Abducted in the Keys Read online

  Ange shook her head. “She hasn’t said a word. I picked up a few burgers on the drive over, assuming they’d be starving. The other two ate like it was their last meal, but she only had a few bites.”

  Lauren pointed me in the direction of the coffee, and I headed over and filled up a cup. The warm caffeinated beverage felt good. It had been a long day, and the adrenaline from the fight and subsequent chase was starting to wear off.

  The three of us sat in the small waiting area for a few minutes before the ER doctor stepped out. He told us that they all had drugs in their systems and were suffering from shock. But he added that they’d be alright. The three of them would stay there overnight and the hospital would contact their families and child protective services the following morning.

  We were able to meet with the three girls in the other room. They were still shaken up, but Ange getting them food and their being in a hospital caused them to relax a little. The two blond women thanked me, but the younger girl didn’t say a word. She just walked over, wrapped her arms around my waist, and buried her head in my chest.

  Her subtle but powerful action choked me up a little. It choked up Ange as well.

  “What happens to me now?” she said after a few seconds, speaking for the first time.

  Her voice was soft and innocent. She sniffled and loosened her grip slightly.

  “Now you get to go home,” I said. “Doc says you’ll spend the night here, then they’ll contact your families.”

  She burrowed her head deeper, then brought it back. A few tears streaked down her cheek and she wiped them away with her hands. Her eyes were watery as she looked up at me. We made eye contact for a brief second. She was a beautiful young girl, with vibrant hazel eyes, a few freckles around her nose, and long dark hair. I imagined her getting all dressed up for prom or something. She was probably a popular girl, and was probably about as accustomed to this kind of situation as a fish was to dry land.

  After a quick moment, she turned away and hunched over. I stepped toward her, but she held up a hand while keeping the other pressed to her mouth. It took a few seconds for it to click in my mind. She wasn’t wailing, she was about to hurl.

  “Bathroom?” she said, looking up toward the doctor.

  The nurse came over and ushered her through the door that led out into the hall.

  “That normal?” Ange said, looking at the doctor.

  He nodded.

  “Traumatizing events affect people differently,” he said in an English accent. “But I’ll take another look at her once she’s done.”

  We said goodbye to the two other girls, then headed for the lobby. The double sliding glass doors of the main entrance slid open one at a time, and a police officer walked in. I recognized her instantly as Jane Verona. Jane had been Key West’s sheriff for just over a year. What had started out as a temporary replacement after the murder of the previous sheriff, Charles Wilkes, had been made permanent by a vote not long after.

  A go-getter, Jane was tough as nails and a natural leader. Being a Latina and also being a hard-nosed woman in a line of work dominated by men, she gave off a strong Michelle Rodriguez vibe.

  She gave us the rundown. The dead guy on the dock was taken to the Monroe County Medical Examiner in Marathon. The guy whose leg I’d cracked to pieces was taken into custody for questioning.

  A few other cops arrived as well as a detective, and they took our statements as well as the girls’. Thanks to Jane, we only had to be there for a little over half an hour. Just as she gave us the all good, Jack flip-flopped through the main entrance.

  Before we took off, Jane walked over to us and told us to hold on a second.

  “I just got off the phone with LT Saunders of the Coast Guard,” she said. “He said they’re almost finished inspecting the freighter. Looks like it’s clean. And the crew only remembers your boat, apparently. They don’t remember seeing another boat.”

  I shook my head, not able to believe what I was hearing.

  That’s impossible. The boat disappeared behind the massive ship. There’s no way that the crew didn’t at least see what happened to it.

  I wanted to tell Jane that, but it’d been a long day. I made a quick mental note instead.

  Call LT Saunders in the morning and figure out what happened.

  As much as I wanted to get back out on the water bright and early for round two of lobster roundup, it looked like it would have to wait. I had more important things on the agenda. There was a boat with two armed sex traffickers somewhere near the Keys, and apparently, by some miracle, Jack and I were the only ones who’d seen them.

