Klay was already at the office when Nate arrived. He took the animal remains from Nate, examining them through the plastic bag.

“Not much to tell. You took pictures?” He put the remains in another, less see-through, bag and then into the office freezer. Nate hoped no one opened it; they’d be in for a nasty surprise. “I should probably label that,” Klay muttered before shutting the door.

“Yeah, I’ll send the rest of the images over.”

“Do you think this could be a sick prank?” Klay asked.

“No. I had a flat this morning too. Miguel didn’t say anything, but the tire’d been slashed.”

“Hmm. You and Miguel Ramirez, huh?”

Nate felt himself redden, not from shame but from memories of what they’d done together and how he wanted to do it again. “Yes.”

A wolfish smile crossed Klay’s face. “Others may have called you a monk, but I always thought there was something hidden by your slightly grim exterior.”

Good lord, he’d known they had a nickname for him but never what it was. “Monk? No, never mind.”

 

Klay wanted Nate to try to touch base with Gomez, since the lead Ferreira had been tracking had gone cold. Nate changed into his meth-addict attire, checked out the pickup again, and drove out the long rural road where he had parked over the Fourth of July. He and Klay had pored over every fact about the case… again. There was nothing new. Not even the appearance of an animal corpse on Nate’s doorstep. The traffickers they were trying to pin down had been known to leave “messages” for those who were sniffing around. They speculated that whoever had offed Rosales was aware of the Skagit investigation—or suspected it. Although, Nate had to admit, they had to more than suspect if they’d narrowed it down to specific investigators.

Nate thought it likely a delivery had been diverted or delayed by Rosales’s demise. Rosales had supposedly been notorious for wanting to personally inspect the victims who decided his offer was too good to refuse. It was possible that there was a shipment waiting in limbo. If so, he hoped the information about where they were hadn’t died with Rosales.

Rosales and his team recruited through a circuitous bait and switch; not original, but it worked. Vulnerable people, generally from Central or South America, were solicited with the offer of a better life. They were brought illegally across the US border and then installed in a network of labor camps across rural America.

Conditions in these camps bordered on inhumane. Klay and his team knew this anecdotally, but they hadn’t been able to document it. Workers were treated like prisoners. The mobile homes were always cleaned up by the time the Feds arrived. Maybe not a model of cleanliness and safe working conditions, but nothing like the few victims who’d escaped reported. Gomez was their hope here in Skagit.

Once the victims were worn down physically and mentally by the living conditions and the harsh work in the fields, Rosales would offer a way out: become a working girl or boy. The drugs he offered in exchange made it easier for them to say yes.

Nate tried to make himself comfortable on the truck’s vinyl bench seat while he ran over all the facts again and worried for Gomez’s safety. Her last report had been vague, but he inferred that the death of Rosales, the liaison, had sent nervous rumblings through camp leaders. The Marias had been slipping off alone; possibly to use phones, possibly to try to locate the speculated missing delivery.

Darkness fell, and Nate sat in silence waiting and watching, afraid he would miss something if he looked away. If Gomez was able, she would make contact before midnight. After midnight, guard dogs patrolled the encampment.

He started when a light tap sounded against the passenger side window. Nate expected to see Gomez, even though she was very close to missing curfew. Instead a young Latino boy opened the door and climbed into the truck. He was thin to the point of near emaciation; his hair was wild and tangled, his eyes dark pools of fear. The sharp sound of dogs barking in the distance reached Nate’s ears. It was later than he’d realized.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, the heavy sound of the boy’s (young man’s?) breathing and faintly barking dogs pushing aside the silence inside the truck. The barking dogs meant no Gomez tonight, and his worry for her safety ramped up. Nothing about this case was simple.

He looked over the young man, a second, closer look, and Nate thought it more likely he was in his late teens. He was shivering despite the warm night.

“Please.” His tone and eyes implored Nate. “Please drive.”

“Who sent you?”

