Cold Secrets (Cold Justice Book 7) Read online

  “No,” Andrew said slowly. “Don’t draw attention to yourself.” He had other means of tracking down the snitch and making them wish they’d kept their foolish mouth shut.

  “I have to go,” Rabbit said anxiously.

  “Keep me apprised of any developments.” Andrew didn’t raise his voice to threaten or coerce. Rabbit knew the consequences of crossing his family. Death was for the lucky ones.

  * * *

  FBI Agent Ashley Chen followed her colleague Mallory Rooney into the Boston Field Office, hiding her nerves beneath a cool exterior. Tension permeated the atmosphere like acrid smoke and made her chest tighten in much the same way. They passed through security, showed their credentials at the reception desk, grabbed visitor badges, and rode the elevator a few floors. Her pulse ratcheted up a notch as it did every time she entered a new federal facility—a familiar tingle of dread icing her back. The doors opened onto a frenzied hive of activity.

  Less than twenty-four hours ago, a bomb blast had killed four local field agents, three Boston PD SWAT officers, and an as yet undetermined number of victims believed to have been forced into the sex trade. Rescue teams were still searching the rubble, working in tandem with forensic techs. There’d been one miracle—they’d pulled five cops alive from tunnels beneath the buildings. It was more than anyone had dared hope for.

  What had been a routine shakedown of an illegal brothel and a human trafficking operation had turned into one of the deadliest loss of life incidents in US law enforcement history—the deadliest being 9/11. It equaled Waco in terms of the number of FBI agents lost, and it had come from a direction no one had expected.

  The fact that her boss, Lincoln Frazer, had sent two members of BAU-4 to assist spoke volumes as to the importance of this investigation. Murdering federal agents and cops was a sure-fire way to get yourself to the top of the FBI’s Most Wanted list. Right now they were still in the process of trying to identify the three perpetrators who’d escaped.

  She and Mallory approached the bullpen.

  “Where’s the task force leader?” Ashley asked a grim-faced agent who was passing.

  A blonde woman of about fifty raised her head from where she’d been talking to a handful of people crowded around a table.

  “That would be me. SSA Sloan.” Her eyes assessed them rapid-fire as she came to meet them. When she shook hands her grip was warm and firm. “Who you with?”

  “BAU-4,” Mallory answered quickly. “Crimes against adults.”

  As part of the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime—NCAVC—their primary mission was to provide behavioral-based investigative support to various law enforcement agencies around the world. Unit-3 dealt with crimes against children and had also sent an advisor. Unit-1 dealt with bomb related matters—they’d sent an entire team. This was the biggest operation since the Boston marathon bombing in 2013. Everyone wanted to catch these bastards.

  Excitement worked its way along Ashley’s spine. This was her chance to prove herself.

  Mallory indicated Ashley with her right hand. “Agent Chen recently came off a rotation in BAU-2. She’s also a specialist with cybercrime and technology if that’s what you need.”

  “Anything I can do to help,” Ashley offered.

  “You speak Chinese?”

  She’d known there was an Asian element to the crime. She hadn’t known they’d narrowed it down to China.

  “A little Cantonese,” she conceded. “But I’m better with computers.”

  Sloan gave her a measured look and nodded. Ashley saw the doubt in the woman’s eyes and tried not to resent it. She knew she looked younger than the thirty years stated on her birth certificate, but age was irrelevant. It was experience and skill that mattered. Give her a piece of electronic equipment and enough time, and she could not only read the program, she could probably figure out who wrote it. It was one of the advantages of having a father in the tech world who’d taught her C++ along with her ABCs.

  SSA Sloan squinted at Mal. “One of your agents wrote the profile for the Agata Maroulis investigation, correct?”

