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  He tried not to let how that affected him show. “I understand that. Maybe we could be friends.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Look, here’s the deal—I don’t do family all that great. I got Carrie, and we had a great thing going between us. And Sebastian is awesome with her. But he changed things. I’m pretty good at taking care of Carrie, but she has him now. And I get that.”

  “And change sucks.”

  “I’m not like the Brockmans. They do Brady Bunch like we do Cheerios for breakfast.” She leaned up and rested her arms on his desktop. She had at least two dozen silver bracelets shaped like cats and dogs running up her arms. She’d always loved dogs. “Well, except for Mick. I’m not sure what his deal is.”

  “Big bastard how you found out?”

  “I’m pretty certain he’s legitimate. He felt I needed to know.” She snorted. “Mr. Perfect. Bad choice of bodyguards you made there. He’s the one man I know who is totally honest. And a big stickler for every rule. Can’t stand the man. Why on earth did you choose him?”

  “Called in a debt. Matter of honor?”

  She stared at him for a moment. “Excuse me?”

  “His sister. He said if I ever needed anything, just ask. And I needed someone who I could trust, and who had a vested interest in keeping you safe.”

  “So you chose him? Wow. Bad decision there.”

  “I get that now.” He’d be kicking Brockman’s ass soon as he got a chance. Why hadn’t the idiot kept this quiet? “But I needed someone.”

  “Yeah, well. Big doofus can’t keep a secret for anything. Not where I’m concerned. He likes being a pain in my ass.” She looked at him. Her hair fell in her face and she pushed it away. He darted a hand across the desk and pulled her arm down. She yanked her hand back. It didn’t matter. He’d seen the scars. “No big deal. Nasty foster home. No questions, got me?”

  “I have a few scars of my own.”

  “Think we should just agree to keep the Band-Aids on them for a while.” She stared at him. Made him want to squirm. “This is crazy shit, isn’t it?”

  “That’s a good way to put it.”

  “So Big Bubba said there’s trouble coming our way. What’s up with that?” Her expression turned more serious.

  “I’ve stumbled—hell, I’ve jumped—right into the middle of a human trafficking ring operating here in St. Louis. I’ve turned over everything I have—mostly—to Brockman. But whomever is responsible has found out about you. And about Payton. I’ll not have either one of you threatened.” He leveled a look at his little sister. “There are only a handful of people in this world that I care about at all. You and Payton top that list. And Cody. I’ve already given her the word to get herself and her kid out of town for a while.”

  “Wow. How did you manage this?”

  “Let’s just say I have a particular hatred for those who buy and sell children.”

  She stared at him. He stared back. They both knew the truth.

  They’d been sold, too.

  Finally she spoke. “I’m not sure if I am glad you found me or not.”

  “I can get that.”

  “My main concern is Payton. She’s…my friend. I don’t want her hurt.”

  He looked at her, this little sister he didn’t know. “I love her. I don’t ever want her hurt, either. And through my stupidity, I put her right in the way of these people. I need to keep her safe. I’ll go crazy if I can’t.”

  “Then you’ll let me—PAVAD, us, even Mick—help you do just that."

  ***

  Payton watched Luc lead Paige to his home office. She hurt for them both, so much. And everything was happening so much more quickly than she’d expected.

  Al hugged her. “It’ll work out. Things usually do.”

  Yeah, Al could certainly say that right now.

  “I’m not exactly certain what I’m supposed to be doing now.”

  “Now you find some drinks and food and then we’ll figure this all out together,” Al’s sister-in-law said. Payton knew her mostly through Al and Paige, and she was touched by the compassion in the woman’s eyes.

  Payton retreated to the kitchen at the other end of the house.

  Luc's kitchen was almost as familiar as her own by now. She hadn't been comfortable having someone prepare all of her meals, so she’d taken him up on the offer to make herself at home in his monster of a kitchen. She busied herself grabbing a tray and refreshments. Luc had a killer stash of Oreos and potato chips, at least, to go with his soda fountain.

