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“And protect her as well.”
“Yes.”
He wasn’t much of a pessimist—took energy away from solving a problem—but if he were one he’d say this plan had disaster written all over it.
“I’m assuming we need to get in touch with her, like, yesterday.”
“That would be best. If Medford’s death is connected to her project, and she doesn’t know about the danger, then she could be living on borrowed time.”
Even though he knew nothing about Aubrey Starr other than from that one encounter, the thought of her possibly in danger bothered him.
“I’ll get Serena and Jazz to work with her,” Ash continued. “Jazz is scheduled for her final physical eval, and it’s time for Serena’s recertification. They can take her to Tri-Ops, teach her some self-defense, put her through some covert training. By the time you get a lead on where those victims in Colombia were taken, she should be trained enough to not be a hindrance.”
Based in Virginia, Tri-Ops was the facility that OZ used to train and hone the skills of their operatives. For someone with no training at all, it’d be a lot to take in, but if she could get a little knowledge, at least she wouldn’t be totally helpless on an op.
That was probably as good of a solution as any. Finding the victims they’d lost had become a full-time job. It was like they’d vanished into thin air. Half his efforts were also expended on hunting down Barnabas Drury. The man was as elusive as a wisp of smoke. Every lead had sent him to a place Drury had just left. He wouldn’t give up, though. Drury would pay for what had happened to Myron. This time, he’d make sure he never saw the light of day again.
Liam stood. He didn’t like the scenario Ash had painted, but his boss was right. If Aubrey Starr had intel, knowingly or unknowingly, that could lead them to a well-funded trafficking organization, then he’d do what he had to do. Putting up with a filmmaker for a few days would be worth it if it yielded those results.
“I’ll talk to Jazz and Serena,” Ash said. “Get them on a plane to Florida. They’ll keep Starr safe and get what intel they can.”
“All right.”
He was at the door, about to open it, when Ash added, “And, Stryker, maybe this time you’ll actually get to talk to her.”
Liam let out a huff of a laugh as he walked out. There wasn’t a soul at OZ who didn’t know about his humiliating experience. The man known for his glib and smooth tongue had been rendered mute. They’d called him Froggy for months after that.
He’d thought about her from time to time. The woman had captured his attention in a way no one else had in years. Once or twice he’d considered getting her number and giving her a call but had never followed through. Until he found Cat, one way or the other, he didn’t want the distraction. Besides, what woman would want to date a guy who was hung up on someone else?
Once he found
Cat—or learned what happened to her— he might be able to rest. But not yet…not yet.
Chapter Sixteen
St. Augustine, Florida
The instant she entered her house, Aubrey knew someone had been there. The locks weren’t damaged, the security system was still working, and there were no obvious signs of a break-in. But she knew.
After her abduction, she had been determined that nothing remotely similar would ever happen to her again. There had been times—more than a few times—that she’d felt as though someone was watching her. Her therapist had told her that hypervigilance after such a traumatic experience was a common response. And while that might well be true, it didn’t stop her from taking precautions. Some would call it paranoia. She called it normal.
She had taken multiple self-defense classes and learned how to handle a handgun as well as a knife. She was prepared physically. In her home, she had a standard security system, but skilled intruders could bypass a security system in seconds. So she’d gone a step further and set subtle, obscure traps to alert her if her space had been violated.
Each time she went out, she left at least a half-dozen insignificant-looking items sitting around. Anyone else wouldn’t give them another thought, but the instant she walked into her foyer, she noticed the first sign. On the entry table, a magazine she had left slightly askew had been straightened. As she went further into the house, she saw other signs. The pen sitting on her desk was no longer pointed toward the window. The paper clip that held a few printed pages of a script had been straightened. Before she’d left she had memorized each item and its exact position.
Going to the lockbox hidden beneath her entryway table, she entered a code and retrieved her Kimber pistol. Double-checking the clip to ensure she was ready for any threat, she went from room to room to make sure she was alone. Assuring herself that the intruder was gone, she went back to her bedroom and opened her closet. The secret panel behind her shoe shelf had been one of the few additions she’d made to the house. It held a treasure trove of research, some of which would make a lot of people very nervous if they knew about it.
Relieved that nothing had been disturbed, Aubrey closed the safe and replaced the panel. Closing the closet door, she took a deep breath. Had that been what they were searching for? Did someone know about her suspicions?
That had to be it, and if so, how had they found out?
She hadn’t known what she would uncover when she’d started her research. She’d told no one what she’d found. And she still didn’t know exactly what she had, but her gut told her to keep on going.
Still not feeling a hundred percent comfortable, Aubrey roamed through her house as she worked through the theory in her mind. It had started with an interview of a former trafficked victim. Thirteen-year-old Emma Griffin had been abducted during a camping trip with a school friend and her family. For two years, she had been held captive and raped repeatedly by dozens of strangers. To keep her docile and subservient, she had been given heroin every day. The drug had almost killed her, but in an odd way, it had also saved her life.
One day, she had been given too much and had overdosed. Thinking she was dead, or would be soon, her captors had dumped her in an abandoned hut in the woods in upstate New York. But she hadn’t died. Emma had managed to crawl her way out of the hut and onto a trail frequented by hikers. When she’d been found, they hadn’t expected her to survive but she had surprised everyone.
Though Emma had been in and out of consciousness for weeks, when she’d finally woken, she could remember only bits and pieces of her ordeal. That had been over three years ago. She had been reunited with her family and had recovered her health. Her memory was still spotty about many things, but she had confessed to Aubrey that she still suffered from nightmares. Though the nightmares varied in many ways, one thing remained consistent. An image of a golden eagle swooping down to catch its prey was in each of the nightmares. The image was one she couldn’t seem to shake.