  Agata Maroulis was a twenty-year-old female from Greece who had answered a job advertisement for the hotel industry two years ago. The girl had flown to the States and had never been heard from again—until she’d walked into a Boston PD precinct just after Christmas and claimed to have escaped from a brothel where she’d been held against her will. Unfortunately, the officer she’d spoken to hadn’t taken her seriously. There’d been a language barrier, and the girl had shown signs of living on the streets and being an addict. The officer had sent her away before detectives could question her. Next time the cops had seen her, she’d been floating face down in the Charles River with a 9-mm slug in the back of her skull.

  “Agent Darsh Singh wrote that profile,” Ashley confirmed. “He’s in the middle of an investigation in Portland or he would have been here, too.”

  “Highly sophisticated people trafficking operation, probably linked to a large organized crime gang. Probably Asian or Russian. Violent. Approach with caution.” Sloan had memorized that basic part of the profile. “He was spot-on with his assessment.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But we don’t actually know the two cases are related,” Ashley reminded the woman.

  Sloan’s lips thinned.

  Darsh was a smart guy in an arena populated by uber capable people. Ashley knew exactly what he’d be thinking if he was here now—it didn’t matter anymore. The profile hadn’t helped catch the perpetrators before they’d killed a lot of people.

  Of all her colleagues, Ashley liked Darsh best. Maybe it was because they were both minorities, and he made off-color jokes about the fact. But she suspected it was more his moral compass that she found so appealing. Darsh was a trained killer, but he was also a good man. And truly good men were hard to find.

  Mallory Rooney was nice, and they could have been friends—if Ashley was ever foolish enough to allow herself such a thing. But Mallory’s fiancé, Alex Parker, bothered Ashley on so many levels she tried to keep her female colleague at a safe distance.

  “Agent Singh mentioned an Agent Sumner was in charge of the Agata Maroulis investigation. Could we talk to him about the case?” Ashley asked.

  “Sumner transferred to headquarters—you can call him but he isn’t at this field office anymore. We have the files, but that investigation stalled for lack of leads.” The SSA’s eyelids were heavy, the skin beneath them puffy and lined. The grimness around her mouth revealed the full weight of responsibility over the deaths of her colleagues, and it wasn’t pretty. She checked her watch. “My SAC wants an update for the mayor in an hour so I don’t have much time.”

  “Where can we set up?” Mallory asked.

  “Follow me.” Sloan led them down a corridor.

  A dark-haired agent stepped out of a side room and closed the door. He wore an expensive navy suit and a blood-red tie. Ashley found her eyes drawn to his broad shoulders and rumpled hair and experienced an unwonted flare of attraction. Must be her penchant for designer clothes and a well-dressed man.

  “Lucas?” Mallory called out.

  The man turned.

  “Mal?” The smile was genuine, but there was an air of exhausted desolation around his eyes.

  “I didn’t know you were on this task force.” Mallory introduced him to Ashley. “Agent Randall is an old friend of mine.” She poked his shoulder. “You’ve been reassigned without telling me?”

  “Nah.” The guy was the epitome of east coast handsome with dark hair and a clean-shaven jaw. There was even a dimple in his chin. But a raw scrape along his cheek spoke of more recent adventures. “I came to Boston a few days ago to follow up on an investigation I’m conducting in Raleigh. I barely got started when Mia Stromberg was abducted and they needed someone to go undercover at short notice.” He shrugged, as if taking on a whole new identity was no big deal. “It made sense to use me.”

  “You were caught up in the explosion? You okay?
” Mallory’s eyes busily reassessed him.

  “I survived.” Unlike other people was the subtext. “Where’s Alex?” He scanned the corridor as if Parker was going to pop out of the woodwork. Ashley wouldn’t put it past the guy.

  “Agent Randall, walk with us and help me get these agents settled.” Sloan continued the update as she headed down the corridor. “The task force has expanded to include members of the Boston Intelligence Branch, the Northeast Innocence Lost Task Force, the Boston Violent Crimes Task Force and North Shore HIDTA—that’s the east coast drug and gang task force, but we have no solid leads on who runs this organization, or even which organization is involved.”

  Ashley was forced to move at a brisk pace that made her glad she’d left her high heels at home.

