On His Honor (3 page)

Tears threatened again. In truth, having someone take care of her for a while sounded wonderful. “You are so good to me.”

“You have the best heart I know. Now go lose yourself in that role and let the hours go by. I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Thank you so much.” She wanted to cling to the phone, to the island of sanity and safety Avery had always represented. Before she got weepy again, she disconnected, instead.

She went into the tiny bathroom of her trailer and took a good, hard look in the mirror. “You can do this,” she told her reflection.

Then she turned on the shower and began the process of becoming America’s Sweetheart instead of a discarded, unlovable wife.

* * *

“D
ID
YOU
HEAR
WHAT
I
SAID
?”
The chirpy blonde perched on Detective JD Cameron’s lap frowned. “You’re not paying attention. What’s wrong?”

“Hmm?” JD stirred from the haunting memories of last night’s grim discoveries from his current case. “What did you say?”

“I said—” she exhaled in a gust “—I thought we were going to dance. The music’s great tonight.”

It is?
He frowned. He loved live music, of which Austin had tons, but it was wasted on him just now. Anyway, she was only asking because it was her job. “Sorry, uh—” What the devil was her name? Brandy? Barbie?

“Bella. Like the girl in
Twilight,
you know? I mean, that’s not my real name, but I am sooo in love with those books. Are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?”

“Team…” What the hell was she talking about? Then he recalled a set of books one of the Violent Crime Task Force assistants was crazy over. This blonde was just as young.

He was thirty-six. Too old to hang out with babies.

In his mind, he saw the face of another girl, her face frozen in death, another child who’d never grow old. He’d do whatever was required to nail the bastards responsible for the misery of so many.

“You haven’t read the books?” She was clearly astonished. “What about the movies?”

When had he last spared time for a movie? He couldn’t remember. That wasn’t her fault, however. This whole case was about making sure that sweet young girls like Barbie—er, Bella—weren’t sold as sex slaves, forced to become addicted to drugs so they’d be easy to handle.

And with that, grisly images from last night rose again. Seven women, two girls. All dead because JD and the rest of the task force couldn’t destroy the web of human trafficking in which those nine and countless others were ensnared.

He nearly set the girl aside and left. He was no good to anyone tonight. He should be catching up on his sleep, but sleep was elusive these days.

So he’d come to Danger Zone, one of the businesses the task force suspected of laundering money for the cartel behind the trafficking. Sometimes you could obtain information you didn’t expect from people the bad guys didn’t consider important. Like Bella.

He shook his head and focused. “I haven’t seen the movies, sorry. Want to tell me about them?” At worst, maybe pure foolishness would clear his head and get him some distance on the case.

Blonde Bella chattered on, and JD listened. When she again suggested they dance, he didn’t argue. He wouldn’t pass a pop quiz on vampire movies, but maybe he’d dance this funk out of his brain and learn something useful about Danger Zone and its owners, Avery Lofton and Sage Holland, at the same time. The pair was careful not to leave any tracks, but clubs and restaurants handled plenty of cash and thus provided an ideal opportunity to launder funds. A disgruntled waitress had given the task force a tip that pointed a finger at Danger Zone, but she’d left town before anyone could find her to get details.

Blonde Bella gyrated to the music, rubbing herself against him, making it clear that she could be his for the night. Lofton and his partner were smart, seeding the audience with glorified hookers posing as dancers. Ten years earlier, even five, he’d have been much less immune to the blatant invitation.

But even if he weren’t here to troll for intel, he wouldn’t accept. More and more often lately he’d found himself wishing for someone to talk to, really talk to. Someone to share not just his bed but his life, to make a home with, put down roots.

But he’d need a head transplant first. The kind of hours he worked, no woman would willingly sign off on. Once considered the task-force playboy, he was in danger of becoming the task-force workaholic, instead.

The hell of it was, he wasn’t making one bit of difference, no matter how many hours he put in. For every bad guy they locked away, plenty more stepped up to take his place. JD had often been accused of being a Boy Scout, someone who believed in black and white, good vs. evil, wrong against right, but ten years on VICTAF—the Violent Crimes Task Force—was wearing him down. VICTAF was made up of members from every law-enforcement agency in the Austin area, state, local and federal. He could have rotated out years ago as most members did, but Doc Romero, the FBI agent at the helm, had liked his work when he was brand-new out of APD uniform, and he’d kept him on. It was a coup for JD, but constantly dealing with the worst of the worst criminals could do a number on your head if you weren’t careful.

