Deliver Us from Evil (34 page)

All his careful planning . . . covering his tracks . . . was it all about to come undone because of one ignorant man?

The e-mail appeared on screen. Warren's stomach flipped as he read.

Bucky,

In case you don't hear from me by midnight tomorrow, print the attached letter and take it to the cops. Doesn't matter if they're local or not. They'll know who to get it to.

Thanks,

Zimp

A headache pounded at Warren's temples. He dropped his head into his hands, massaging his skull. The kid was smarter than Warren gave him credit for being. He'd realized their house of cards was crashing down around them and had taken safeguards.

Didn't matter now if the girls were recovered or not. Warren glanced at the clock—less than thirty minutes until midnight. This Bucky character would take the letter to the authorities soon, and the gig would be up.

Time for plan B. Time to leave.

Warren slammed the laptop shut and shoved it back into the attaché case. He only needed to grab the suitcase he kept packed in the closet. Like the Boy Scouts, always be prepared. He turned and headed toward the stairs.

Buzz. Buzz.

What in the—

A cell phone set to vibrate. Coming from his office. From Zimp's attaché case.

Warren rushed back to the desk and opened the case. Three cell phones nestled in the outer pocket. He grabbed the one dancing on the crushed velvet. “Hello.”

“Zimp?”

“He's not available right now. Who is this?”

“This is Bucky. Who's this?”

Bucky. Warren's pulse kicked up a notch. “This is Zimp's friend. He's been trying to get in touch with you.” He fought to keep his tone even. He could save everything.

“Really? I'm not showing any missed calls.”

Warren tightened his grip on the cell phone. He had to relate to this Bucky character on his level. “I don't know about that.”

“Well, let me talk to him.”

“Like I said, he's unavailable.”

“How's that?”

Warren pressed his lips together. Think. He could contain the situation. Save himself. “He's packing.”

“Packing for what?”

“Jamaica. Didn't he tell you the plan?”

“Jamaica?!” Heavy breathing pulsed against Warren's ear. “What plan?”

“He's going to Jamaica. Said he needed to get away until things died down.” Warren needed to think carefully. He had to play this just right. “That's why he's been trying to get in touch with you. He wants you to go with him.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Zimp told me if you called to give you the message to meet him at the McGhee Tyson Airport no later than two a.m. Oh, and he said to bring the letter.” Warren paused for effect. “Whatever that means.”

“Hmm.”

The guy wasn't buying it. Warren almost sighed. He'd been so close. This one character, Bucky, would blow everything apart. “Well, that's what Zimp said. I did what he asked. I'm taking him to the airport as soon as he packs things up.” He had to get this guy on board. “Should I tell him you'll meet him at the airport?”

“I'll see.” The connection broke.

What was it with the rudeness of people these days? Not even ending a conversation before hanging up. Warren tossed the cell into the attaché, then hurried up the stairs. Maybe he'd gotten through to Bucky, and he'd show up at the airport. At that hour it should be easy enough to take care of one more person. Get this Bucky out of the way, then it'd be smooth sailing.

But if he wasn't lucky, he'd institute his backup plan and catch the next flight to Jamaica. After all, it
was
nice there.

Wednesday, 11:45 p.m.

US Marshals Office, Howard Baker Federal Courthouse

Knoxville, Tennessee

“HELLO MS. CALLAHAN AND girls. I'm Krista Thomley with the FBI.” The lady slipped into the interrogation room with Roark, his boss, and two other FBI agents on her heels. “In order to continue our investigation, I need to ask you girls a few questions if that's okay?” She made eye contact with Mai and Kanya as she eased into a chair across the table from them.

The girls pressed against Brannon to the point they almost fell into the chair with her. She gripped their small hands in hers and shot Roark a warning look.

He grasped her silent message as he guided the other men in the room to the shadows of the corner.

“Hi, Ms. Thomley.” Brannon infused her voice with a chipperness she didn't feel. But if the girls picked up on her mood . . . “This is Mai and Kanya.” She nodded to each girl as she introduced them.