  Paige followed her. "Did you know who he was?"

  Payton had expected the questions. "Not at first. I figured it out after we—you...I mean, that night. The night Al was shot."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I couldn't. He asked me not to, and I didn't know what to do. And I didn't want to hurt you."

  "I get it. You were sleeping with him, and there has to be some loyalty there." But her hurt was still there in the eyes as dark as her brother's. Payton hurt for her friend—she hurt for both of them for what had happened when they were just children.

  There really was evil in the world, wasn't there?

  "Paige, I care about both of you. And I think Luc was afraid to tell you."

  "Him? He's like Superman. I don't think he's afraid of anything."

  "Because he loves you—he does, trust me on that. And love can make you so very vulnerable. Especially to rejection."

  "Yeah, I get that." Paige nipped an Oreo from the tray. "And I do understand where you were, Payton. But what am I—we—supposed to do now? I'm way too old to have a big brother now, aren't I?"

  Payton thought of her own seven older brothers with a strong pang of longing. She loved each and every one of them, and knew they all felt the same.

  Poor Paige, and poor Luc. "Maybe. But there's no reason you can't be friends, is there?"

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Paige left and Luc knew what was expected of him, but he didn’t feel like an amiable host. He felt raw, like everything he was had now been exposed. This was why he didn’t do people. Too much hurt involved.

  He needed Payton. He found her in the midst of her people. They were a diverse group—and loud. And more had arrived while he was in his office—his sister’s team leader and his wife.

  The dogs flanked Payton as she stood in the middle of her colleagues. Their allegiance to her no longer surprised him. He felt the same way. She looked up when she sensed him near and smiled, her expression understanding and welcoming. Right. He walked toward her, slowly.

  “Ok, Davie,” Paige said, sitting on the couch next to Carrie Lorcan. “This is your show.”

  Payton’s fingers wrapped around his.

  Luc sat, and pulled her down on the loveseat beside him. “Eight years ago I stumbled into a ring of assholes who thought nothing of selling young women and girls. Young boys, as well. In all that time I’ve never gotten close enough to identify the people. Until now. I have one company that I’ve been seriously looking at, and I think I’m on the right track. I’m assuming you all know about the threats?”

  He told them everything, ending with the text message he’d received at the barbeque.

  Mick took over after that. “Carrie, if you could help out by tracking the text and photos? Al and Seth, dig into this company’s finances. Everybody else—maybe we can build a profile of the key players.”

  Two hours later Luc studied the files and notes that Al was making on the whiteboard he’d had Chase drag out of his office.

  “I’m tired of reinventing the wheel here,” Al’s sister-in-law said, tapping a stack of papers against his coffee table. “You’re certain it’s this company?”

  “Trails keep leading back to them. There are actually six companies that I keep running into, but when I dug into those companies, I realized that five were owned by the same parent company. Buenavista Holdings. They own Tri-Bridge Shipping and the rest. The sixth company is just a little start up that I’m al
most certain is in the clear.”

  Carrie Lorcan’s computers started beeping. It had taken him a few moments earlier to get over how fast and how well the computer spoke to itself. Some seriously nice programing there.

  He’d be making Carrie another offer when this was all over.

  “I’ve found something.” Carrie checked her screen. “Tri-Bridge Shipping. The burn phone was purchased in a lot by Tri-Bridge. That’s Buenavista, isn’t it?”

  “We’ve tangled before. They’re not as green as LT would prefer. And I’ve found girls—victims—on their property in recent months. Eighteen within the last year at various stash houses. But I can’t figure out who it is. I don’t have that kind of access. I was going to turn over what I had, but the threats precipitated things.”

  “The patterns are there, and with the phone, we may have enough for a warrant. If we find a nice judge,” Malachi Brockman said. “But I’ll admit, it’s weak. Unless we can get a confession.”