And JD was being very, very careful. He believed in what he did, and he wasn’t going to let any case, however seemingly impossible to crack, get the better of him.

Just then, a face caught his attention several feet away from where he and Bella were dancing. Why did the woman seem so familiar? Something was wrong, too—though very pretty, her face was ravaged and she walked like a zombie, hardly noticing the various men trying to get her attention. His eyes followed the woman’s progress through the crowd to the edge, nearing the hallway where the restrooms were and, farther down, to two doors with special locks, purpose undetermined. Rumors, however, had him suspecting that the doors led to private areas suitable for indulging in sex and/or drugs with women like Bella.

Why did this woman seem familiar—

Then it hit him. One of the victims last night, that’s who she resembled. Strongly.

“I’ll be back,” he said absently to Bella, pointing toward the restrooms.

She made a little moue of displeasure and trailed her fingers down his arm. “Don’t stay gone long, handsome.”

But mentally he had already left. He kept his focus on the woman’s last location as he cut through the crowd. She looked enough like the victim to be her twin—except that she was still alive. Was there a connection? Was she caught in the same nightmare?

When he reached the crowded passageway, he swore ripely when he couldn’t see her. He hoped like hell she was in the restroom and would emerge soon. He didn’t want to attract attention by lingering, but she might be a valuable lead if he wasn’t deluding himself about the resemblance.

Then bodies shifted, and he spotted her way back by the two unmarked doors, her shoulders hunched to avoid a guy who was all over her.

If there was anything guaranteed to make JD see red, it was a man forcing himself on a woman. He’d been on Vice before being recruited to VICTAF, and he’d seen too many women and children victimized. He’d dealt with it, but the brutality he’d witnessed had never left him. Swiftly he threaded past the dancers, trying very hard not to draw attention to himself while still reaching her as quickly as possible.

“Hector says I can have you tonight, so don’t give me any crap.” The man had a brutal grip on the girl’s arm and shook her forcefully.

JD wanted to cold-cock the guy, but if Hector was the girl’s pimp, he’d only make life harder on her. JD used his fingers to squeeze a painful pressure point on the guy’s wrist, forcing him to release her. “But my turn’s not up yet, so you have to wait,” JD said.

“Who the hell are you?” Clasping JD’s wrist with his free hand, the guy turned his fury on him.

Again, JD had to remind himself of the endgame, restraining himself from unleashing his frustration and rage over the memories of last night on this guy. The woman had to be his focus. “Let’s go, honey,” JD said to the woman—girl, really—as she stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “It’s okay,” he said gently into her ear. “I’m taking you out of here.” He swept her out of the guy’s reach quickly, hearing the bellow at his back but proceeding onward and heading for the outside.

“No,” she moaned faintly, squirming in his grasp. “I have to do what he says. Hector has my sister. If I do not obey, he will send her with the others—” Abruptly she clamped her mouth shut.

“Who is Hector and why does he have your sister?” Though he was pretty sure he knew. She shook her head vehemently. JD hustled her around the corner and into a darkened alley. “I want to help you. What’s your name?”

“You cannot. No one can.” She was visibly trembling.

“Just tell me your name,” he said softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

Her face was pale as death, and sobs wracked her frame, but still she said nothing.

“I’ll go first. My name is John.” True, though he never used his first name, but John was innocuous enough that he could easily use it undercover. “Please tell me your name.”

“I am called Candy.”

“But that’s not your real name, is it?” Not with that accent, though he couldn’t clearly place it.

“It does not matter. There is no help— Please…go. I must return before—”

“Where would I find Hector?”

“Stay away from him. He is dangerous.”

“Why?” So close… He nearly held his breath, sensing in his gut that she could give them the information they needed.

She clasped the locket at her throat with white-knuckled fingers. “My sister…I am so afraid. We were to meet—”

Sisters, just as he’d expected. She was involved with the smuggling ring. “Let me take you someplace safe.”