“Hello, Mai and Kanya.” The agent opened her notebook. “I'm here to ask a few questions. To get help for the other girls. Okay?”

Mai hesitated a moment before bobbing her head. Brannon squeezed her hand.
Please, Lord, let this be easier on them.

“Where are you from?”

“Thailand.”

Ms. Thomley's pen flowed across the paper. “Both of you?”

Kanya nodded.

“How did you get to the States?”

Neither girl moved. Brannon released Mai's hand to stroke her hair. “It's okay. Ms. Thomley just wants to help you.”

Mai ducked her head. “Poppy Fred and Aunt Betty.” Her words were muffled but understandable.

Brannon swallowed back anger. All these girls had been through . . .

Ms. Thomley made notes, then pressed her lips together. “But they aren't relatives to you, are they?”

Mai shook her head.

Bit by bit, the FBI agent drew out the girls' stories, just as Brannon had. Their parents selling them for adoption in order to survive, the girls having such high hopes and dreams for a new, better life, then having their dreams murdered. Brannon wanted to throw up hearing it all again.

Tears burned Brannon's eyes as well. Suddenly she didn't feel so guilty about killing Fred anymore.
Forgive me, Father, but I'm not sorry. Not after hearing what this man did.

Silence fell over the room when Mai finished the details of how she'd been brought to the States and what had happened then. Finally Ms. Thomley set her pen down, tears visible in her eyes, and addressed the girls. “I'm so sorry for what happened to you. We're going to make sure this doesn't happen again.”

The door to the interrogation room creaked open and an agent stuck his head inside. “Child Protective Services is here.”

One of the agents from the corner slipped out of the room.

“Now I need to ask you details about your escape,” Ms. Thomley continued. “You've told us how you got supplies and extra clothes. Can you tell us about the place you stayed?”

Mai shrugged.

Hopelessness washed over Brannon. If they were to find the other girls . . . No, she would not allow herself to think so dejectedly. She shifted in her seat to face Mai. “When you left, you said you went out the kitchen door. Was that in the back of the house?”

“Yes.”

Ms. Thomley caught on. “Did you run behind the house, or circle around and run away from the front of the house?”

“Back.”

“How long did you run before you made the camp where I found you?” Brannon grabbed a piece of paper from Ms. Thomley and jotted something down.

“I do not know.” Mai's bottom lip trembled.

Brannon patted her hand. “It's okay.” She slid the paper across the table to the FBI agent. “Here are the coordinates where I found them.”

The male agent returned. “Excuse me, but CPS said to let them know whenever you're ready. They'll take the girls to the hospital before being escorted to the safe house.”

Brannon glanced at the girls. Their lids were weighted down. She made eye contact with the lady agent. “They've had a long day and are exhausted. I don't think you'll get anything more from them right now.”

Ms. Thomley understood. “I think we're done here anyway. Let CPS in.”

The agent slipped back outside. Ms. Thomley addressed the girls a final time. “Thank you both. One last question, if you can answer. About how many other girls are at the house?”

The agent returned, this time with two ladies wearing CPS badges.

Brannon stood and helped Mai and Kanya to their feet as the CPS ladies hovered over them, ushering them out.

Mai stopped at the door and faced Ms. Thomley. She held up her hands, separating her fingers.

Ms. Thomley gasped. “Ten?”

Mai shook her head. She closed her hands, then opened them. Once, twice.

Thirty other girls.

Wednesday, Midnight

US Marshals Office, Howard Baker Federal Courthouse

Knoxville, Tennessee

“GET ME AN AREA map.” Roark cleared the table of the interrogation room as chaos erupted.

CPS escorted the girls from the courthouse. He didn't worry about them—they'd be kept secure at a safe house. But their tearful separation from Brannon almost ripped Roark's heart from his chest. He probably could have gotten her clearance to go with the girls, but he needed her here. She knew the area better than anyone in the building.

To save the other girls, time was of the essence. Thirty girls . . . right under their noses. He focused on one of the agents. “Take this info to Betty Noslen. See if she'll break and give us the location of the brothel.”

