano that if any word of your little talk with him gets to Lansing, we'll know where it came from, and then send him on his way."
"Will do." Jim returned to the interrogation room and a few minutes later, Delano came through the door and hurried past Crockett and Malloy, out of the observation room, and down the long corridor toward the stairs.
"Back to the precinct?!" When Johnny's hand went to his chest and his voice rose almost an octave with his complaint, Roy knew they were in for a rant. "What do you mean, back to the precinct?! We need to go to Terminal Island before Lansing has a chance to get away!"
"Just me and the two of you and no backup?" Vince asked with a roll of his eyes. He opened his door, but stayed standing beside his patrol car. "I don't think so, Johnny. It only works that way in the movies. We can't go in guns blazing without a warrant, because even if that building is abandoned, someone—probably Yellow Fin—still owns it. We also need to talk with Malloy, Reed, and Crockett to put together a plan. Then we'll go to Terminal Island. Now, are you riding with me or Roy?"
Roy swallowed a grin. He knew he shouldn't be amused at a time like this, but it wasn't often that the seasoned and mature Captain Gage reminded him of the lanky junior member of 51's who would fume and fuss about everything. This time, though, Johnny had a good reason to fume. Vince was right about going back to the precinct, but they would still be losing valuable time.
"I'm parked just a couple rows over, Junior," he said. "Why don't you ride with me?"
With a long-suffering sigh, Johnny assented. Roy expected another rant as they settled into his pickup, but they made the ride to the precinct in a tense silence.
About thirty minutes later, the trio stood with Malloy and Reed around a desk in a small, private office, poring over the papers they'd found inside the lockbox. Malloy had broken the lock as soon as they'd arrived. Meanwhile, Crockett was talking with the Captain about arranging a raid on the Terminal Island warehouse.
"Enough here to tie Lansing to trafficking crimes in Colorado, New Mexico, Utah, and California," Jim mumbled as he skimmed an account ledger detailing sales going back almost a decade. No attempt had been made to disguise the nature of the transactions. Indeed, the 'merchandise' was listed by race and age. Jim swallowed his revulsion when he saw that the youngest victim was only eight years old. He thought of his niece, just that age, and the idea of anyone harming that precious child turned his stomach. His eyes hardened.
"Nothing current though," Johnny said, throwing down the page he had just read. "This is the mother's lockbox—papers she found, and he killed her after she confronted him five months ago. Vince, we need to follow up on what Tex told us. That's our best lead so far."
Vince didn't respond. Instead, his attention was fixed on a sheet of paper labeled "Shipping."
"Vince? Have you found something?" Roy asked.
Vince held out the paper so they could all see it. "Confirmation. Tex was telling the truth. Look here—the addresses of two different warehouses from which Lansing transported women to his buyers. One is for the Yellow Fin cannery on Terminal Island; the other is a warehouse he owns in Carson, on Avalon."
"That's enough for me," Pete said. "Let's join Ron in Captain Groff's office. Bring the sales ledger and the shipping records. We'll have no problem getting a warrant with this."
Captain Gordon Groff frowned as he watched the men leave his office. In theory, he agreed with them. Human trafficking was a reprehensible crime and should not be tolerated. But the reality was, alimony payments and child support for two ex-wives and five kids—not to mention his oldest son's upcoming college tuition and wife number three's penchant for designer clothing—were way beyond his salary with the LAPD, at least if he wanted to live comfortably. He'd had to find ways to supplement his income, and taking payments from Jerome Lansing for discreetly releasing the occasional prostitute into his custody and promising him a head's up if any unwanted attention were directed his way had proven to be quite lucrative. As far as Groff was concerned, Lansing was doing Los Angeles a public service anyway, sending women like that away where they could ply their trade without sullying his streets. Sometimes an innocent woman got caught in Lansing's web, but Groff hadn't been a part of that. Yes, he was guilty of looking the other way. But sometimes you had to make sacrifices to be a good father. He ignored the pang of conscience that niggled at the edges of thought. His mother, God rest her soul, would not have approved of his choices. Neither would his superiors, if they ever found out. And that was why he had no choice but to do what he could to help Lansing now.
