LIAM ROGERS SHIFTED IN THE worn office chair, ignoring the way his leg protested the cramped quarters. He’d been sitting in the conference room for hours, popping ibuprofen like M&M’s to keep the muscles in his back from seizing. The old injuries didn’t bother him as much if he kept moving, but he’d never survive spending his days behind a desk. It was one more thing that made his job at Southerland Security a perfect fit—that and he got to use the skill set he’d developed in the Marines to protect people inhiscountry this time.
He spent his days doing everything from playing temporary roadie and bodyguard to walking up to the mostly legal side of law enforcement. Either way, it was never boring and the occasional influx of adrenaline made him feel alive and made the transition to civilian life a little easier. He’d seen things he wished he hadn’t, but at least when it happened now, it didn’t come with the same soul-crushing hopelessness he’d felt serving in countries with no functioning government, let alone a police department that actually worked to protect the people.
That’s what he was doing today—helping law enforcement protect people, women and children mostly. He just hoped they’d get to the end of his part before the painkillers quit. He was one small part of the DA’s case. They’d been grilling him all morning; they had to run out of questions soon.
“One more time for the record,” said the assistant DA assigned to take his deposition. “What led you to the shipyard in Norfolk?”
They weren’t going to run out if they started repeating questions.Liam bit back his groan and did what he always did—concentrated on the job in front of him.
“Emerson Southerland traced the money through a handful of shell companies. He suspected the man who’d cheated our client was funneling the money into illegal arms, but at that point we had nothing concrete to take to law enforcement.”
He’d been careful to add the last bit. The Southerlands respected the police. Their cousin was a cop, but by its nature, security work skirted legal channels and the relationship between the two was notoriously suspect. No reason to add to the distrust, especially in situations like this where they needed each other. There wasn’t a thing Southerland Security could legally do to prosecute the bastards he’d caught, but the police wouldn’t have gotten a warrant to catch them without Emerson and Liam’s work. It was a symbiotic relationship no one was completely comfortable with.
“And what did you find when you reached the dock?”
Liam sucked in a breath, making his nostrils flare as the memory of that night rolled over him. He could almost smell the stink of seaweed mixed with diesel. They’d gone to the shipyard expecting to find a container with crates of AKs. What they’d found instead was a nightmare.
“Andrews and I searched the shipyard until we found the container with the numbers matching Henderson’s manifest.” Not wanting to call attention to themselves until they knew for sure what they were dealing with, they’d snuck past the guard house and avoided the single patrol—not exactly difficult, considering the big metal shipping containers were stacked four high in some places. But even in the dark, he didn’t have trouble picking out the country of origin label. “We intended to confirm the container’s location for our client and then leave.” He paused, pushing back against the memory.
“Why didn’t you?” prodded the attorney.
“I heard a noise.” It was a lie. Under oath. And he was just fine with that.
There was no way in hell he’d do or say anything to complicate the DA’s case. There had been no noise. That far back in the shipyard, it had been almost unnaturally quiet. He’d opened the container to see if it held the guns they expected. Without the arms, they didn’t have anything to take to the police and at best their client would be out close to a quarter of a million dollars. At worst, the man would be implicated in the fraud and end up on the hook with people a lot more ruthless than the cops. Liam opened the container because it was part of his job, but he couldn’t see a good reason to cop to the B&E and five to ten years’ worth of reasons not to.
“What happened next?” The lawyer leaned forward in his chair. He’d heard Liam’s testimony already but this was the moment the case hinged on. Liam couldn’t blame him for being eager despite the fact reliving it was the last thing in the world he wanted.
“I heard a noise coming from inside the container so I opened the door. It was full of people.” He said the words faster, clinging to the irrational hope that when he got done telling the story, he’d be done seeing the faces peering out at him from the dark. He’d said the word people, but they weren’t just people. They were girls, most of them barely old enough to drive, and their huge, frightened eyes got added to the list of things destined to haunt him until the day he died.
“Are we finished here?” He needed to stretch his legs. He needed to get the hell out of the worn-out conference room in the government building that set him on edge just from the smell of 80s polyester and bureaucracy. “We’re starting to cover the same ground again.”
The guy asking the questions glanced over at his colleague, who, if his tailor-made suit was any indication, was a few steps above the younger man’s pay grade. He nodded and the first man turned his toothpaste-white smile back to Liam.
“I believe that’s all we need for now. Thank you for your time.”
He was out of the chair and out of the room before anyone changed their minds and roped him into another hour-long grilling. Emerson Southerland, his boss and the guy who somehow managed to hold everything together when it went to shit, caught him at the bank of elevators.
“I think it would be a good idea if you laid low for a while. Just for a couple of weeks until they’re ready to go to trial.” The words sounded like a suggestion but the tone of Emerson’s voice made it clear he intended for Liam to follow his orders.
“I’m not worried about Giacometti.” The mob boss had a reputation that made the Godfather look like a Sunday morning cartoon and would make lesser men shake in their boots. Liam wasn’t a lesser man.
“I didn’t ask if you were worried.”
“I still have to wrap up the Johnson case.” It was a bullshit excuse. The only thing left to do on the security job was paperwork and everyone, including Emerson, knew how much he hated paperwork. He farmed it out on younger team members as often as he could get away with it.
Emerson didn’t bother to acknowledge his protest. He simply kept on as if Liam hadn’t said a word.
“Take the time off. You’ve been working for us for three years. You’ve got months of vacation time banked. Find someplace warm and drop out of sight for a while.”
“You’ve got a lot of room to talk.” Emerson just got back from watching a rockstar and his girlfriend at a resort in Bali. Liam would bet money—a lot of it—he hadn’t so much as taken a morning off to enjoy the tropical paradise while he was there. “I don’t see you going into hiding.” It sounded like he was whining and Emerson cut his gaze at him in a way that made it clear he thought so too.
“I’m not the one who was on the eleven o’clock news for saving a bunch of teenage girls from God knows what kind of hell.”
It was sex trafficking. There wasn’t any reason to pretend otherwise, but he didn’t blame his boss for not wanting to spell it out. Sometimes reality got a little too real, and the people they managed to save just called attention to the ones they couldn’t.
“That wasn’t my fault.” He’d made a point to try to stay away from the cameras, but the cops insisted on keeping him on site until they were done asking their questions and the news anchor made a point of getting the “hero of the night” in the shot.
“Doesn’t matter.” Emerson punched the button for the elevator, signaling the end to their discussion—if he could call it that.
