Chapter Thirteen

“I don’t understand,” Lacy muttered. This was the big secret? The scary evidence? A video of Rafe’s fiftieth birthday party?

The video on Marlee’s thumb drive looked innocuous enough. And totally boring. Rafe Poindexter had shot some of the footage himself while Marlee shot the rest. They were at his California house in La Jolla with his family. Go figure that one out. Apparently, Marlee and Rafe weren’t the lovers Lacy suspected at all. Either that or they were damned brazen to be at the same party with his wife and daughter.

Birthday banners and balloons decorated the huge outdoor deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean. His pretty wife, Kelly, waved in one scene and blew him a kiss. In another, a blond little girl named Kenzie called him daddy and asked him to pick her up, which he promptly did. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Rafe mugged for the camera with Kelly, their cheeks pressed together while Marlee captured the seemingly happy couple. Marlee interacted with Kelly and Rafe’s only child as if she were a close family friend.

“Boring,” Jamaal said for the eighth or ninth time from the opposite end of the couch. Jake said nothing from where he sat on the floor at Lacy’s knee. The three had watched it play all the way through without seeing anything suspicious or sinister.

“Play it again,” Jake said. So they did. Jamaal yawned, and Lacy had to admit, it was the kind of family video that put everyone to sleep. Poindexter didn’t swear in it. He didn’t threaten or intimidate anyone, either. He fixed Kelly and Marlee an apple martini, and he played peek-a-boo with his daughter, Kenzie. He even snuggled his cute little white schnauzer, Pekoe.

“This video makes him look like father of the year,” Jamaal muttered. “Turn it off.”

“No,” Jake said. “Let it play. We’re missing something.”

Jamaal rolled off his end of the couch and shuffled to the refrigerator. “You got any cold beer in here, Lace?”

“Bottom shelf. Don’t drink them all.”

“You don’t need a beer,” Jake said without looking up from the laptop screen.

“Who are you? My father all of a sudden?” Jamaal asked.

“No, I’m your friend. Remember me, the guy who drags your sorry ass to the clinic every time you drink too much? You know what will happen.”

Jamaal giggled, the can already opened and at his lips. “Pretty soon I’ll have to pee?”

Jake sighed. “Just one.”

The beer disappeared in three swallows. Jamaal smacked his lips, burped a loud one, and opened the refrigerator. “I hear something calling my name. Oh, there you are.”

The video ended. Lacy crossed her arms over her chest, frustrated. She hadn’t expected a puzzle for evidence.

“Can we watch it in slow motion?” Jake asked, his elbows on his knees and his eyes still riveted to the blank screen. The man did have a powerful ability to focus.

“Can we stop watching it and go to sleep?” Jamaal whined, another beer in his big hand. “It’s been a helluva day, and if I’m tired, Miss Lacy’s got to be exhausted. She’s the only one of us been working and runnin’ her pretty backside off.”

Lacy held her breath. Something felt wrong in that perfectly normal video, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “How about if we turn the lights off, close our eyes, and just listen to it while it runs?” she asked. “Maybe our ears will pick up what our eyes are missing.”

“The minute you turn off the lights, I’m going to sleep,” Jamaal grumbled, his fingers wrapped around his third beer. “Unless you two want to join me on the floor and we could have us a threesome?” He lifted his hefty arms and shook his backside like he meant to dance. Or something.

“Knock it off,” Jake growled, finally moving his eyes from the screen to his buddy’s bounteous jiggling butt. “Lacy’s in trouble and you’re not helping.”

“Well, excuse me,” Jamaal ground out, the comedian routine stowed. “Who put you in charge of me?”

“I’m not in charge, but you know how you get when you start drinking.”

“I knows I gets loose, and I gets sexy, and if’n I’m lucky, I gets down,” Jamaal purred as he shimmied across the floor behind the couch, only to moon-dance in reverse once he reached the bathroom door. “Chill out. I got my jive on, but you need to git yours on, too. Want a beer?”

“Are there any left?” Lacy asked. Jamaal seemed to swallow them whole.

“Turn off the lights, Lacy,” Jake said quietly. “Let’s try listening like you suggested. With our eyes closed and our other senses engaged.”

“Don’t do it, Lace,” Jamaal declared, his finger in her face. “I ain’t staying if you turn ’em off. After the day I’ve had, I gots to par-tay!”