Oh, he'd gotten Malloy and the detectives the warrant they'd requested, and he'd approved the raid. If it had just been the word of that fellow Tex… a vagrant, he imagined… he could have refused it on the grounds that they needed solid evidence. But then they'd brought that solid evidence and shoved it under his nose. After he saw that, any refusal would have looked suspicious.
He waited a few minutes after the door had closed, then lifted the handset of his phone and dialed. "Janssen," he barked. "My office. Ten minutes. Take the back staircase." That route and timing assured the greatest privacy for the meeting. Then he pushed the intercom button on his phone to reach his secretary in the next room. "Tina, I have some papers I need you to hand-deliver to Officer Hudson. Come in and get them please."
He stuffed a handful of case reports into a manila envelope. When Tina stepped in, she crossed the room and stood on the other side of his desk, leaning in to take the envelope rather than stepping close to him as she knew he preferred. "Come closer, Tina," he said. "Right around here." He gestured to the empty spot next to him and she took a step in that direction, but stopped just out of reach. "Come on, darling. Pull that chair over and sit down next to me. I need to write Hudson a note to include with these reports."
She moved a little closer and did as he instructed, but he noticed she perched on the edge of her chair as if she were terrified. The girl was a looker, but she didn't hold a candle to his previous secretary, Annette, who had recently moved to San Diego. Annette had seemed to welcome his attention. Groff supposed Tina just needed time to get used to him. He reached across the distance between them and placed his left hand on her knee. She was trembling! He rolled his eyes as he gently moved the hand upward, barely sneaking his fingers under the hem of her dress. "Don't you worry, honey! I don't bite." He lingered for a second, wishing he had time to go further, then pulled his hand away, scrawled a quick note, and tucked it into the envelope. Once it was sealed, he handed it to her with instructions that after she had delivered it, she should fetch him a cup of coffee from the downstairs lounge—everyone knew the best coffee in the precinct could be found there. Finally, he patted her knee again before she could scurry away like the nervous little mouse that she was. She would not be back until after Janssen had come and gone.
Precisely five minutes later—Groff was known throughout the precinct for prizing punctuality—the door opened, admitting Denny Janssen. "You needed me, Sir?"
Groff got right down to business. "Janssen, Malloy and his crew are about to carry out a raid on our friend Jerome Lansing." Groff braced himself for the expected terse reply.
Janssen did not disappoint. "He's not my friend, sir."
Groff picked a piece of lint off his spotless uniform, then looked up and met Janssen's hostile gaze with his own. "Well, be that as it may, we wouldn't want IA to get its hands on the evidence they couldn't find when they were investigating you last year, now would we?"
Janssen practically deflated in front of him, and all the spark went out of his hazel eyes. "No, Sir," he said meekly. "What do you want me to do, Sir?"
Gordon Groff truly enjoyed the power he wielded from his swivel chair. Janssen hadn't actually done anything wrong, but when Groff needed to recruit a patsy the previous year, he'd decided Denny would be the easiest to manipulate. He'd fabricated the evidence, used Gary Mitchell and Oscar Hudson to get the rumors in IA's ear. Once the investigators were breathing down Janssen's neck, he'd called the man into his office, produced the "evidence," and promised to keep it hidden as long as Janssen did exactly as he was instructed. If he didn't, Denny Janssen would not just lose his job—he would go to prison.
"In precisely forty-five minutes, you will call Lansing on his private line. You will tell him to evacuate immediately. Then you will hang up and go on with your day as if nothing ever happened. And you will not mention this to anyone. Mitchell and Hudson will be watching you. Dismissed." The forty-five-minute lag would leave plenty of time for Lansing to make his getaway, while minimizing the chances that Groff would be connected with the leak in any way.
