“I don’t know why they were holding them, but I don’t think it had anything to do with why they were holding me.” Charlie pushed his plate away, most of the food untouched.
Easy scowled. “Lotsa reasons why an organization like Church’s would be grabbing women. None of ’em good.” Murmured agreements went around the table.
“Sounds like human trafficking,” Shane bit out.
Nick raised a hand. “Why do you think there wasn’t a connection, Charlie?”
“I heard them say that the girls in the room where you found me were for Azziz and to put them in storage for a delivery.”
Put them in storage? What kind of sick fuck? “Which brings us back to my interpretation,” Shane said with barely restrained rage. “Did you hear any more about this meeting or who Azziz is while you were with them?”
Charlie shook his head, but his gaze went distant. “Wait,” he blurted out. “Right after they took my fingers—” His gaze cut to Becca’s. “Sorry.” Sadness filtered into her expression. “Um, after that, the one guy got a call. He confirmed a delivery on Wednesday night. I don’t think he said a name, but I was kinda out of it. But he definitely called it a delivery, then, too.” He shrugged.
Shane’s brain turned this new information round and round and teased through the pieces, trying to figure out how they—
“That shit stinks. But as much as I hate to say it, I think you’re right. Whatever’s going on with those women, it doesn’t sound like our battle,” Nick said, heaving a troubled sigh.
Pulling himself from his thoughts, Shane’s gaze whipped toward his former superior. “What?” Nick’s expression was grim. Blood pounded behind Shane’s ears in a thunderous rush, and he surveyed the group until he was sure his words would be calm, measured. “You think we should just leave them there?”
“I don’t think we should. I think we have to, and I resent the hell out of that fact. But we are outmanned, outgunned, and operating around way the hell too many blank spots—”
“Jesus, Nick. De oppresso liber,” Shane spat the Special Forces motto like an accusation, unable to restrain his inner asshole where this topic was concerned. But they’d devoted their lives to freedom for the oppressed, and he had no intention of giving that up because his uniform had been stripped from him.
A storm rolled in behind Rixey’s gaze. “Damnit, Shane. Don’t think for a minute I don’t burn to free anyone those scum might be holding. But there are only five of us. We don’t have the men or resources to take on the world, no matter how righteous those battles might be.”
Beckett sat forward. “Let’s say it is human trafficking. Who are they trading the women to and for what? Plenty of trafficking in Afghanistan. Maybe they’re using the girls to buy off the warlords or grease the wheels with Afghani customs officials. I don’t know. But it might be worth learning more about whatever this delivery is on Wednesday night. How to get the women to safety, if there even are any, is a problem for another day.”
Shane studied Nick’s expression while Beckett laid out his argument and saw the words hitting home. If Shane had come at Nick with logic instead of emotion, maybe the room wouldn’t be so tense right now.
Nick nodded. “Fair point. We’ll add the who, what, when, where, why of that delivery to the list.”
His teammates all nodded, and damn if the regretful expressions they sent his way weren’t a smack in the ass. The guys knew each other’s weaknesses. They had to. So, they knew about Molly, knew Shane had a mile-wide need to save women in trouble, knew it was Shane’s biggest exposed nerve. Which he’d just proven by attacking Nick when he hadn’t deserved an ounce of the grief. Shit.
Shane gave a tight nod. “Then we have to get back inside Confessions. That waitress could be our key,” he said, looking at Nick and thinking about Crystal. Would she know anything about those girls? Christ, was she a victim of trafficking herself? The thought nearly had the food he’d just eaten burning a hole in his gut. “She didn’t give us away, so maybe she’d be willing to help us.”
“You have to go back in?” Becca asked Nick, her fair skin paling to a shade just this side of death.
Nick opened his mouth to respond, but Shane beat him to the punch. “No, not Nick. Me.”
“Shouldn’t be either of you. Not Easy, either,” Beckett said. “You’ve been in there. You could’ve been made. Me or Marz can go,” he said.
Shane pushed up from the table. “No. You know damn well I know how to disguise myself. For whatever reason, she helped me. Twice. Might mean a whole lotta nothing. But she was skittish as hell. If for some reason she saw something in me she could trust, I need to be the one to talk to her again. ASAP.” And not just because Shane was worried about the woman. But if she knew something about this delivery, and Beckett’s argument was right, she could very well lead them to intel that would help them regain their good names and their stolen honor.
“Let him go,” Marz said, shooting a look at Beckett. “He could be right. It’s worth a try. I’ll wire you up, and you can take in more hardware while you’re at it. The devices we planted aren’t doing shit for us. Maybe she could even plant some in the back?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Shane slid the metal folding chair under the makeshift table, glad he’d found a mission-critical reason to check on the woman who had put her neck on the line for him last night. He didn’t need his gut to tell him she was in trouble. She’d all but admitted it. Crystal’s wide eyes, long red hair, and beautifully delicate features came to his mind’s eye, and Shane couldn’t get to her soon enough. “Thanks again for a great meal, Becca.”
The weight of several gazes lit on his back as he crossed the gym to the door, but he paid the sensation no mind. He was doing what they needed done. So what if it also gave him a shot at learning what might be happening to the women who landed in that godforsaken basement?
He crossed the industrial hallway to a door on the other side of the landing, punched a key code into the box at the side, and entered the Rixeys’ apartment. With its brick walls, high ceilings, and exposed ductwork, the space retained the old warehouse’s character, but Jeremy had done a helluva job renovating to make it an inviting place to hang and shoot the shit. Too bad they weren’t here for that.
At the very back of the large apartment, Shane found the no-frills guest room where he’d crashed the past few days. A row of duffels lined one wall, and he rifled through one until he found what he needed. In the hall bathroom, he spiked out his hair with the gel he only ever used for darkening his hair color and, with the right clothes, subtly altering his appearance. It was a testament to his belief in Nick that he’d brought all his guns, equipment, and supplies with him. But six years of living and fighting and bleeding with someone meant you trusted his gut when it sounded the alarm. Simple as.
A few minutes later, he was in black from head to toe. Boots. Jeans. Tee. Holster. Beat-up leather jacket. He slipped the butterfly necklace he always carried into his pocket, tucking it deep so it couldn’t fall out. Back at the mirror, he threw on some shades to see the effect. Nothing like the clean-cut look he’d sported the previous night. He grabbed a fake ID, his Sig Sauer, an earpiece, and a blade, then made to fly.
Anticipation flashed through his veins. If the gang had roughed Crystal up after they rescued Charlie last night, that damage would rest on his shoulders. At least partly. At this point, he couldn’t not go back and check on her. Just his sense of duty at work. What else would it be?
Nick was waiting for him in the living room, ass propped against the back of the couch and ankles and arms crossed. “I don’t like your going in alone.”