She opted for camaraderie instead of confrontation. “If you’re tired why don’t you go sleep in my bed? I won’t mind and—”

“I ain’t really sleepy, Lace, if you catch my drift.” Jamaal waggled his brows. “Will you come sleep with me?”

Jake’s head came up with a snap. “Knock it off.”

“It’s okay. He’s just—” Lacy started to answer, but Jamaal was having none of what Jake was giving him.

“You need to back off, bro,” he growled as he leaned over the back of the couch, pointing an index finger in Jake’s face.

Jake took a deep breath and rose to his feet. The difference between the two men was night and day. Jamaal was big-bellied, thick-necked, and just plain big all over. He easily made two of Jake, whereas Jake stood tall, his build lean and wiry. He looked more like the typical old west gunslinger with a slight bow-legged stance and his jeans riding low on his hips. All he needed was a six-shooter at his side on those hips and a Stetson to go with the glint in his eye. His palms were spread at his side, his right index finger flexing as if searching for a pistol grip.

Lacy climbed out of her corner of the couch. These guys were squaring off, and she didn’t want it to be because of her. “I could make popcorn,” she offered as a last resort.

Jake didn’t back down, but Jamaal’s nose twitched. He stood facing Jake for another long minute before he asked out of the corner of his mouth, “You got butter to go with that popcorn?”

“Butter and sea salt,” she answered quickly, her heart pounding to beat the band. If these two giants decided to go at it…

Jamaal burped and immediately covered his mouth with his fingertips. A silly smile crept over his face. “Oops. I farted.”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Jake rolled his eyes and stabbed a finger in his buddy’s big chest. Honestly. Jamaal had man-boobs all the way around to his back. “You’re drunk. Listen up. If you disrespect my woman one more time, you and me are going to have trouble, you understand?”

Lacy’s ears perked up. My woman?

“Sure, Jake, whatever you say, old buddy and friend,” Jamaal answered, the problem seemingly out of his mind and the last of Lacy’s beers in his mitt. “Miss Lacysure knows how to pick ’em.”

Lacy turned to grin at Jake. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and winked slyly back at her. “Jamaal gets a little rowdy when he drinks. It only takes one. How about we take a break? I’ll help you make popcorn.”

“Sure.” Lacy didn’t need help making popcorn, but if it brought him into the kitchen with her, she was all for it. “I’ve got orange juice if you need something to drink.”

“Nah. Water’s fine,” he said, looking into the cupboard over her sink. “I used to drink as bad as he does. Spent a lot of time being stupid before I figured out it only made me feel worse.”

“Glasses are in the next cupboard over,” she directed him while putting one bag of popcorn in the microwave and attempting to slow her pulse rate. Just having him in the same room was doing crazy things to her body. Crazy wonderful things. His words to Jamaal still burned. My woman.

He filled two glasses with ice from one of her ice trays and topped them off with water. “I expected he’d freak once he woke this afternoon,” Jake confided, the glasses on the counter and his fingers comfortable on her shoulder. “He doesn’t usually do this well in small spaces. At least he’s not drinking whiskey. It’s like poison to him. He can be a mean drunk, mostly because he starts telling everyone how bad it was in the Corps and how grateful everyone should be for guys like him.”

“Well, let’s eat and solve this damn puzzle. I’m ready for bed,” she replied, the popcorn done popping, and who cared about food anymore? Sexual tension arced between her and this wild man from the streets. Every move he made, every seemingly innocuous contact between them sparked her need to be lying beneath him on that bed of hers.

Jake bumped her with his hip, glancing over his shoulder at Jamaal. “I’m sorry I panicked earlier. You wouldn’t mind a little company tonight, would you?” His hand slid down her spine, over the waistband and straight down the seam of her jeans. She held her breath. When those fingers could go no farther, he cupped her ass, squeezing heat into her already overheated and clenching butt muscles, like she needed to be set on fire when she was going up in flames.

Lacy turned into his arms, her mind made up and feverish with need. “It is an awfully big bed.”

Jake wrapped his arms around her, mischief welling up in those gray eyes. “Can you last just a little longer? I’d like another shot at that video, then we’ll, you know.”