  SIX

  Earlier That Evening

  The three-hundred-foot long freighter cut through the water at twenty-six knots. Two crewmembers gathered at the starboard railing and fired up the ship’s boat recovery system at the order of their captain. Once powered on, they swung the massive boom out over the water and quickly lowered the slings.

  A radio clipped to one of their waists crackled to life.

  “Are you in position and ready?” a stern, hard voice asked through the speaker.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied.

  “The target will be there soon. Stand by to submerge.”

  The two crewmembers watched as a twenty-three-foot Grady-White flew into view around the bow of the freighter. The small craft was nearly struck and smashed to pieces by the steel monster, clearing the bow by less than a hundred feet.

  The crewmembers lowered the slings the rest of the way. They were wide and weighted, causing them to sink deep enough into the water for the boat to be captured. The unique design of the advanced retrieval system allowed the ship to catch and hoist a boat while moving.

  The boat motored around then accelerated into the sling from behind. Once in place, the pilot gave a thumbs-up and the operators raised them out of the rushing water. The mechanical components hummed along, raising the boat up alongside the main deck. The small boat was in bad shape. The stern was riddled with bullet holes, the windscreen shattered.

  The crewmembers helped the two passengers onto the deck. One was severely injured and immediately carried inside. The remaining passenger, a tall, wide-shouldered guy, stood frozen for a few seconds. The events of the evening piled up and hit him suddenly like a ton of bricks.

  Who the hell were those guys? he thought. And how did this happen?

  The captain of the cargo ship, a lean man in his fifties with gray hair and a permanently focused brow, strode along the deck toward the commotion.

  “What the hell happened, Flynn?” he barked. “Where are the girls?”

  “Those assholes happened,” Flynn replied in a strong Australian accent. “They took them. We barely made it out with our lives.” He paused a moment, looking flustered, then stepped toward the port side. “Where are they? Are they still approaching?”

  “Don’t worry,” the captain said, stopping him with a firm hand. “Our spotlights scared them off. Besides, they are the least of your worries now.” He handed the Aussie a sat phone. “Time to call your boss and explain to him what happened.”

  Flynn grabbed the phone reluctantly. As he stepped toward the railing to make a call and break the bad news, he heard the captain give another order to his nearby crew.

  “Hide the boat in this empty container,” he said. “I expect visitors tonight after that engagement.”

  He’d been having a good day until the snatch team had decided to fuck up their evening. Aside from the hassle of dealing with the Coast Guard, who’d undoubtedly be sent to inspect their ship, he didn’t much care. He’d be paid either way. He’d held up his end of the bargain. If anyone was going to pay for what had happened, it would be the guys who hadn’t done their simple job.

  The captain stomped off toward the bridge, and Flynn dialed the number. As he listened to the rhythmic ringing sound, he wished he’d been the one who’d been shot.

  Then I wouldn’t have to be the one to break the news.


  “This better be good, Sergei,” a commanding Hispanic voice answered.

  “Boss, it’s me,” Flynn said, his voice shaky.

  “Flynn? What the hell are you calling me for? You guys on your way here?”

  Flynn bit hard, then flared his nostrils.

  Here goes nothing.

  “We’re on the ship, but there was a problem at the pickup.” He paused a moment; he could almost feel his boss’s anger through the phone. “We didn’t get the girls.”

  “What do you mean you didn’t get the girls? Where the hell are they?”

  “I don’t know. When we arrived at the dock, the two handlers were dead. And a stranger with a gun fired on us when we approached.”

  “A stranger with a gun? Why didn’t you kill him?”

  “We tried, but he was good. Then another showed up. We took heavy fire. Alberto was shot. We had no choice but to leave.”

  There was a slight pause. Flynn could hear his boss breathing heavily on the other end. Could hear him discussing what to do with people in the room with him.