“No!” Her head shook violently. “If I leave, he will hurt her. We were brought over together, but the other man took her away. I have only seen her once. I must take care of her. She is my only family. There is talk that some will be moved soon. I must find her first.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Istanbul,” she whispered.

Bingo. Not content with trafficking in Latin America, the cartel was rumored to be spreading its tentacles into the Middle East in recent months.

“When is this move?”

Her eyes narrowed, and he backtracked from the too-direct question a simple do-gooder would not have asked.

“Never mind.” He grasped her arm. “Let me take you away from here. I’ll help you find your sister.” He didn’t like lying to her—though, of course, he actually could take her to her sister, only not alive—but this case was about hundreds, possibly thousands of young women like Candy and her sister.

“No—you do not see—no!” She wrenched her arm away from him just as a shout echoed from around the corner, snagging JD’s attention.

He couldn’t draw his weapon here, he’d blow his cover. “Stay there,” he said over his shoulder and began easing his way to the corner to see what was going on.

Too late he heard the footsteps behind him and whipped around.

But the girl was already gone.

His instincts were itching, though. She’d said they were going to move the girls, and soon. He had to find a way to get to Lofton or Holland, some means to learn their weak spots without tipping them off.

Everyone had a weakness. He would hunt until he found theirs.

CHAPTER TWO

“G
OOD
MORNING
,
GORGEOUS
.”
Shopping bags in hand, Avery strode across the verdant grounds of Hotel Serenity and bent to kiss Violet’s cheek. Of medium height, with rich brown hair and melting brown eyes, he had been quite handsome when they first met, but she could see the strains of his lifestyle in his softening jaw, the new thickness around his middle. He was only five years older than her thirty-four, but he had aged markedly since he’d last come out to see her in California.

“Avery, you don’t have to bring me goodies every day.”

“Okay.” He shifted the bags behind his back. For her, he could always summon mischief, however harried he was.

Violet laughed and half rose from the bent willow chair. “Gimme.” With a child’s delight, she peered inside one of the bags. “Yes! Chocolate! How did you know?”

He snorted. “Like that’s not a required part of any gift. Even when all we could afford was one Hershey bar to split between us, you’d give up a decent meal to have it.”

They shared a smile swimming in memories.

“You gonna split that with me for old times’ sake?” he asked as she pried open the box and reverently inhaled the dark, delicious scent.

“Are you kidding?” She clasped the container to her chest. “Get your own Hershey bar.” With a grin, she proffered the box. “Of course I am. You first, my friend.” After he’d selected one truffle, she chose one for herself and took a dainty bite.

“Oh, God.” She would swear her eyes rolled back in her head. “Where on earth did you find these?”

“Second Street. A little shop where they make them by hand.”

“Yum. Serious yum.” She smiled. “Between Sophie’s amazing food and your goodies, if I don’t start running again soon, my trainer will kill me.”

“You’re getting antsy.” Not a question.

“Yes…well, maybe. I’m not quite ready to brave the world yet.” She frowned. “Such a coward.”

“You’re not. You never have been.” He placed his hand atop hers.

If she’d felt a little unsettled because he hadn’t invited her to stay with him after all the times he’d begged her to visit, he was here now, faithful as ever, and that was enough. She turned her fingers in his and squeezed. “I’ve lost my optimism, Avery. I always believed that he was out there, my perfect match. That I’d be like my parents one day, that one man would love me for who I am, not because I’m famous, but simply for myself.” She sighed and shook her head. “No longer.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t a cockeyed optimist. Don’t you dare change. He’s out there somewhere.”

“You really believe that?” Violet rose, began to pace. “I’ve proven myself to be a lousy judge of character when it comes to men.” And that wasn’t all she was questioning about her life, which scared her half to death.

Avery went to her, held out his hand. “You’ll get back on the horse one of these days. Meanwhile, I have an idea—you ready for an adventure?”

“What kind?”

“A
let’s sneak Violet out of here covered with a blanket in the backseat
adventure.”

“I don’t know… .”

“C’mon,” he entreated. “I have a couple of hours with nobody breathing down my neck. Let’s make a jailbreak. You haven’t turned chicken on me, have you?”

“A blanket? Seriously? It’s too hot.”

“I have a/c. And I brought the Rover, not the Jag, so you’d have room to stretch out.”

“Where are we going?”