  An hour later the warrant was granted by a judge who apparently owed Ed Dennis a favor. Luc marveled at how quickly the people around him operated. They’d accomplished more in a few hours than he had in two years.

  He should have turned over what he had years ago. He couldn’t do everything himself anymore.

  The computer beeped again. Carrie checked it. “Immigration and Customs Enforcement is apparently investigating them, too.”

  “I’ve got a few contacts with ICE. I’ll make a few phone calls,” Seth said.

  Another hour passed.

  Payton fell asleep on his couch. Luc watched her for a long time while running his fingers through her hair. The others plotted and debated around him. It wasn’t in his hands anymore—it was theirs. He was just the instrument of provocation.

  Thank God.

  He felt as if a huge weight was finally off of his back. Seth’s phone rang and Luc’s attention was diverted away from the woman beside him.

  “So that’s it, then?” Mick said. Growled. Did the guy always sound like that? “We’ll meet up with Seth’s friends from ICE, serve the warrants, and then see what we get.”

  “I’m going with you. I won’t get in the way. But this is something I need to see, do.”

  “Luc…” Payton was the first to protest.

  “Sweetheart, once this is finished you and I have things to plan. So…when are we going?”

  “ICE will meet us in ninety minutes. They need to get themselves in position.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Mick took Lucas along with him as a courtesy. Figured the guy had invested some serious cash and time into finding these bastards. It was the least the FBI could do.

  “You stay with me.” He and Lucas were in his vehicle. Mick had insisted the bodyguards remain behind. Lucas had seconded that command, ordering his men to stay with Dr. Asher and Daviess.

  She hadn’t liked being excluded, but Mick wasn’t allowing her to accompany them. Not with personal threats against her. It just wasn’t happening.

  “I’m not keen on getting in the way. I’m ready for this to be over and finished. I have plans for the future.”

  “I bet you do. You and Asher serious now?”

  “As can be. She just needs a bit more convincing.”

  Braver man than him, Lucas was. Mick would never be that serious about a woman again. That way lay only trouble.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re being met by ICE. We’re serving joint warrants—they have arrest warrants for their case. We don’t; we have a search warrant for the homes and businesses.”

  “I’ll just stay back and let you do your work.”

  “Let ICE do the work. And the grunts. I’m supervising, so you’ll stay with me.” He wasn’t expecting much—and it was PAVAD policy not to interfere with other agencies unless absolutely necessary.

  He was only certain this was necessary because of Daviess’ peripheral involvement. Had a PAVAD agent not been directly threatened, Mick wouldn’t have even brought this to Ed Dennis’s attention, like he had.

  He’d have just turned it over to Immigration and Customs Enforcement, while keeping a security detail assigned to Lucas in the meantime.

  But with Daviess being threatened, he and Ed Dennis agreed that no chances would be taken.

  Mick wasn’t expecting much—just serving warrants and letting it be known to ICE that PAVAD wanted a chance to speak to all the players. Tie up loose ends, that was all.

  But had ICE not already been involved, PAVAD would be the ones making these arrests. When Mick thought of what Lucas had told him about the young girls he’d rescued, Mick wished it was his case completely. Wished he’d get first crack at these bastards, rather than last.

  But that wasn’t the way it was.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Lucas had been to the Buenavista home on at least one occasion. He hadn't realized the entire family lived in one place. The three Buenavista men were at least in their twenties or older.

  Two were involved, heavily, with Tri-Bridge, but the youngest was in med school or something.

  He' never found anything specifically to connect the any of the three to the trafficking ring; they'd done one hell of a job hiding those ties somehow.

  A team from ICE was already in the process of serving their warrants. Luc had been the subject of a few search warrants himself, but he felt no compassion or pity for these people. They were monsters, all of them.

  Their mother stood at the front door, half-screaming obscenities in her cell. Luc pitied that person. He'd not heard language like that out of a woman in years—at least since he was living on the streets. Wow.