  “Alright, Flynn, here’s the deal,” his voice came back. Resolute. Like a teacher who’d been pushed over the edge. “I don’t care so much about the two blondes. But the third girl, the one with dark hair. Scarlett. She’s already sold. We had her up on the black market before we nabbed her.” He paused a moment. “It’s a hefty fucking sum. And you’re going to get her back and bring her here. I don’t need to say what will happen to you if you don’t, do I?”

  He didn’t.

  “No, boss. But this girl might still have protection. This guy that came—”

  “I don’t want excuses, Flynn. You find her. You bring her here.”

  He paused again. Flynn could hear the other voices in the background.

  “Duke’s apparently in Southern Florida and he can help you,” the stern voice added. “You can also have two guys for backup. We’ll fly you back to the States as soon as we take care of this little mess you guys just made. Just don’t fuck this up, Flynn. You hear me? No mistakes this time.”

  SEVEN

  Ange and I moved out into the warm evening air alongside Jack and Lauren. He’d parked my black Tacoma 4x4 right beside Lauren’s Sammy. Looking at the Samurai, I didn’t know what was more impressive—how the two bad guys had managed to vanish like Houdini, or how all five of them had managed to cram into the tiny off-road vehicle.

  “Thanks for taking care of the boat,” I said.

  The windows were rolled down slightly, and I reached in to pet Atticus through the passenger side.

  “No problemo, compadre,” he said. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

  I told him that I’d get ahold of the Guard to try and straighten things out. If there were no answers by sunup, I’d take it upon myself to find some.

  They climbed into the Sammy and motored off. Ange pulled herself into the passenger side, trying to hold Atty back as he showered her face with licks. As I moved around the tailgate, I noticed a corner of the tarp in the bed was loose. I’d picked up a quarter-cord of oak firewood earlier that morning from a local friend of ours who’d hauled a trailerful from the mainland. I’d planned to stack them under the house that night to be used in our backyard firepit. But I was too tired. I’d do it in the morning.

  Grabbing the loose corner of the blue tarp, I pulled it tight and tucked it under one of the big logs. Once inside, I started up the six-cylinder engine and drove us out of the lot. My house is on Palmetto Street, just a short drive from the hospital. After pulling into the seashell lot, I shut off the engine and climbed out.

  The house was painted a light gray color with white trim, and since it was on stilts, it was designed to withstand even the strongest hurricanes and tropical storms. The ground level was used for outdoor storage and for our makeshift gym. The second level had a wraparound porch and views of the yard and channel out back.

  We headed upstairs. Atticus smelled something in the driveway, but I coerced him inside with the mention of dinner. After filling his bowl, I headed straight for the master bedroom and crashed on the king-sized bed beside Ange. We were out in seconds, the fatigue of the day taking over.

  I woke up naturally at 0400. I’ve always been an early riser, ever since I can remember. There’s something about the quiet of the early-morning hours that I’ve always enjoyed. It’s a time that I can have to myself, to spend working on me and thinking about what I’m going to do that day.

  I slid quietly out of bed and headed for the walk-in closet. After pulling on a pair of workout shorts and a cutoff shirt, I laced up my running shoes and downed a glass of water before heading out the door.

  The seashell driveway crunched beneath the soles of my shoes as I took off at a slow jog. After about a quarter mile, I felt warmed up. I started the stopwatch on my dive watch, then picked up my speed.

  One of my favorite runs in the world is from my house down to the waterfront, then west along the Florida Keys Heritage Trail to Fort Zachary Taylor. From there, the loop up past the Conch Harbor Marina and back to my house is almost exactly eight miles.

  I don’t like to listen to music when I run. I like to let my senses have their fill. The morning breeze through palm fronds, the soft crashing waves, the soaring gulls, the occasional passing vehicle.

  Sometimes motivating myself through the final portions isn’t easy. That morning, however, all I had to do was think about the events of the previous evening. I pictured the two guys on the dock. I pictured the three helpless women. And I imagined what would’ve happened to them if I hadn’t been there.