  They entered a small empty conference room. Ashley set up her laptop while Sloan talked them through the facts so far. “We found the BMW burned out near the railway yard. It was registered to the brothel’s madam, Mae Kwon, who died in the explosion. We are trying to dig up more information on her connections.”

  Agent Randall caught Ashley watching him—and didn’t look away. His eyes were a rich brown ringed with thick black lashes. Intelligence shone from the depths.

  Unnerved, she looked away.

  “The properties were owned by Mae Kwon and a corporation out in the Cayman Islands, probably a shell company, but we have a forensic accountant trying to find out everything he can about whoever set up those accounts and about Mae Kwon herself.”

  “Did the madam report income?” Mallory asked.

  Sloan nodded. “Filed taxes as a rooming house.”

  A wave of repulsion rushed through Ashley at the thought of what really went on there.

  Mallory cleared her throat. “The little girl who was abducted, she survived?”

  “We got her back, Mal.” Agent Randall’s expression softened. “And they hadn’t touched her.”

  Mallory nodded, and they all pretended she didn’t have the sheen of tears in her eyes. Ashley wasn’t sure if it was pregnancy hormones or the subject matter that made the other agent weepy—Mallory’s twin sister had been abducted when she was a little girl. Any crimes involving kids were challenging no matter how you tried to remove yourself emotionally, but they were especially difficult for people like Mallory who’d lived through the nightmare.

  Ashley had her own nightmares to deal with.

  “Did anyone besides the cops survive the explosion? Any of the people forced into prostitution?” she asked. A living witness could tell them a lot about these people and how they operated—which was probably why they’d all been murdered in cold blood.

  “Only Mia Stromberg survived,” Randall told her firmly. “We apprehended one of the johns who gave us the password du jour which got me in the door. His deal included immunity from more questioning and prosecution if the code worked.”

  “You agreed to that?” Ashley asked with disbelief.

  Randall shrugged. “We were trying to get a little girl back before she was violated. We felt it was worth it.”

  “He’s a lawyer,” Sloan cut in. “Slick sonofabitch. We didn’t expect them to blow the place and kill every other goddamned witness.”

  “Did he tell you anything about how he found out about the brothel in the first place, or how he knew the password, or how he paid?” Ashley asked.

  “He gave us a website on the darknet.”

  “Send me the link,” she said excitedly. “I should be able to figure out—”

  “Site’s gone.” Randall’s expression mirrored her frustration.

  She held back a curse. They could have learned so much from that site.

  “From what we’ve ascertained so far,” Sloan continued, “when the women weren’t working, most were kept in several communal dorms in the buildings on either side of the brothel itself. Prelim autopsy reports suggest many were heavily sedated when they died. Many had track lines.”

  “Easier to control workers strung out on drugs,” Ashley said.

  “Whoever rigged the explosives placed them on the ceiling of the rooms directly below where the women slept.” Randall’s tone was one of restrained violence.

  Ashley flinched. That was cold. Minds destroyed, bodies rented for sex, lives eliminated at the first hint of trouble. Treated worse than Old Testament slaves, just a piece of warm flesh to abuse. So much for progress.

  Sloan took over. “From heat signatures before the explosion, we guesstimated about thirty to forty women were kept there.”

  “Can the girl who survived tell us anything useful?” Ashley pushed.

  Sloan shook her head. “She was kept isolated and alone, and was only there for one day.”

  “What about the explosives themselves?” asked Mallory. “What did they give us?”

  “We have bomb squad specialists and BAU-1 examining the explosives. We’ll also send evidence to TEDAC for evaluation.”

  TEDAC was the Terrorist Explosive Device Analytical Center, which examined IEDs from around the world following terrorist attacks.

  “They used C4 and standard demolition blasting caps that we’re trying to trace. They turned off the jammer they used to block cell signals and triggered the bomb with a cell phone as soon as they’d made their escape,” said Sloan. “Agent Randall was lucky to get out alive.”