“Are you turning into a full-fledged recluse on me? ’Cause if so, I’m calling the paparazzi myself.”

Alarm shivered through her. “Avery…”

“Oh, honey, you’re worse off than I thought. If you don’t trust me, of all people…”

Had she become that suspicious of everyone? If she couldn’t trust her best friend, who could she trust?

She refused to go down that road. “Of course I do.” She sighed. “It’s just been so great to feel this safe.” Hotel Serenity was as advertised—better, even, since Zane had gone above and beyond and had made arrangements with the owner, Sophie Carlisle, for Violet to have the place all to herself.

Violet awoke each morning in this magical place Sophie had created—her quarters were the amazing aerie that was normally the honeymoon suite, an entire floor atop the former carriage house, with killer views of downtown Austin and Lady Bird Lake. A mockingbird serenaded her with its repertoire as she enjoyed her own nest in the treetops, and each night the moon silvered her bedroom. The food was amazing, the service discreet and there was the added kick of a tranquility room on the grounds, complete with massage anytime she wanted it. Violet’s heart was still sore, but every day the pain receded. And the respite from her normal breakneck pace was sinfully delicious.

“And you don’t think I’ll protect you?” He wasn’t teasing anymore. He was hurt, this man who was the only one she truly did trust outside of her family.

She took a deep breath. “I know you will. So where will this adventure take me?”

“Maybe…my house? I didn’t plan ahead, but—” His cell phone chirped with a voice mail. She appreciated that he turned off the ringer when he was with her. He glanced at the screen and frowned. “Damn.”

“Go ahead and listen.”

He did, and a change swept over his handsome features. When he finished, his strained expression said it all.

“Go on,” she urged. “I’ll be fine here with my goodies.” Even though the notion of getting out had begun to appeal to her more than she’d expected. Maybe she
was
getting a little antsy in her ivory tower.

He bent to kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s great to be successful, but…”

Violet placed one hand on his jaw. “You’re preaching to the choir, you know.” She smiled past her disappointment. “Now shoo—I have chocolate to pig out on and, thanks to the demands of your business, no one to hang around and give me puppy-dog eyes to beg me to share.”

“I’ll try to make it back later.”

“I’m fine, I swear.”

“Sorry, kid.” But his mind was clearly elsewhere already.

Violet hugged her dearest friend and watched him go.

And admitted to herself that she was lonely.

She squared her shoulders, gathered up her goodies to take them to her quarters. She mounted the steps but paused halfway up, gazing out at the lake, at the beauty of the day she was missing while she cloistered herself here. The grounds were beautiful and she’d desperately needed the peace when she’d arrived, but she’d seen nothing of the wonders of Austin Avery had described.

Was he right? Was she really ready to emerge? A part of her was restless, but another part shuddered at the notion of attracting the paparazzi’s attention.

She glanced back at the house. Maybe after she put all her goodies away, she’d see if Sophie had time to visit, instead.

* * *

“O
KAY
,
SO
WHO
WANTS
TO
GO
FIRST
?”
VICTAF head Doc Romero’s piercing gaze scanned the group gathered around the conference table at task-force headquarters in an anonymous office building in northwest Austin.

“Internet chatter’s picking up,” offered Doc’s right-hand man, Bob Jordan.

“How would you know? You figured out how to turn on your computer yet?” teased Trini Sanchez, the group’s newest member, on loan from Immigration.

Some grins, a couple of raised coffee mugs. Balding, paunchy Bob was everyone’s favorite uncle and the go-to guy for anything you didn’t want to bother Doc with, but his aversion to technology was legend.

“Bite me,” Bob retorted. “I can read reports.”

“As long as someone prints them up for you,” quipped Vince Coronado who, like JD, had come to VICTAF from the Austin Police Department.

“Okay, okay,” Doc said. “So brief me. What’s the chatter?” Though he was asking for the sake of the group—there wasn’t so much as a dust mote that Doc didn’t register. VICTAF was his baby, and while most cops would have retired by now, at sixty-two, Doc showed no signs of slowing down or handing over the reins. JD was glad about that, personally. Imagining VICTAF without Doc—or Bob, for that matter—wasn’t something he cared to contemplate. He’d been psyched to be invited to join the prestigious inter-agency group, and he’d been here longer than many of the others. Most rotated in and out within a couple of years in accordance with Doc’s original design, but JD had found a niche where he’d felt like he was making a difference, and Doc had encouraged him to stay.

