A Covert Affair (Deadly Ops #5)(4)
“Have you reported anything to the local police?” Wesley figured he knew the answer but asked anyway.
“Not exactly. I know a few local detectives, but she’s an adult and by all accounts she doesn’t look like a missing person on paper. And my instinct doesn’t count for shit with the cops. Not officially anyway. I’d just come off as an overprotective friend. And before you ask, the check was a cashier’s check with a return address of her condo. I don’t know what happened to her stuff, but it’s not in storage anywhere local that I can find. She quit her job the same way, with a letter. She doesn’t have a boyfriend, wasn’t having any issues with any men, no family, and only a few friends at school. She’d taken a semester off school to earn money, but she was planning on taking a summer class. This just isn’t like her and . . . there’s more.”
Wesley sighed as he heard the garage door opening. Levi would be home now. He figured Selene was giving Faith her bath, since she hadn’t come back to the kitchen. “Tell me.” He nodded at Levi, Selene’s husband and a former operative, as the man stepped into the kitchen. Maybe it was Wesley’s expression, but Levi just nodded once, then headed back to find his wife and daughter. Still, Wesley opened the side door to their kitchen and stepped out onto the porch for privacy.
“I couldn’t let this thing go, so for the past month I’ve done all I can to find more. Turns out there are similar instances of other young women in the same age range who have ‘gone missing.’ Not missing in the technical sense, but they’ve quit their jobs, then fallen off the face of the earth. Completely going off the grid. I’m talking no e-mails, no phone bills, no credit card or bank account use, no rental agreements anywhere, nothing. And the ones I’ve found so far have all ended their rental agreements the same way, with letters worded eerily similarly to the one I received. It could be nothing, but my gut says it’s not. They’ve all got a connection to Bayside Community Center—”
“Bayside?”
“Yeah, you know the place?”
“I know the owner. She’s above reproach.” She was newly married to one of his guys and a sweet woman.
“Maria Cervantes?”
It was O’Reilly now, but Welsey didn’t correct Matias. “Yep.”
Matias let out a breath. “I looked into her as much as I could and she looks clean. She one of yours?”
“More or less.”
“Okay. Regardless, there’s a connection at Bayside, but there could be more links I’m not seeing. I’ve done all I can, but I don’t have the resources you do.”
“Have you asked anyone at the Agency?” Referring to Matias’s former employer.
Matias snorted. “No. I can and might, but I’m asking you first. You have more resources than anyone I know, you don’t care about bullshit red tape, and you’re a friend. I trust you with this.”
“I might not be able to help you.”
“I know.”
Wesley had more questions and he’d get them answered, but for now . . . “Can you send me everything you’ve accumulated so far?”
“Yeah. I’ve saved everything online. I’ve scanned my letter and the copies from the other rental owners. I’ve got everything uploaded to a private file-sharing site.”
He’d been prepared for Wesley’s questions. Good. “Send the info to my personal e-mail. I’ll look at it tonight and let you know what I find.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Miami was a beautiful place to live, but it had a dark underbelly. Drugs, weapons, and women were all sold for the right price. Recently he and one of his teams had helped shut down a huge sex-trafficking ring, but there could be others in Miami. Hell, there probably were. There was a lot of evil in the world, and unfortunately he couldn’t stop it all.
But he was damn sure going to try to help his friend. If the girl was being trafficked, he was going to find her and save her.
Wesley glanced up from his computer as his assistant/super-analyst Karen Stafford half knocked on his open door, already stepping inside. “You got a second?”
He held up a finger, then turned so she could see he had his Bluetooth in. When she started to back out, he shook his head and pointed at one of the cushy chairs in front of his desk. Sleek and polished as always, she nodded and took a seat, setting one of the many tablets she used on her lap. She worked her magic as he hurriedly ended his current call.
As he tapped the earpiece off and slid it out of his ear, he looked at her. “So?”
“So, I know why your friend was a spook for so long. It’s taken us four days and considerable resources and we’ve found thirty-five more women to his fifteen. I can’t believe he discovered fifteen linked women with basically just doing on-the-ground research.”
Wesley wasn’t surprised but didn’t respond, even as his gut tightened. Thirty-five more women? Not good.
“They’ve all got almost identical socioeconomic backgrounds—tough childhood, placed either in the foster system or with relatives instead of their parents for long periods of time, all in the lowest income bracket. None of them are under eighteen or older than twenty-eight. None have a history of drug or substance abuse. They had a tough time growing up, but none of these women are addicts, something I found interesting and noted in my files. Ethnic backgrounds vary, but basically they’re young, healthy, and from the pictures, pretty women.”