Betray the Lie (A Sydney Rye Mystery, #11) Read online

  “Yes.” Merl answers Dan’s question. He’s sitting next to me, both of us in rolling chairs. We’re in the office space we’ve rented in downtown Miami under the name “Dog Trainers Inc.,” which helps explain all our freaking dogs, who are curled up around the room, sleeping lightly as they wait for our next move.

  Across from us, floor to ceiling tinted windows face another tall, shining office building—we can usually see office workers buzzing around, living their ordinary lives. It’s late now, so there are only a few brightened windows, a few hunched figures typing at desks. We headed straight here after Dan called the secure line at Robert’s house, but it took a while to get everything set up.

  “You did a sweep before the call?” Dan asks.

  Merl nods. “Yes.”

  We used the bug detection device Dan ordered for us when we set up the office months ago and scanned the entire suite and the hallways just before streaming in.

  “Okay,” Dan relents, his face grave. The usually fine lines around his mouth and eyes are deep grooves.

  “What’s going on?” Lenox asks. He’s sitting in a thick armchair covered in burgundy and gold paisley fabric, his laptop on his lap so that we’re looking up at him. He’s wearing headphones and a stern expression.

  Dan called this meeting, saying it was an emergency. Lenox is on assignment, and it’s a risk for him to call in now—it could blow his cover and jeopardize his mission.

  Dan sighs and runs a hand through his sandy blond, sun-streaked hair. “We were attacked.” Both Merl and I shift forward at the same time, our elbows landing on the glass-topped table. The island is in the middle of nowhere. How could they be attacked?

  “It was an inside job. George Gonzales. Only minor injuries…” Dan looks as if the words hurt him. Anita is chewing on her lip, her hands on the desk, gripping it, as if she’s fighting back an urge to reach out and touch Dan’s shoulder—to comfort him in some way.

  “I’m sorry,” Merl says.

  Dan’s pale green gaze burns through the computer screen. “No, I’m sorry. I never should have trusted him. We should trust no one.” The words send a shiver over me. Dan has always been cautious but also optimistic. Something has changed with him. “But he’s not the only one,” Dan continues, running his hand through his hair again. “George got a call that his sister, Elsa, was being held captive. And that if he didn’t infiltrate our security system and find out the location of the island, she’d be killed.”

  Great effort has gone into keeping the location of our island base a secret from all but the trusted few. Wi-Fi access for anything beyond email is highly restricted, and no one is allowed a device with GPS.

  Lenox is frowning, listening intently, his dark eyes unreadable.

  “She’s only sixteen, and I knew she was a weak spot for him. I should have listened in on his call. Or at least had it traced. Dammit.”

  “This isn’t your fault,” Merl says quietly.

  “Of course it is,” Dan grits his teeth. “But that doesn’t even matter. Because there is someone else working for our enemies. Elsa told George that if he tipped anyone—me for example—they’d kill her.”

  “So, someone else close to you must be compromised,” Lenox reasons.

  “Yes.” Dan nods, casting his eyes down to his desk top.

  “Any idea who?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, a long strand of hair falling forward only to be forcefully pushed back behind his ear. “I’m going through call logs and emails but have not found anything yet. I’m not sure who else to trust, so right now it’s just Anita and me going through everything.”

  “It’s a slow process,” Anita says, her dark eyes staying on Dan. She looks concerned, sucking her lip between her teeth and biting down as she watches him fidget.

  Merl is nodding next to me. “How can we help speed up the process?” he asks.

  “I don’t think you can,” Dan says. “I’m not opening access to my files to anyone right now, and you wouldn’t even know what to look for…who everyone is.” He sighs again, and the sound feels almost like a weight draping around my shoulders. Dan used to be so carefree. So fun and laid back. Now he’s wound tighter than a Tea Party Republican at a pride parade—exhausted from the energy it takes to hide so many secrets.

  A twinge of guilt tightens my fists, but I force myself to let it go. I did not make Dan pursue justice at any cost. He wants this as much as I do.

