His Garden of Bones (Skye Cree Book 4) (25 page)

“Let’s not forget he hit you with a truck,” Skye tossed out.

“So what’s the plan?” Emmett asked.

“We narrow down what it is he used on me and we check the shops around town that cater to that specialty.”

“Now I’m impressed,” Skye stated with a grin.

“Who’s to say he won’t try to weave another spell, this time with more teeth to it?” Josh suggested.

“I don’t want to think about anything stronger than a cargo van or what he used to make you sick.”

A sudden flashback had Josh replaying the scene where he hit the pavement with his head. “Me either. But since Kiya’s missing, maybe he already has.” When he noticed Skye seemed distracted and was no longer paying attention, he added, “What are you thinking?”

“I’ve been kicking around an idea. Is Leo here?”

“Leo’s in the middle of a project for Todd. And Reggie was so blown away at being asked to play Santa, he went out to hunt down a red suit. He plans to wear it to surprise the Fieldings. Uh, we might want to warn Hank and Melina before Reggie shows up at the front door with his Christmas agenda.”

The joke cracked her up and served its purpose. It cut through some of the pressure hanging in the room. “I think it’s adorable if Reggie follows through with that.”

Josh stuck his head into the outer office. “Hey, Winston, got a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

When Winston came into the room, Skye laid out her request in one abrupt statement. “Is there any way you could get me into a chat room as a buyer?”

“What kind of chat room?”

“The kind that sells kids.”

Winston sucked in a breath. “Sure. Once I get you in, what is it you’re looking for exactly?”

“I’m hoping you’ll be able to hijack a dormant buyer account. After that, I’m looking for a steady seller with an IP address somewhere near Lake Union or at least within a five-mile range of that area. If that comes up blank, we look for an alternate IP with a similar account history located farther out, using the lake as the epicenter.”

“Okay. But what if I could do better than that? What if I could give you a phony history that a seller would trust right upfront? A user ID with multiple buys, multiple transactions that went off without a hitch.”

“I love the way you think. That would be fantastic if you could pull it off. Thanks.”

Winston scratched his head. “As my gran would say, it’s more like looking for a needle in a haystack but I’ll give it my best shot.”

“I know you will. And Winston? Remember, I’m looking for that one seller in particular who advertises a local delivery so the buyer has to be within a reasonable driving distance.”

By the look on Winston’s face, the reality of human trafficking was never more real or disgusting. “No problem. Give me fifteen minutes.”

“While Winston’s performing a minor miracle, I’ll go lean on Stockman,” Josh offered. He punched a finger in the air at Emmett. “New strategy. What about contacting the cops back in Pocatello from right here on the phone first before making the trip.” He thumbed a motion toward the outer office. “We have plenty of long distance at your disposal.”

“Why the different tactic?”

“Because if this thing heats up, we may need you right here in Seattle.”

With a half laugh, Emmett cut the tension with a joke. “Then I’ll start by getting what I can out of them while sitting here on my butt. It won’t be the first time I’ve done my best investigative work sitting at a desk.”

Laughter erupted and made for a good way to end to the meeting. Because they each had their assignments, they promised to triangulate their efforts.

Emmett got to work on the phone, dialing up the authorities out of state.

Josh headed out to wheedle more info out of Stockman.

And with Winston’s help, Skye spent her Friday afternoon entering the online world of sex trafficking. The young hacker had located an inactive account with the kind of history they were looking for, one she could use to pose as a buyer named Reinhold Tannenbaum.

Peering over his shoulder, she gaped at the ID. “Tannenbaum? You’re kidding?”

“In honor of Christmas. Appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You’re a wonder, Winston, a pure wonder.”

Pleased, the young man lapped up the praise like a sponge. “Looks like it’s an account north of here in British Columbia. It would still work. The drive from Vancouver to Seattle for a local pick up is only three hours at most. The ID was created two years ago in the hopes of buying a twelve-year-old girl in the Seattle area.”

A sickening feeling settled in Skye’s stomach. “A horrible thought but one I need to take advantage of at the moment. You’re coming to our Christmas party on the twenty-fourth, right?” Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she started a new thread in the forum, determined to engage the other members in a wordy dialogue using as many catch phrases as she could think to type.

“I’m not much of a party-goer.”