The agent rushed from the room.

Roark spread out the map another FBI agent brought him, then glanced at Brannon. “Where'd you pick them up?”

She leaned over the table, her silky hair spilling over the side of her face. She pointed to a place on the edge of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Everyone hunched over the map.

Roark set his finger on the only town close enough for the girls to have run to the area Brannon indicated. “Townsend.”

One of the FBI agents lifted his cell phone. “We already have agents in the area. I'll get them to check the outlying areas south of the city.”

“Get more teams in the area,” Ms. Thomley added.

Everyone milled about, talking into cell phones or radios. The FBI agents geared up for a full launch, flooding from the courthouse to their office blocks away to arm themselves.

Roark glanced at Brannon. “Guess we'll have to wait to hear how it goes.”

She shot him one of those quirky smiles of hers. “Not really. I happen to have a helicopter close by, and I know the area.” She cocked her head. “Wanna come fly with me?”

THIRTY-TWO

Thursday, 12:25 a.m.

US Marshals Office, Howard Baker Federal Courthouse

Knoxville, Tennessee

BEFORE ROARK COULD ANSWER her, the door to the interrogation room flew open, and an agent rushed inside. “Betty's turned and is talking up a storm. She gave us the location just outside of Townsend.” The younger man couldn't hide the excitement in his voice.

Exhilaration chased anticipation inside Brannon. Soon they'd have the rest of the girls safe.
Please, God, keep them safe until we find them.

The other two FBI agents hurried from the room, filling the hallways with orders to dispatch teams to be on their way to the location. Brannon stood to the side, helpless amid all the activity. What should she do now?

Gerald Demott appeared at her elbow. “The FBI is setting up a base downstairs in the conference room on the first floor. Roark, you need to be there.”

Roark's boss smiled at her. “You need to come as well. So they can take your statement.”

She slowly exhaled. She'd at least get to participate in the outcome. Be in the loop when they rescued the other girls.
Please, God, let no one else be hurt by this ring. Especially no more children.

She nodded and followed Mr. Demott to the elevators, stretching her stride to match Roark's. Walking beside him, a sense of safety flowed from him. She felt secure. It felt . . . right.

“Any news on Lincoln?” Roark motioned her into the elevator car in front of him and his boss.

She checked her cell phone. No missed calls. “Nothing yet. Thanks for pulling strings to let me keep my phone.” Security had tried to nab it, as was courthouse policy, but Roark took her phone and slipped it in his pocket until they'd reached the marshals' office.

“Not a problem. I'm praying Lincoln will be okay.” Again Roark allowed her to precede him and Mr. Demott from the elevator. Then his boss took the lead down the hall.

Again a praying comment. Brannon slowed, letting distance grow between them and Mr. Demott. “Um, Roark?”

“Yeah?”

“I've noticed you've made a couple of references to praying.” It was a statement, but she hoped he'd answer her unasked question.

“Yeah.”

No such luck. He wasn't going to make it easy on her. “I thought you and God weren't on good terms.” She held her breath, willing him to explain without her having to probe further.

“We weren't.” A long pause hung between them. He chuckled. “But I've since seen the error of my wicked ways.”

Something inside her spirit leapt forth. She forced herself to remain calm, even. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“When did this happen?”

He smiled as he opened the door to the conference room for her. “Oh, about the time I prayed for Him to keep a certain lady ranger safe when she was in a shoot-out.”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to discuss the topic further, but they'd walked into a hub of activity. Mr. Demott spoke to an agent who gave Brannon a funny look, then hurried off.

“Someone will be here in a second to get your statement,” Mr. Demott explained. “Roark, head to the back of the room.”

Roark paused, staring at her. Her heartbeat raced under his scrutiny. Her pulse pounded. Time stood still.

“Ms. Callahan?” A young agent stopped in front of them. “If you'll come with me, I'll take your statement across the hall in another conference room.”

Roark gave her a quick wink before rushing toward the back of the area.