  “Is there anything we can do here?” I ask. “Obviously, we need to figure out who is threatening our people. Have you spoken to George’s parents? Found out any details of how their daughter was taken?”

  Dan shakes his head. “I’m keeping it super quiet at this point. I have not told anyone we know. Their phones are probably bugged.”

  “That’s smart,” Lenox says.

  “Where are the parents?” I ask.

  “In Texas,” Dan says. “Outside of Dallas. I’m sure they are being watched. I don’t want to get his sister killed.” Dan nods, as if to himself.

  “Me either,” I say. “But we need to talk to them. See if we can figure out what happened.”

  “Their phones are probably monitored. Along with any smart devices they have in their home.” Dan sips from a mug, his eyes losing focus as he works on the problem.

  “Do they have any dogs?” Merl asks.

  “Yes, a mutt named Bradley. Part Shepherd, part Rottie.”

  Merl nods, a frown pulling at his lips. “Do they go to dog runs?”

  “I don’t know,” Dan answers, his eyes focusing onto the screen again.

  “What if I pretended to be a truancy officer or something?” I ask. “She must have missed a few days of school by now.”

  Merl shakes his head. “If parents are calling in and saying the kid is sick then you wouldn’t have officials showing up. Not for a while.”

  “I think we need surveillance on them,” I say. “We need more information. I can run into the mother at the dog run or something.”

  “What’s the neighborhood like?” Merl asks Dan.

  “Suburban. Working class. Mostly Hispanic.”

  Merl turns to me. “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “We can’t use any of our operatives,” Dan says. “We don’t know who’s compromised. If they can get to George, they can get to anyone.”

  Anita nods. “I’ve been on the sister’s social media accounts. My best guess is they took her seven days ago. George got the call five days ago. Not sure why they waited so long.”

  “Maybe they were transporting her somewhere,” Lenox says.

  “But wouldn’t you start your threats right away?” I ask.

  Lenox shrugs. “I wouldn’t kidnap a young girl to begin with.”

  “What if she escaped?” Merl asks. “Maybe they didn’t have her for a few days.”

  “I like that possibility,” I say, picturing a teenage girl outwitting international criminals…even if only for a short time.

  “I checked her parents’ phone records,” Dan says. “They got a call the first day from a blocked number. So I think they knew from the get go but probably have no idea this is about their son. They must be holding off on calling the police because of threats they received.”

  “Any parents would be sick about this,” I say, my mind wandering to my mother. Would she have even noticed if I’d disappeared when I was sixteen? Probably not.

  Lenox shifts in his seat and glances over his shoulder. We need to wrap this up. “What do you suggest?” Merl asks.

  Dan runs a hand through his hair again. “I really wish we had Mulberry on this.” I stiffen at Mulberry’s name, and Merl glances at me. I give a small shake of my head to let him know I’m okay. “He’s the best investigator we’ve got.”

  “Should we ask Robert?” Merl suggests.

  Dan raises his gaze to him. “I don’t trust him.”

  “I do,” I say, my voice quiet.

  Dan lets out a long breath. “I think it�
��s better to keep this in as tight a circle as possible until we figure out who else has been threatened.”

  “I may be able to help,” Lenox says, his voice quiet. “Give me some time to do some investigating.” He glances over his shoulder again. “It may be that Petra and the McCain brothers are behind this.”

  “Really?” Dan asks, leaning forward.

  “Petra mentioned they planned to take on Joyful Justice. And I suspect she is keeping someone locked up on the property. Let me see what I can find out. I’ll contact you soon.”

  “Okay.” Dan’s voice is weary. “We’ve shut down communications to the island while we work our way through older messages, but you can still reach Anita and me.”

  “What should I do?” I ask.

  “Not tell Robert,” Dan snaps.

  It feels like a slap—I open my mouth to respond but realize Dan is exhausted. His eyes are red-rimmed, his skin gray. Anita is looking at him with concern.