“Come on. Everyone else is coming. You could bring a date.”

“Girls don’t exactly find me all that attractive,” Winston admitted from a few feet away. Sitting in front of his own screen monitoring the chat, he added, “It’s hard to believe these guys could be this vile with children.”

“I’ve seen worse but not by much. This is the dark side of the web no one wants to talk about much.”

“I’m pretty sure I could write a program to track these trafficking rings starting with this particular website.”

Skye’s fingers stopped in mid-composing. “Winston, have I told you lately that you’re my hero?”

He grinned and adjusted his glasses. “I’ve never been anyone’s hero before.”

“You are now.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down. “You track this website for other buyers and I’ll see to it that a certain cute tester named Rhonda Braddock shows up at the party solo. What do you say?”

“Really? You could do that?”

“You bet. But after I get her there, it’s up to you to wow Rhonda.”

W
hile Skye and Josh coordinated their energies ramping up assignments for the contingent of volunteers, the workweek came to a close for Dillard Barstow.

Friday afternoon found him drifting further into crisis mode. He found it difficult to function without Oreias.

Without the panther at his side, who would be left to take on the white wolf when it came to that?

He’d had almost a week to dwell on the fact that he’d boggled the whole baby thing. Failure had never sat well with him. He also had to admit he’d underestimated Skye Cree’s dogged persistence. Aside from the botched abduction, his magic had failed to stop the white wolf. The spell had slowed Ander down somewhat, zapped his strength, but had done little to end him. He feared his second attempt had been just as ineffective. Destroying Kiya hadn’t been the main objective. Killing the dog and bringing it to his enemy’s door was supposed to weaken an adversary.

His grandmother would not have approved.

To be outdone by members of a Nez Perce tribe, savages really, left him feeling disappointed and humiliated.

On top of knowing Skye’s people had managed to somehow counter the ancient curse, Josh Ander’s release from the hospital had sent Dillard crashing into a minefield of past disasters. The combination of all those things had sent him reeling. The idea of failing at anything had always made him angry.

To boost his spirits, he pawed through his trophies—an assortment of earrings, bracelets, driver’s licenses, wallets, handbags, and datebooks. Unlike before, even those failed to make him feel any better.

That left only one place to find solace. He opened his computer.

As he so often did on bad days, Dillard rallied people online in the chat rooms he frequented. Logging into his favorite website as a seller, using the ID King Oreias, he encountered a few hostile buyers. Stalling the ones he’d left dangling since Thanksgiving.

Putting them off wasn’t something that gave him the slightest tugs of guilt. He had to remind himself he couldn’t always be everything to everyone. But since he was good at coming up with a string of excuses faster than a used car salesman, he’d withstand the complaints.

Someone named Reinhold Tannenbaum wanted a Christmas delivery. Since Tannenbaum’s request wasn’t something Dillard could fulfill in the near future, he replied with a polite apology.

But turning down the business had a profound negative effect. No doubt, he’d miss the money. The extra cash always made him feel like a winner.

As he sat there, the walls kept closing in, which signaled that it was time to replace the failure of the botched kidnapping with action, an action that would garner a win in the victory column.

He went into the bedroom, took out his makeup case. With a great deal of care he applied the foundation to his face and neck, taking extra time around the eyes. This had always been his favorite part. Being able to decorate and highlight his best feature had always given him a rush.

He applied light blue eye shadow first, followed by eyeliner and then black mascara. When it came time to do his hair, he brushed his latest weave, donned the memory cap he’d paid extra for and adjusted the high-quality wig onto his head.

Inside his closet, he pulled out a white buttoned-down shirt and his best red jacket to wear over it. The bold fabric might stray from the traditional tan or black, but then a girl couldn’t be expected to wear the same boring colors over and over again. Besides, just because he had to look the part didn’t mean he couldn’t dress with a little pop and sizzle. And with his olive skin tone, he looked good in red.

Pulling on a pair of tan, hip-hugging jodhpurs and the black riding boots he’d stopped to purchase yesterday completed the desired look.

Checking his image in the mirror he decided the costume made him look like a stunning, wealthy woman in her late twenties who rode horses regularly and loved competing in the sport.

“Today I’m Justine,” Dillard said with a toss of his long hair and twirled in girlish fashion. “How do I look?”

