“So, they roughed up the informant, and then what?” Carson asked after I’d started my story.
I was pacing the length of the pool deck at Asher’s Florida house, my feet bare against the chilled stone. The moon was making its way down while the sun was trying to break free, bringing with it a new day.
For me, though, nothing was new. I was still living the same nightmare as the day before.
“He said something about Miss Lincoln not liking a fist up her cunt at first, but now she’s happy with her arrangement. A fist up her cunt, Carson. Did you hear that? That’s the woman I love they’re disgracing.” My voice cracked, and I couldn’t force any more words through my clogged windpipe. “I hear you, Mike. I do. But you have to calm down and tell me the rest. Then we’ll go from there,” he said calmly, pragmatic as usual.
I told him about dragging Chantilly over to Bruno’s, leaving out everything about the guns and shit. He might have left the FBI years ago, but didn’t need to hear about all the illegal actions I’d recently committed—against the mob, no less.
“At first, the ass thought I roughed up Chantilly, but we got that out of the way right quick. Then we got to discussing this Rahm dude. Apparently, he and his buddies roll into town every now and again for a good time. They take up a whole floor of a hotel or some shit, buy enough coke to take out an army, sun themselves by day and fuck by night. They pay triple or quadruple and like their girls all shapes and sizes—gingers, blondies, and darkies, according to Bruno. But the head of their group, he only likes dark. Always wants a Nigerian or Dominican. Do you hear where I’m going with this, man? He likes them dark, whoever the fuck he is.”
“Shit.” Carson let out a loud breath through the line.
I couldn’t stand any more after my rant. Lying down on the gray slate and staring up at the lightening sky, I talked some more.
“This asshole Rahm is apparently the big guy’s cousin, an attaché or some fancy crap. He’s always the lead on the trip. The head honcho doesn’t always show. This time, he wasn’t planning on coming. Rahm told Bruno his cousin sent them on a little trip as a present, so they were all in for a good ole fucking time. Bruno told me he said ‘no darkies needed because my man is back home with that choice piece of ass you sent him.’” Sighing, I added, “That’s what I know.”
“Now I know why this was all fucking tied up tight at the agency. Mike, this is no straightforward girl-gone-missing case. It’s sex trafficking, and we’re gonna have to get a fucking pair of Samurai swords to cut all the red tape in our way. But we’re gonna do it,” he said, full of false confidence. “I’m gonna get your girl, man. This is the break we needed.”
Yeah, you’ll get my girl from some fucking sex-trafficking ring and a bunch of rich-as-shit foreigners.
“Fuck!” I yelled into the phone. “I’m cracking, Carson. I gotta get her. Ended shit with Marta. Realized what a fuckup I am to do that. Need Lynx back like I need to eat and breathe.”
“We’re going to get her,” he assured me. “What else did Bruno say? Did he know where they took Lynx? Did he broker the deal?”
A sob raced up my throat, and there I sat crying like a baby on the phone with my friend, the tough-as-nails PI married to a former stripper. Tamping it down, I got myself under control and told him everything else I knew.
“Bruno wouldn’t cop to much. Said that he only arranged for their entertainment when they were here, and whatever Lynx set up outside that wasn’t his business. As far as he knew, Lynx was living the good life with one of her johns.” I could barely push out the last few words, choking up all over again.
Carson sighed. “Listen, I’m not on a case now. I was just hanging with Lila and the baby for a week or so before I start up again. I’m coming down there in the morning.”
“No. Fucking. Way,” I said, needing to kick that idea in the nuts. “Lila will kill me.”
“Yes, I am. And no, she won’t. She wants you happy, Mike, like she is. Besides, her brother is here in LA now, and so is Asher’s brother, so she has a ton of family to keep her company.” Changing gears on the conversation, Carson said, “Look, I gotta roll. I’m calling the hanger to see if I can get a charter. I’ll see you soon.”
When he disconnected the call, I tossed my phone aside and gripped my head in my hands.
How the hell did Lynx get involved in sex trafficking? And what were they doing to her?
I rolled into the pool, allowing the water to take me under, trying to succumb to the soft lapping and put an end to what I was currently feeling.
Gasping, I came up for air and headed inside for a shower. No matter how much hell I was in, life went on, and I had a meeting with the architect on the hotel.