  “Fine,” I say, mimicking his posture. “I’ll keep my mouth shut if you promise to get some sleep.”

  Anita turns to me, relief in her eyes. Dan’s face shutters. “I’m fine.”

  “And I’m the queen of England,” I say, my voice edged with anger. “I know you can go a long-ass time without sleep, but I want you well-rested. Take a fucking nap, you asshole.”

  Dan can’t help the smile that creeps onto his lips. “Fine,” he says.

  Anita is nodding. “Watch him,” I say to her. “You know he will try to take a tablet or something.”

  Anita smiles. “Yes, ma’am,” she answers, her voice laced with humor.

  We disconnect, and I stare out the window at the sparse office workers in their lit-up boxes. There but for the grace of God go I.

  Lenox

  I close the laptop and slip the headphones off, storing them in my bag along with the secure mobile hot spot. A knock on the door jerks my head up.

  “Yes?”

  The door opens on well-oiled hinges, and Petra steps into the guest bedroom I’ve been using, her fingers never leaving the handle. “You’re up early.”

  I smile, feeling tension behind my eyes. “Yes, working. Did I disturb you?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m used to sleeping alone.”

  The words tug at my heart. I’m used to sleeping alone, too. I have to bite my tongue to keep from asking what she is doing. Why has she become a slave trader?

  “Should I come back to bed then?” I run my eyes over her body, clad in a rose-colored silk negligee, her matching robe hanging open.

  She shakes her head, loose waves of hair dancing around her shoulders. “No, let’s get up. I want breakfast. We need to talk.” Petra turns and pads down the hall, leaving me alone. A sick feeling stirs in my stomach. Does she know?

  I dress in exercise clothing—easy to run and fight in, if it comes to that. My gold chain bounces against my neck as I jog down the steps and my phone thunks against my thigh. Dan’s words float through my mind. They kidnapped George’s sister…

  Right now, Joyful Justice has over sixty research operations in motion—which is the first stage of opening a mission. After a complaint about the exploitation of a vulnerable group is registered with Joyful Justice, we investigate the legitimacy of the claim. If the complaint is deemed valid, and our help is warranted, we create a packet detailing the activities that must be stopped to avoid retribution. This happens in about 20% of cases.

  We deliver the packet with a warning and timeline. Depending on the activities of the accused, they have anywhere from 30 to 90 days to change their behavior before we move into active mission status.

  In that time, we train and prepare for the eventual takedown while continuing to monitor activity. In most cases, the original complaint comes from someone with inside knowledge, who Joyful Justice then trains to take part in the mission—either as a leader, member of a team, or lone wolf, using their access to attack sensitive areas. We believe in empowering the abused to cleanse their victim status and lift them up to become avengers.

  If the accused complies with our demands, then no further action is taken, though monitoring is continued for an appropriate length of time. The initial complainant typically leads the surveillance and is responsible for the follow up reports given to the council.

  As of right now, twenty-three missions are in what we call the “Wait and See” stage—our demands have been made, and the accused has promised to reform. Ten missions are on the cusp of “active”—the accused refused our demands or violated them, and our team is preparing to go in and force compliance.

  The McCain brothers’ sex-trafficking ring uses Petra’s smuggling services to move women around the world. They also share intel and co-own sixteen brothels. The brothers received a packet six weeks ago and immediately refused to comply. Petra’s knowledge of this development seems inevitable, but I’m here to make sure our suspicions regarding her are correct.

  The McCain brothers, Ian, Michael and Murphy, were originally brought to our attention by a young Yazidi woman who escaped after being bought at an Isis auction in Saudi Arabia. She identified Ian, the oldest brother, as the man who purchased her. I went to Saudi Arabia and attended an auction, where I recorded Ian buying more girls.

  I then followed him and the women he bought to an airport, where Ian used one of Petra’s connections to move them out of the country by private plane. Did Petra know these women were unwilling victims of war? I hope not. But can’t be sure…yet.