  Mick Brockman handled the niceties with the ICE agents, but to Luc it looked like just a bunch of movers taking an office apart. Computers, file boxes, videos and dvds, all were carried to two large vans parked in the winding drive in front of the Buenavista home.

  To Luc it wasn't anything exciting or special. It was just over.

  He spent the next four hours with Brockman, watching as evidence was dragged out of the Buenavista home, Tri-Bridge, and the small penthouse apartment at the top of the Tri-Bridge building.

  He didn't feel triumphant or anything like that. His mind kept replaying the faces of the victims he'd helped, ending with little Lucy.

  Eight years of his life had been devoted to finding these people, and there they stood. Not a one of them looked the least bit afraid—or contrite.

  To them it was just business, wasn't it?

  It sickened him. He needed Payton. Needed her bad.

  He turned to Brockman. "I need out of here. I can't do this anymore. I'm finished with these people completely."

  Luc stopped just inside the guestroom. She slept, curled under an old quilt. It wasn’t his; he wasn’t the type for quilts decorated in rings of blue and white. Silk duvets were more his style.

  He stood where he was for ten minutes. Twenty. He lost track, never really kept it. All he’d ever longed for since he was old enough to yearn was in that bed, under that quilt.

  He needed her. So much that the very thought of that vulnerability in himself had the breath skipping from his chest. He had a fist lodged next to his heart, stealing the space the damned organ needed to work.

  Finally, as quietly as he could to keep from waking her, he stepped over to the bed. There was a small window in the room, cut directly into the steel container that formed the outer wall of the room. Enough moonlight made its way into the room to just highlight the paleness of her hair, her skin against the green silk her headed rested on. He favored silk in his house, and most was dark in color.

  Like his damned soul.

  She shifted on the bed. He dragged in a deep breath; he hadn’t wanted to wake her. “Luc? What’s wrong?”

  Nothing. Everything. What was wrong was that he…needed…her. “I…”

  “What time is it?”

  “Around six.” She’d left him in the living room two hours ago. He’d sat there an
d thought of what she’d said before they’d turned to dealing with the human trafficking. Could he do it? Had he ever been fully honest with a woman he cared about?

  He didn’t think so. Because he didn’t think he’d ever cared about a woman like this. Was it like this for all men, when they fell for a woman? He could remember Manny going on and on about women. For all his charms, Manny had some antiquated ideas about females. Or at least, Luc had always assumed so.

  Treat your woman right, when you find her. Had been one of Manny’s favorites. So had hold on tight; there’s nothing worse than losing your woman when you find her.

  Luc had discounted Manny’s advice as that of an old devout Catholic, raised by extremely strict parents. Manny had been old-school, in everything, and Luc had often butted heads with his guardian over the ideas. To Manny, sex had equated love.

  Luc had never believed in that kind of love. He did believe Manny had loved his late wife, but he wasn’t certain. Manny hadn’t offered the information; Luc hadn’t asked.

  “Have you slept at all?”

  “I’m good.”

  She sat up, and the blanket fell back. She wore a big t-shirt with the Cards logo emblazoned across her breasts. Her hair was tangled. “What do you need, Luc?”

  “Yes.” Need. Four simple letters that summed up everything right there.

  “That’s not an answer.” She reached over and flipped on the small lamp. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He just stared at her, wanting to burn her image into his mind forever.

  “Then what are you doing in here?”

  “I…” Honesty; she needed honesty. “I need you.”

  “How? What’s wrong now?”

  “Why does anything have to be wrong?”

  “You’re standing over me, staring, two hours after we—I—went to bed. What is it?” She flipped the quilt back and started to stand. He stepped closer, and wrapped a hand in that tangled hair. He tilted her head back, exposing her neck. He brushed a quick kiss against her pulse. Her heart rate sped up. “Luc! I thought we…”