Lacy didn’t care what was on that stupid video anymore, but Jake made sense. They’d barely gathered the bowl of popcorn and the drinks when Jamaal declared, “Hey, you guys. Git in here. You gotta see this.”

Lacy stood behind the couch with Jake peering over Jamaal’s back.

“What are you watching?” she asked. An entirely different scene was on the screen, a still shot of some disgusting pornography or something. There weren’t nearly enough sheets to cover that old man’s saggy ass, not in the expose-all position he was in.

Jamaal shrugged. “I don’t know. I just did this.” He snagged the mouse and clicked the cursor twice to open the video file again. Only it didn’t bring up the boring .wmv.file of the Poindexter home this time. The picture on the screen blinked off and a menu box displayed with the two headings: EVIDENCE and 911.

Eight bullets of what looked like surnames with jpg. extensions were displayed beneath the first heading. Wilson. Schwartz. Cummings. Delong. Croyhill. Middleton. O’Grady. Pine. There were no bullets beneath the 911 heading.

“Which one were you looking at?” Jake asked as he came around the couch and sat next to his buddy. Lacy took the cushion on the other side of Jamaal, the popcorn bowl in her lap.

Jamaal positioned the mouse over the first name and clicked the cursor to open the file. “This one right here. Wilson.”

The same disgusting shot flashed back on screen. Whoever the old fart in that photo was, he had an anchor tattooed on his flabby right butt cheek. And he was busy screwing whoever he had in his grip.

“Keep going,” Jake urged, and Jamaal complied. The second picture was full frontal and very recognizable.

“That’s Dylan Schwartz, the governor of California,” Lacy gasped. “Ewww. Gross. Turn it off.”

“Who’s the chick with him?” Jamaal leaned in closer. The naked governor had a naked woman in the crook of his arm while he planted a kiss on her cheek. Her eyes were squeezed shut. She looked too young to be with a man his age.

Each bullet revealed similar shots of naked older men with dark-skinned younger women of Asian heritage. None of the girls looked happy. Despite wearing too much make-up, their eyes were flat, devoid of the skanky come-on gleam of a happy pro on the job.

Jamaal skimmed through the photo shoots quickly until they were lined up in a disgusting matrix on the monitor screen. The final menu item titled 911 was a video clip of a very frightened Marlee Presley sitting on the edge of a bed in a lavish bedroom, facing the camera, and shaking from head to foot.

“In case I wake up dead, I want the world to know that Rafe Poindexter is black mailing all of the governors and politicians on this clip. That’s why he’s got so much clout all of a sudden. That’s why he thinks he can do whatever he wants.” She glanced to her right and then to her left before she continued. “I’m in his house in California right now. If you’re watching this, then something’s already happened to me. Don’t waste time looking for me, because make no mistake. He will kill me if he catches on. Listen. There are more. He keeps all of his blackmail shots in the safe behind the desk in his home office.”

Another fearful glance over her shoulder, another worried look, and Marlee licked her lips. “These little girls aren’t hookers, and they aren’t Americans, either. They’re fresh out of Thailand and they’re scared. They’re part of the virgin trade from Cambodia. Most of them aren’t even fourteen years old yet.” Marlee leaned into the camera. “Please help them. He’s got to be stopped.”

Lacy held her breath. Why was Marlee in the middle of something so awful?

“There’s only one problem,” Marlee whispered, her face closer to the camera now and the sweat on her brow easy to see. “Rafe’s got another file at his office in D.C. that documents where he’s getting the girls and who’s providing them. I’ve seen it. Some guy named Prentiss is behind all this. He runs a private airstrip on the East Coast and he flies back and forth from Thailand all the time. That’s how he gets them into the country. I don’t know who their contact is in Thailand. The only reason I know anything is because Rafe—”

Marlee glanced over her shoulder and called, “Just freshening up in the guest bathroom. Don’t start without me.”

Her last words were hurried. “He’s got balls, I’ll give him that. The dumb ass thinks I’ll help him treat the girls when one of these jerk-offs he sells them to, hurts them. I will, because I care about the girls. You can’t imagine what I’ve seen, but listen. He’s bringing more into the country on December twenty-third. They’re just babies and I don’t know what he does when he’s done with them. I’m afraid he’s killing them. Please, please help! I gotta go.” The video went black.

“Oh, my God, it’s her,” Lacy whispered. “That burned corpse. It’s Marlee.”