“A few fantasies neve
r hurt anyone.” They passed a guard at the top of the stairs, and Brandy turned down the hallway, leading Roman to the third room on the right. After Roman entered, she closed the door and asked, “What fantasies would you like to play out tonight?”
He wandered through the space until Brandy had moved away from the door. The room had recently been cleaned. The air held a floral, slightly antiseptic scent. When he passed the bed, sliding his fingertips across the comforter. The sheets were warm and smelled freshly laundered.
Roman put himself between Brandy and the exit before he faced her again. “My only fantasy is putting Lyle Bishop in prison.”
Her smile slid from her face. All the heat in her eyes turned cold. “You need to leave.”
She surged toward the door, reaching for the knob.
Roman caught her arm, stopping her. When she looked up, they were almost nose to nose. “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” she snapped.
“More like sixteen.”
“Get out,” she ordered, “or I’ll scream, and security will—”
“You won’t scream.” To keep her from doing just that, Roman released her and pulled out his Department of Defense credentials. “Because if you do, the only people who come will be the Homeland Security agents waiting outside,” he lied. “They’ll raid this place and take you all into custody. And you know what happens next: deportation.”
Real terror sparked in her eyes. She stepped back and crossed her arms, her fingers squeezing and releasing her arms. “You’re right. You’re just like Lyle.”
“Has he offered you permanent residence in the US if you cooperate? Or to bring your family over from Chechnya? That’s where you’re from, right?”
She glanced at the door behind him and shook her head. “He’ll kill me if I say anything.”
“Not if he’s in prison.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“I know they keep you imprisoned here,” Roman said. “I know they took your identification. All your money. And I know they won’t let you go until you’ve paid off your debt to them. They probably threatened to harm your family back home if you ran away.”
She shifted on her feet and inched backward.
“None of this is new,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “The threats, the power plays, the lies. Traffickers have been using the same old script for decades. But I can change all that for you.”
“You lie, just like him,” she spit out, clearly terrified. “Leave me alone. I only have a year left until I’m free.”
“I bet they told you that last year. And the year before that. There are expenses you have to reimburse, right? Interest that racks up? You won’t be any freer a year from now than you are now. They’ll keep you here until you escape or they kill you.” Roman let that sink in for a long, quiet moment. “All I need is a little help, Brandy. A little help and you and your family will live a free life in America.”
When she didn’t shoot back another denial, he gestured to an overstuffed chair in the corner. “Now, have a seat so we can talk business.”
11
Ian pulled his truck to a spot along the street beside the café. He’d begged off early from work with the excuse of a bad tooth and a dentist’s appointment. But early was relative. He’d pried himself away from Savannah at six a.m. and headed in early, working a full nine hours without lunch, knowing he’d have to ask to leave at three p.m. As expected, Mo agreed. Now, Ian just wanted to see Savannah before he headed into Whitefish to meet with the team.
He climbed from the car just as Misty exited the back door of the café with a garbage bag almost as big as she was. She lugged it toward a dumpster in the far corner of the rear parking lot. Ian was about to start that way to take the burden for her when a sheriff’s patrol car pulled into the lot, blocking Misty’s path.
Ian rounded his truck and watched from the safety of the vehicle.
Misty dropped the bag and propped a hand on her hip. “I’m trying to work here.”
Hank stood from the cruiser, resting his arm on top of the door between them. With Misty’s attention on Hank and Hank’s back to Ian, he darted across the street and crept to the corner of the building where he could hear their conversation.
“Now there’s a job you’re worthy of,” Hank said.
“You’re such a bastard,” Misty shot back.