The Lost Ones

Chapter Twelve

'So,' started Morgan, 'We need to infiltrate a building. One weapon, no back-up. Ideas?'

'My first thought?' Emily wondered aloud. 'Don't. We're in over our heads, and we should back off…potentially leaving a lot of innocent people to get hurt.' Really, she had no intention of backing off, but that didn't mean she wasn't allowed to examine the risks. 'We can't leave them there,' she added softly.

Morgan nodded. 'Brute force isn't going to work. We've got a single pistol between the two of us, and they're bound to have much more than that, if they're trafficking humans.'

'"All warfare is based on deception,"' Emily quoted, at Morgan's raised eyebrow adding, 'Sun Tzu.'

'So, what,' he said. 'Go in there pretending to be a potential customer?' His nose wrinkled. He wasn't quite sure he could suppress the anger long enough to pull off that ruse.

'How else are we supposed to get in there?' she asked. She, too, didn't see the appeal in that plan. It would involve a lot of luck on their part. Still, there wasn't much else they could do.

They were in Emily's apartment, spitballing ideas as to the best way to proceed. The location given to them was their only lead, and, trap or not, they had to follow it.

Even if it meant their lives.

***

It was dark when they arrived at the address. Dark and late. That in itself should have been an omen warning them against going ahead with this plan. Young and foolish as they were, they ignored their instincts entirely.

It looked like any other building on the block, though Morgan could not help but see it as a place of pure evil. The people that ran the place were condoning – encouraging – all the horrors he had gone through as an adolescent, and he wanted to do nothing more than to shove them up against a wall and tell them exactly what he thought of them. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Emily was probably the only thing stopping him from doing so.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. After less than a minute, it opened a crack. 'What do you want?' a muffled voice asked.

'We heard this was the place to go if we wanted some action.' Her voice almost cracked, but he managed to hold it together. She wasn't a liar by nature; she could lie, yes. Politics had taught her how to do that. But that didn't mean she didn't hate herself every time she had to do it.

'Where did you hear that?' the muffled voice wanted to know.

'Does it really matter?' she asked brusquely. 'We've got the cash.' She held up a thick wad of notes, which was apparently enough to, at the very least, get them an entrance. Money got you anything these days.

The doorman was young – barely as old as Morgan – and probably only there to make a few extra bucks.

'What's your fare?' he asked, trying to maintain a façade of nonchalance, though both Morgan and Emily could tell that the entire situation made the kid extremely uncomfortable.

Morgan was silent. His mind kept flashing back to those weekends up in the cabin with Carl Buford. Subtly, Emily pushed herself forward.

'He doesn't really like talking about these things,' she explained, apologetic. She'd gone for one of the raunchier outfits in her wardrobes, and even that was relatively tame. Still, though, she wanted to put on a voyeuristic air. 'He's looking to experiment. Bi-curious and all. What do you want to do this week, sweetie?'

Morgan shrugged, playing the role of the submissive partner. If the situation weren't so entirely unfunny, he would have found her behavior amusing.

'Tell you what,' she said, 'I think he's feeling a little bit kinky this week, so someone who doesn't mind being bound and gagged.'

The doorman gave her what almost amounted to a glare – as if she disgusted him. She didn't blame the kid. As soon as this was over, the first thing she wanted to do was go home and take a long hot shower.

'Second floor,' he said finally. 'They'll deal with you there.'

Emily raised an eyebrow; it was a strange set-up. Unlike the places she'd seen in her – admittedly short – tenure as an FBI agent.

'Does this feel weird to you?' she asked Morgan as they ascended the staircase.

'A little bit,' he admitted.

The second floor felt empty – the result they had been dreading. On the one hand, it meant this was a trap. On the other hand, it meant that they could defend themselves without endangering innocent lives.

Morgan unholstered the pistol that was concealed beneath his jacket.

It was game on.