He’s damn lucky I didn’t put my fist through his face first.
I scrub my hands down my face, feeling every bit as worn out as this day. “All right. Let’s get this over with.” The sooner I can veto this idiotic plan, the sooner I can convince Avery to sleep. Something we both need.
For a brief second as I insert my key into the door lock, a niggle of anxiety tenses my shoulders. I never have people at my house. Ever. I’m rarely even here, except to sleep and shower. And as I lead my colleagues into the living area, that’s pretty damn obvious.
Blank walls and sparse decoration. Books and research stacked high on the only table in the center, a small flatscreen hung on the wall. Even though it’s not much, it’s still my personal space, and having them here feels like an invasion of privacy.
“Wow. Where the great Detective Quinn lays his head,” Carson remarks. “Can the profiler give us any interesting insights into the man?” He thrusts his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, sending Sadie a self-satisfied look.
Sadie smiles, something as rare as company inside my home, and the room warms just because of it. “You mean the fact that he’s a complete neat freak with OCD tendencies, and instead of chancing a mess, he simply avoids personal possessions?”
Avery lilts a tiny laugh, and the scowl on my face melts away. “Funny, smartasses.” I scoop the books off the table and set them on the bookshelf, then think better and align them in order next to the other books along the row.
Sadie’s snort doesn’t go unnoticed. “Yeah, all right,” I say. “I like my shit tidy. Can we just move this along past mock-Quinn-hour?”
Carson clears his throat. “Right, boss. So what is this big clandestine plan we’re keeping from the Feds and the captain? From what Agent Bonds said, seems we got a lead from that lawyer—Larkin.”
A lead. More like a setup. Larkin was quick to confirm my suspicions on Maddox. Rather too quick, considering he’s throwing one of his own right under a giant bus. The way I see it, he wants Maddox out of his firm, but because he’s being extorted, he can’t do that himself. He’s trying to orchestrate a means to rid himself of his blackmailer without getting his own hands dirty.
I give him credit; he’s thought it through, and knows we’re inclined not to involve the Feds. I’m not opposed to this whole plan in general, not if it means collaring the suspects and getting Avery out of danger. But crime is crime. Right is right, and wrong is wrong. Whatever Larkin is guilty of, whatever got him mixed up with these criminals to begin with, isn’t just going to disappear off my radar.
Larkin has to be aware of this fact. Aware that once we do make an arrest, one of the perps is bound to turn on Larkin. Either to plea for a deal, or just out of spite.
How does Larkin think he’s going to play this game and come out clean on the other side? Or alive, for that matter.
Only when I sneak a glance at Avery, take in her sullen lethargy, and remember the pain on her face this morning when it was crystal fucking clear she was hurt by this so called Alpha...all logic vanishes.
How far will I go down this dark path to protect her?
Sadie picks up on Carson’s prompt, interrupting my disturbed thoughts. “We’ve made a deal.”
“No deal,” I say, cutting my eyes at her. “We don’t make deals with miscreants.”
At Sadie’s exasperated sigh, Avery chimes in. “It didn’t sound to me like he’s a miscreant…I mean, yes, he operates a kinky BDSM club, but that’s not illegal, is it?”
All heads turn toward Colton, that question unmistakably directed at him.
Arms crossed, his back leaned up against the wall, he shrugs. Fucking smug bastard. “He’s not doing anything illegal,” he finally answers. “He’s offering a service to people who don’t want their fetishes broadcasted. Some people might not be open-minded enough to accept it.” His gaze skirts the room to narrow on me.
I almost laugh. “Accept it? It’s kind of hard to accept when your rope fetish—”
“Shibari,” he interjects.
“—looks a lot like crime scene photos of a sadistic perp’s bondage fantasy,” I finish.
“Can someone just tell me what the hell this is all about?” Carson asks.
“Trafficking.”
It’s Avery’s gentle voice that slices through the tension. “Sex Trafficking,” she clarifies as she looks around the room. “Abducting women in other countries and making them disappear. Bringing them here to sell to the highest bidder. Dosing them with a highly effective aphrodisiac that will not only make them compliant, tolerant of their hopeless circumstance, but the most sought after sex slaves money can buy.”
Silence falls heavy and thick. Each person contemplative, allowing this information to sink in. But I have to know—the detective in me needs all the facts. “How do you know this?”
The slim column of Avery’s throat bobs. She reaches into her pocket and produces a USB drive. “The FBI medical examiner identified the victims. All foreign. Most have an open missing person’s case in their country.” She lays the drive on the table. “It’s all documented here.”
That’s a logical leap to trafficking. Factor in the drug, and these perps have a very lucrative business. A fucking sick business—but one that’s becoming the fastest growing criminal enterprise in the world.
My gaze lingers on Avery, on the nervous tremble of her body. She may be exhausted, but there’s something else she’s not voicing. I can