  The injustice fueled my resolve to push through the exhaustion. When I reached my mailbox, I clicked the stopwatch and skidded to a stop in my driveway. I bent over with my hands on my knees. My lungs felt like they were about to explode. Air whooshed in and out, and I wiped the sweat from my forehead.

  After a few seconds catching my breath, I glanced at the time. Just under forty-eight minutes. A new personal record, and an average mile time of a few seconds under six minutes.

  With my run checked off, I strolled toward the house. I stretched as I moved, getting myself limber for the rest of the workout. I had a makeshift gym under my house that consisted of a heavy bag, kettlebells, pull-up bars, and battle ropes. I put myself through one of my hardest circuits and pushed through each punch, pull-up, swing, squat, and minute of planks like they were my last.

  When the timer rang out on the final round, I collapsed onto a rubber workout mat. My clothes were drenched in sweat. My heart pounded. I lay there on the mat for a few minutes, then stretched and rose to my feet. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it wasn’t even 0530 yet.

  Hooyah.

  After a shower, I changed into a fresh set of clothes and made a banana, peanut butter, and whey protein shake. Sliding open the glass door, I stepped out onto the second-level porch and looked out over my backyard and channel. The sun was just starting to peek over the distant water and greenery. I took a sip and then quickly downed the rest of it.

  I heard footsteps coming from the living room. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Atticus move right up to the glass, his tail wagging against it. Atticus is hit or miss when it comes to early mornings. Sometimes he joins me on my runs, sometimes he grunts and turns his head around for more sleep. He’d been that way this morning, but now it looked like he’d changed his mind.

  I finished off the rest of the drink, then noticed that part of my railing was chipping off. Moving closer, I slid my finger over it and thought it might be time to sand it down and relacquer it.

  Just as I was about to turn and let my eager dog out, something caught my eye down on the grass. Everything was how we’d left it. The table. The chairs. The firepit.

  The hammock was hanging right where it should be, but there was one problem with it: it wasn’t empty. There was someone asleep inside it.

  A girl.

  EIGHT

  I recognized her instantly as the young girl from the trio t
he previous night. She was sound asleep with her head off to the side, facing the channel. Her hair was a mess from the breeze. It covered most of her face.

  I watched her for about a minute, perplexed.

  Why is she here? And how in the hell did she get here?

  My mind ran through possible scenarios like a nineties secretary fingering through a Rolodex. No one at the hospital would have taken her here, especially without telling us. They’d said she’d stay there until she could be picked up. She must’ve run away. Snuck off in the middle of the night. But how could she have possibly known that this was our house? Key West has a population of around twenty-five thousand. There are hundreds of houses within quick walking distance of the hospital.

  Then it hit me.

  I left my dirty glass on the outdoor table, strode around the side of the house, and made quick work of the stairs. I headed straight for the back of my Tacoma. Leaning over the bed, I looked over the tarp covering the stacks of firewood. Sure enough, one of the edges was loose again. The same one I’d fixed the previous night.

  I lifted it, let go, then directed my gaze toward the backyard.

  Smart girl.

  If she’d been an enemy of mine, I would’ve been caught severely off guard. A year in the islands without getting caught up in the action. Maybe I was getting a little too soft in my tropical paradise.

  I walked around the house to the backyard. She was still sleeping peacefully, swaying slightly in the soft breeze. She was still dressed the same. Dirty clothes with a few tears.

  I stood over her for a few seconds, wondering at her intentions.

  “Good morning,” I said calmly, but loud enough for her to hear me clearly.

  She shifted around and brushed the hair from her face. Our eyes locked for a few seconds, as they had the night before. She looked better. Less scared and well rested.

  It was a nice hammock. Ange had bought it on a trip to Curacao a few years back. We’d slept in it before a few nights ourselves, though never without spraying an absurd amount of bug spray and lighting mosquito-repellent candles. She had a few red marks on her face, though not as many as I’d expected.