  “I learned my first Chinese word.” His smile was full of self-deprecating humor. “If someone says ‘char yo’ over and over, it means ‘run.’”

  Ashley eyed the graze on his cheek with renewed interest. The word “zhàyào” meant explosives. “Run” worked as a quick and dirty translation.

  That the bad guys had planned for all eventualities unsettled her. The use of explosives showed extreme ruthlessness and war-like strategy for dealing with law enforcement. Had they done this before? Did they have military experience, or terrorist links? Or had they been caught previously and learned all the things the law could use to convict them?

  “Any priors on the madam?” Ashley tapped her fingers on the tabletop.

  “She was wanted on a visa violation in Canada. We have a request in to the Chinese and Canadian authorities asking for any information they can provide.”

  “She was definitely Chinese?” asked Ashley. Because sometimes people, even smart people, made assumptions about where people came from based on their looks.

  “Correct. The males are of unknown nationality, but had Asian features,” Sloan confirmed. “But we’re looking at all Asian gangs at this point.”

  A flicker of apprehension snaked between heartbeats—but there were 1.4 billion people in China, and roughly thirty-six thousand Chinese or American Chinese in Boston, if you included the ever-growing student population.

  Randall turned to Mallory. “We could use Alex’s expertise on this.”

  Mallory shook her head. “There was a major cyberattack on one of his clients last night. He’s busy trying to identify the attacker and what they got away with.”

  “This is more important than any cyberattack.”

  “How do you know?” Ashley interrupted. “If you don’t know what the hackers were after, how do you know which incident is more important?”

  “Maybe the one that just butchered fifty people including seven law enforcement officials?” Randall’s tone crackled with condemnation, which made her resent the fact she’d found him attractive earlier. “I’m not saying whatever Alex is working on isn’t important, but cyber criminals can wait. These can’t.”

  It pissed her off. Cops often saw cybercrime as a benign act that didn’t really hurt anyone. There was nothing benign in stealing someone’s identity or destroying their credit rating. There was nothing benign in controlling the world’s power grids, banking systems, or economies. Control cyber-technology and you controlled the flow of information for most of the world’s population. And cyber-warfare had already begun. Just ask the Iranians about Stuxnet, or Estonia, Ukraine and Georgia about pissing off the Russians.


  They glared at one another.

  “What evidence do you have that might help us identify these guys?” Mallory asked, cutting through the sudden tension between Ashley and Randall.

  Sloan answered. “Mia Stromberg might be able to ID some of the bad guys—but she’s only eight and in reality didn’t see much. They grabbed her from behind, stuck a hood over her head and knocked her out with a tranq. Her family has been placed in temporary protective custody. Agent Randall got a good look at two of the perps and a glance at the third. Boston PD is processing the BMW for prints and DNA. The victims are awaiting autopsy, but that’s a lot of work for an understaffed unit. A request for assistance has been put out. The bomb site is being scoured thoroughly for any material that might yield DNA or fingerprints. We’re also looking at traffic cams trying to find any good shots of the men’s faces when they were in the BMW. In addition, we have surveillance footage for twelve hours prior to the raid, which we are sifting through. We’re trying to ID some of the johns we got on camera and hope they might provide clues as to how the traffickers found their clientele.”

  “I was hoping to get Alex to look at nearby cell tower data,” Randall added. “See if we can figure out the cell phone numbers for these guys and ID them that way.”

  “Agent Chen is pretty good with technology,” Mallory told the formerly attractive federal agent. “She might be able to help.”

  Randall’s brows pulled together. “No offense, but Alex is the best.”

  He sent her an apologetic look, which she returned with stone. The fact he was right, burned. Alex Parker had an uncanny knack of looking at cellular information and figuring out a perp’s shoe size. She had other skills.

  “We also have the madam’s cell phone,” Sloan admitted.

  “What is it?”

  “An iPhone.”

  Ashley’s head jerked up. “You got in to it?”