Janssen offered a limp salute and trudged out the door. Feeling beneficent in his triumph, Captain Groff overlooked the show of disrespect and leaned back in his chair wearing a self-satisfied grin.
Jerome hung up the phone, fighting to control the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. "Evacuate immediately," the caller had said. That meant a raid was forthcoming. No time to get the merchandise out. He paced the floor of his office, considering his options. Thankfully, El Grillo had managed to clean the room almost spotlessly—there was still a bloodstain on the damaged desk that would not come out; even so, it was amazing what a man could accomplish when he believed his life was at stake. But Jerome could not afford to waste time thinking about such matters now. He pressed a button on his radio and spoke into it—his speech had finally cleared as the numbness wore off, and he could make himself understood. "Pigs coming. Move to the east side of the building." His men could deal with the police while their boss made his escape. Jerome regretted leaving the girls and all his beautiful cars behind, but at this point he had no choice. There would be plenty of other girls wherever he landed—certainly somewhere with no extradition treaty with the US. He just had to make it to the ship and Tristan would take care of him.
He smiled suddenly and his eyes gleamed. He wouldn't leave all the girls behind. He still had to teach that squaw a lesson. He had already half-decided to keep her for himself anyway. He liked to see a bit of fire in a new girl's eyes, and he especially liked snuffing that fire out. Soon enough she would be putty in his hands. Once he had broken her, he would sell her as a domestic worker—really, she was too old for anything else. What had his father been thinking, hiring her? He hurried out of the office to the floor where the drugged girls still slept and nudged at the Indian with the tip of his boot. "Wake up!" he growled. She stirred slightly, but did not open her eyes. He leaned down and grabbed her by the shoulder, rolling her to the side, and then pulling her up by the zip-tie that bound her wrists behind her back. Her legs were likewise bound, allowing her just enough give to stumble awkwardly next to him as he dragged her drowsy body through the rows of cars toward the exit.
Her initial resistance surprised him a little. The drugs usually made the girls compliant. Oh well, that just meant it was time for her first lesson. Even if she had the strength to resist him, the drugs in her system would certainly make her confused and easy to manipulate. "If you fight me, I will find your brother and I will kill him," he whispered into her ear as he walked her to the door. He felt the fight drain out of her at that. He spoke a little louder now, forcing his voice into a soothing tone. "Yes, my father told me all about your brother the firefighter. Billy, is it? I don't want to hurt him, because I care about you and I want to make you happy. But if you don't do as I say, I can't make you happy. When you prove that I can trust you, I'll take off the restraints, but we don't have time for that at the moment. Now, I know that old injun probably promised to help you, but he was a terrible liar. He wanted to hurt you. Let me tell you what happened to him, what will happen to anyone who crosses me by threatening you. He's dead. He can't do anything to you now. No one can do anything to you, because you are under my protection. I'm the only one who really cares about you."
He pushed the door open and shoved her through it in front of him. She winced as the bright sun hit her face. "Move fast," he ordered. "We need to get out of here. It's not safe for you." Quickly but carefully, he guided her to the motor boat that Jake had tied at the dock. Wailing sirens assailed his ears—he thought they were probably on Terminal Avenue already. Why did you wait so long to warn me, Gordon? he wondered as he untied the boat, then lifted the girl in and boarded after her. As the gunshots rumbled through the air from the other side of the warehouse, he got her situated on the seat, revved the motor, and pulled away from the dock just as a police officer ran around the warehouse to the dock, followed by several men in plain clothes.
"Police! Halt!" shouted the officer, and he aimed his gun in Jerome's direction. Jerome ignored him. He didn't think the man would risk the girl's life. He moved her slightly so that she became his shield. It would be far too easy at this distance for the bullet to hit her instead of its intended target. Far too risky a shot. He zoomed into the channel and toward the open sea, chuckling to himself as he continued a stream of soothing nonsense in his captive's ear.