Page 36 of Direct Action

“The Vault is under investigation for possible human trafficking. And that was before we knew three employees have gone missing. Two out of those three have been gone over a year. So with that, I’d say it’s safe to strike out the possible part and just say we’re investigating the Vault for trafficking women.”

Human trafficking?

Human.

Trafficking.

And just like that, my tired brain snapped.

Chapter Twelve

“That’s impossible,” Chloe denied with a whisper. She continued on with that whisper but injected a goodly amount of horror. “Human trafficking.”

I glanced at Pete, then Fallon, and finally Gavin. All three were making a study of Chloe’s fast, jerky shakes of her head. Gavin looked like he wanted to intervene but was holding himself back. And I got that; Gavin had a soft touch with women. This had a lot to do with having five sisters. From a young age, it had been drilled into him to take care of them, which he’d done. Something his asshole parents thought he’d failed at. He’d been disowned and cast out, then those same assholes had poisoned his sisters against him. Boiling that down, he carried so much guilt it bled out in many ways. One of those ways was his compulsion to coddle and care for any woman in his orbit. So, yeah, I got why he looked like he was coming out of his skin holding himself back from going to Chloe. The man wasn’t overprotective—he was five steps up from that in a way that made the rest of us look lackadaisical when we were anything but.

However, Chloe wasn’t his to protect.

She was mine.

And the fuck of it was, in an effort to protect her, I had to burst Chloe’s bubble of naivety. Anger swelled, knowing that once that innocence was lost, it was gone forever. There was a difference between being generally aware, and taking precautions to keep yourself safe, and straight-up knowing this shit was happening—especially when it was happening in close proximity and the realization hit that the possibility of danger was upgraded to a probability.

“We’ve got three missing women that says otherwise,” I told her, delaying getting into specifics, still holding out hope she’d agree to quit before I had to lay the heavy on her.

“Poppy works there,” she unnecessarily announced. “She’s been there awhile. There’s no way something like that is going on there or she’d know.”

Sweet, naive Chloe.

“No, baby, she wouldn’t know. Assholes don’t advertise their felonious bullshit. They hide it, and they hide it well.”

“She’d know if—”

Before I could correct her erroneous assumption, Pete got in there and reaffirmed, “She wouldn’t know.”

“Poppy’s smart,” Chloe argued. “There’s no way.”

“How many women do you suppose Poppy’s pulled out of the back of a boxcar in Indonesia?” I asked. “When was the last time she fought back vomiting as she picked a lock to free an abused little girl from a cage, who was too afraid to leave that fucking cage because that was the only place she felt safe?” I ignored Chloe’s wide eyes and continued. “Poppy’s a full-time student and a part-time server. She doesn’t know jack shit. She wouldn’t see a goddamn thing.” The frustrated breath I blew out did nothing to calm my irritation. “Chloe, you working there isn’t safe.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Fallon interjected while staring at his phone. “Jack texted. Poppy’s freaking out. Not only about Cynthia, but she’s been trying to call Chloe for the last hour and she’s not picking up or returning calls. Poppy went to worse case and had a full-on panic attack thinking Chloe had been taken and it was all her fault. So Chloe needs to call her.”

I liked Poppy. She was a hard worker, always showed up on time with a smile, was great with customers and her coworkers. Beyond all of that she was just cool to be around, funny, caring, loyal, and always in a good mood. So I felt like an asshole, but it couldn’t be denied hearing she’d had a panic attack, thinking her friend was missing, was welcomed.

“Shit,” Chloe said, popping up off the couch. “My phone’s in your truck.”

“I’ll get it,” Fallon offered. “Keys?”

Keys.

Right.

I’d tossed them in the general vicinity of the side table by the front door. Where they landed I had no clue.

Gavin obviously did. “Floor, behind the couch.”

Chloe shot me a murderous glare before she gingerly sat back down.

Pete didn’t let the lull go to waste; he rejoined and restarted his questioning. “What do you know about Sterling Blackwell?”

Without missing a beat, Chloe answered, “He’s the alpha dog in his circle. An apex predator. Why do you ask?”