The voice inside his head answered as Justine. “You look mah-velous, as always. See, you don’t need that stupid panther to get the job done. You never did. Oreias was never your strength. Thinking like that gave you a false sense of power. All this time it was Tiffany and me looking out for you. Tiffany and Justine will take care of you. You’ll see.”

In an imitation female tone, Dillard fawned, “I like it when you’re nice to me.”

“You do a good job today and you’ll be rewarded,” Justine promised. “Remember there’s no need for a hunt today. That means no need for one of your silly childish ceremonies.”

“But I miss the ritual,” Dillard admitted.

“There’s no need for it,” Justine repeated. “Without any effort at all you already know exactly where to find your quarry.”

And with that, Dillard/Justine prepared to bring home a win.

Chenoa Starr’s horse
farm sat on twelve acres located down a winding road that led to a charming little cottage. By the looks of the place, the owner obviously spent more coin on the state-of-the-art equestrian facilities that came with the property than upkeep for her personal quarters. The house could’ve used a new shingle or two on the roof and a coat of fresh paint.

But the barn was in prime condition along with all the other outbuildings. Dillard recognized the new tack room, a testament that his first impression had been correct. With Chenoa, the horses came first.

As Dillard drove his Yukon Denali past the corral, he took note of the four magnificent mares in the covered paddock. The animals strutted around the arena, spirited and looking well fed.

A pity she’d never get to ride them again, he thought as he brought the vehicle to a stop. Scanning the rolling countryside that made up Chenoa’s backdrop, he decided she had the place all to herself.

The woman who stood inside the pen waved at him in greeting. She was dressed much like he’d dressed, in riding boots and breeches. He could see her warm exotic eyes, high cheekbones and raven black hair. Those features reminded him so much of Skye Cree it was eerie, which of course, made today all the more thrilling.

Dillard waved back before getting out of the SUV. “I take it I have the right place. You’re the one who has the mare for sale, right?” Dillard said in a raised, raspy voice.

By this time the striking woman known as Chenoa Starr had closed the distance and made her way over the pebbled walkway to the Yukon. “Indeed I do. And you must be Justine Barstow.”

“That’s me. My mama and daddy always said I had a knack with animals, especially horses.” But at the words “mama and daddy,” a memory flashed from childhood. The whip came down hard on Dillard’s back. Pain seared him like a torch burning his skin. Like a beaten animal he cowered trying to avoid the blows.

Justine lowered her lashes—or was he supposed to be Tiffany today. Confused, his female counterparts dissolved and all but disappeared as Dillard resurfaced with a harder, meaner mindset than before.

From the handbag he carried, Dillard pulled out a small, handheld stun gun. He quickly held it up to Chenoa’s neck even as she tried to back away from what she now realized was a man and not the female she’d believed wanted to buy one of her horses.

But Chenoa’s recognition came too late. Before she could get away, Dillard discharged the voltage into her body with enough force to stop her from running. The energy from the gun might not have the power to take her down all the way, but it would give him the seconds he needed to gain control. And the fist to the woman’s face took care of the doubt.

Dillard dragged Chenoa to the back of the SUV, picked her up like a rag doll and tossed her into the back. He took out a syringe full of the muscle relaxant, pipecuronium bromide, and plunged the needle into her shoulder.

Once he settled behind the wheel, he gunned the engine and did a sharp left turn to get as far away from the ranch as he could. Because he needed to whisk Chenoa out of the area before the drug wore off, he headed for the marina and his boat.

As soon as he reached the highway, he started shedding his disguise. The wig came off first. Next, he grabbed the box of tissues to wipe off the makeup he’d so carefully applied only ninety minutes earlier.

A sense of accomplishment had him feeling smug. He’d show Justine and Tiffany he wasn’t as inept as they’d always thought. Exhilarated, he made the mistake of glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror—and caught sight of the broken boy he’d been at fourteen. Sudden rage engulfed him, followed by a strong sense of teenage doubt.

“You fool,” Tiffany called out. “It’s too early to get rid of your disguise.”

“Shut up,” Dillard screamed into the car. “Shut up! I’m doing the best I can.”

But his alter egos were having none of his excuses. Justine and Tiffany joined together in censure. The two females echoed back, “When has your best ever been good enough? Don’t you know by now you’re an idiot?”