But sometimes that difference seemed too minuscule to count. Like now. This human-trafficking case was driving them all buggy.

“First of all, investigation of this recent crime scene isn’t producing much in the way of promising forensic evidence,” Bob said. “And we’re running out of time. Word is, Popovic is planning to deliver a shipment of Middle Eastern women and children next.”

“What’s motivating his change of merchandise? He usually handles Hispanics. And why bring them through Texas?” asked Mack Lawrence of the Department of Public Safety. “A lot easier for Central Americans to blend in.”

“Sad statement,” interjected Vince, “but thanks to the overall paranoia about the Middle East, there’s an increased appetite in the sex-slave trade for women from that region.”

Expressions of disgust, from hardened jaws to shaking heads and narrowed eyes, traveled the room, but this group had seen too much to be easily shocked. You had to have a cast-iron stomach to survive in the world they walked in.

Sometimes, though, JD thought, man’s ability to enjoy the suffering of his fellow beings, to profit from misery, made him damn sick.

“We still think he’s using Jorge Lima to get them in and out?” asked Trini.

Doc nodded. “Or whatever name he’s going by now. Why mess with a winning formula?” The Brazilian had proven elusive to both his own country’s law enforcement and U.S. agencies. He’d created a pipeline that shifted constantly but never ceased operations.

Assorted muttering made its way around the room.

Doc shrugged. “Lima’s not in our purview, though. We have to focus on what we can do here at home.”

“The money laundering,” JD stated.

“Yep,” Doc answered. “The money laundering. The cocktail waitress at Danger Zone, the one that gave us the intel then disappeared—any progress on finding her, Vince?”

“Nothing worth talking about. Since we have to stay under the radar at the club, I’ve been playing it low-key, asking around. I had a young patrolman go in, pose as someone whose eye she caught, trying to get her phone number so he can see her again. The bar back he talked to said she wasn’t sociable. That she left after her shift and didn’t really get friendly with anyone. No one seems to know where she lives, and she didn’t show up for work yesterday. The bar guy says she’ll play hell getting her job back. We’ve talked to her family, but she left home at seventeen and they don’t care if they ever see her again. In other words…we got nothing.”

“Keep tugging that line for a while. It’s the best lead we’ve had,” Doc said.

Around the table, faces echoed his frustration.

“I may have something,” JD offered.

Doc lifted an eyebrow.

“I was there last night, at Danger Zone, and I met these two women… .”

General hoots and catcalls. “No surprise there, Romeo,” snickered Vince.

JD rolled his eyes. That whole bit had gotten old years ago, but if he let them see that his rep as a ladies’ man bugged him, they’d never leave off. So, instead, he played it up. “Not my fault you’re boring old married farts. Women like me…it can’t be helped.” He actually did get along well with women, always had, but he preferred to think it wasn’t his face but the fact that he genuinely liked them back.

“I’m not old—or married,” piped up Trini.

“And Chloe doesn’t seem to think I’m too boring,” intoned Vince.

JD couldn’t refute that. Vince was part of the Montalvo/MacAllister clan by marriage if not by blood, and it was rife with happy couples. Somehow JD had been adopted by them when Jesse Montalvo had been his supervisor at VICTAF. He had attended many a family gathering since then, seeing for himself what a good marriage could do to smooth out life’s rough edges. Vince’s was one of them.

“Yeah, but Chloe’s a shrink, and with you she’s got a lifetime project,” he quipped.

Vince laughed.

Doc cleared his throat. “Okay, people. Back to business.” He turned a stony look on JD. “So you just, what, decided to drop in on Danger Zone without clearing it with anyone?”

“You can ask me that after the other night? You saw what they did, those bastards.”

Doc only looked at him over his reading glasses with an expression that made JD feel all of fifteen, trying to defend actions he knew pushed the boundaries. “So, what happened?” Doc asked.

“The first girl was just one of Lofton’s teasers, girls he hires to bring the guys. Sort of a cross between saloon girls and hookers, but they’re careful not to get busted. He must pay them well, since they’re so closemouthed.”