  And now the McCains appear to have struck back by kidnapping George’s sister to gain leverage over Joyful Justice. I know this is a longshot, but could Petra be part of that plot and, if so, could that girl be imprisoned behind that shiny new lock on the door of that old dungeon? Only one way to find out.

  Petra sits in her breakfast room—the morning sun bathing her in warm, dewy light. A handsome wrought-iron frame sealed with panes of glass makes up the walls and ceiling, through which the wide, manicured yard shimmers almost silver, still wet from the night. Beyond, the wild, untamed forest hunkers dark and foreboding, the sun not strong or high enough to breach its denseness.

  A piece of wheat toast with a thin layer of butter and jam sits by Petra’s elbow, and an elegant china cup brimming with coffee is raised to her bare lips.

  She sips the coffee, its mocha color contrasting with the pale cream of her own skin, then replaces the cup on the saucer with a tinkling sound. Her gaze lifts to mine, and she smiles, slow and sultry. "How did you sleep?" she asks, eyes still heavy from her own night’s rest.

  I sit down across from her. "Very well, and you?”

  She leans back into the chair, its glossy wood and pale blue satin upholstery making her eyes that much greener. The green of greed.

  "I was thinking quite a bit." Lacing her fingers together, she rests them across her flat stomach, keeping her bright gaze focused on me, as if I’m a subject to study rather than a lover come for coffee. "I want to ask you something, but I'm nervous."

  “Nervous?” My smile feels tight and my heart thumps harder. Cocking my head, I force the muscles around my mouth to relax, wrestle my heart into a steady rhythm, and take a slow, deep breath. "Why be nervous?” I ask, leaning forward, weaving innocent curiosity into my voice and gaze. “We are old friends. You can ask me anything."

  She leans forward, mimicking my posture, and sips from her coffee again. Her gaze drifts to the table. "Things are changing rapidly in our business. Joyful Justice is a thorn in our side."

  My chest tightened, and I reach for the coffee carafe to pour myself a cup. I hold my tongue, letting her speak, knowing that my silence is more powerful than any response. Will she admit to having the girl?

  "I want you to help me."

  The coffee comes out black and fragrant, filling the cup quickly. I replace the carafe and pick up the cream, pouring it into the dark brew so that it blooms into a pale brown.

  "I know that you work rarely now, and have a solid recruitment po
licy for the men in your employ. That you are an honest and good man."

  My eyes rise to hers, hearing truth in her voice. Petra has a high opinion of me. As I used to of her.

  My gut twists. Is she about to confess to me that she is dealing in war slaves? Helping to move them around the world. Not only have these young women suffered the abuse and losses of war—seen their fathers and brothers murdered, their sisters and mothers raped—but now, because of Petra’s greed and willful blindness, they face a lifetime of rape and servitude. No. My jaw tightens as my resolve hardens against my old friend, against the bonds we have built over the last fifteen years.

  Petra freed me, in her way. But I cannot sit idly by if she is enslaving others.

  "Will you help me take down Joyful Justice?" she asks, her eyes finding mine. Petra’s green eyes are round, pleading. She looks almost frightened. Is it an act? Or is she more entwined with the McCain brothers than we knew?

  She has not received a package but maybe she should…

  I sit back in my chair, taking the china cup with me, dropping my gaze to hood my eyes with thoughtful shadows—hiding my contempt. "I do not feel that is my fight."

  Petra leans forward quickly, her speed a reminder of how dangerous she really is—all of the fear is gone from her gaze and in its place the feral determination of a cornered animal sparks into life. “Don't you see? They will come for you too. We must unite in order to defeat them.”

  I sip the coffee, rich caramel and dark chocolate. I take a measured breath, and her shoulders slowly relax as we stare at each other. “Petra, you say that you believe me to be an honest man. That you admire me. And yet, you want me to defend practices that are against my nature, against what I believe to be a good way of doing business. A good way of living. Joyful Justice, from my understanding, is only attacking those who are breaking what I consider to be a reasonable moral code. There is no fight here for me.”