“Natalia. She could not leave without danger.” His accent was strong but his English was clear.

“And you could?”

“I could not stay.”

Nate sighed and turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life. Instinct was screaming for him to turn around and try to contact Gomez. Instead she had sent this boy, and Nate needed to find out why. He eased the truck out onto the road, leaving the headlights off until they were several miles away. Turning onto the highway that bisected the acres of farmland, Nate drove until he reached a fast-food restaurant closed for the night. He pulled into the parking lot and called Klay. In the distance a decaying lumber mill, shut down sometime in the 1970s, stood sentinel over the highway and the land surrounding it, a darker black shadow against the night sky.

Klay picked up immediately. “Yes?” Someone needed to teach that man phone manners.

“Change of plan. Gomez sent a messenger.” Nate looked over. “What’s your name?”

“Rafael Possos.” The name was uttered slowly, as if he was unused to speaking it out loud. He was still shivering, arms wrapped around himself protectively. Nate reached behind his seat and handed him a sweatshirt. Rafael took it tentatively.

“Put it on.” Nate whispered. It hung on his small frame. Nate wasn’t a giant by any means, and the sweatshirt looked huge on the young man.

“Possos,” Klay repeated. “Why does that name sound familiar? Never mind, bring him in. I’ll meet you.”

 

“We should probably take him to St. Joe’s.” Klay had been waiting for them when Nate pulled into the secure parking lot behind their building. He was studying Rafael through the window of the truck.

Nate had the same thought; as terrified as Rafael seemed, he’d passed out while Nate drove, slumping against the passenger door, his head lolling back against the seat. He hadn’t stirred when Nate parked and turned the engine off.

“I’ll see if we can get someone to visit us. I’d like to keep this under wraps as much as possible. Jesus Christ, the gossips in this town are worse than Hollywood,” Klay groused.

“Isn’t Joey James—Swanfeldt—a nurse?” Nate ventured.

Klay laughed, and the noise startled Rafael awake. “Calling Joey would be basically telling everyone in Skagit. He has no filter and zero sense of self-preservation. Seth trained as an EMT.” Seth was Klay’s half-brother. “I’ll risk his boyfriend’s wrath. Sacha owes me.”

 

“He is dehydrated, undernourished, and stressed beyond belief. He probably could use an IV to restore fluids,” Seth announced. Klay and Nate had half carried Rafael into a small room where a cot was set up. He was currently sleeping, covered with a light blanket. Seth had gotten him to sip a little water, but he had fallen back to sleep mid-sip.

Nate liked Seth; he was engaging and personable. His partner, on the other hand… Sacha Bolic was intimidating and an ex-US Marshal. He hadn’t said much while Seth looked Rafael over, but now he nodded his chin at Klay and the two of them left the room to talk in the hallway.

Nate sat down on the edge of the cot, which creaked under his weight. Rafael slowly opened his eyes again.

“It’s okay. You’re safe,” Nate murmured, hoping it wasn’t a false promise. They needed to get Gomez out of there. Things could go sideways at any time, especially now that Rafael had escaped.

Rafael nodded, moisture slipping from the corner of his eye. Nate handed him a tissue from a box near the bed. He was about to ask him how he felt when Klay poked his head into the room, gesturing for Nate to join him.

In the hall, Sacha spoke in a low voice. “There were rumors about this when I was undercover. There was a tacit agreement between the two groups to look the other way. Their ‘merchandise’ came from different locations and went to different buyers, so there wasn’t a turf battle as such.” Bolic had been undercover trying to break up a human trafficking ring before he left the Marshals. “They didn’t like each other, though. I’d bet my silver star that, since the Russians left, there is a void the South Americans want to fill. They’re being greedy, and when people are greedy they make mistakes but also are at their most dangerous. Now that Possos has escaped, they will be vigilant.”

“We need to get Gomez out of there.”

“Gomez isn’t going to want to leave until all hope of finding the new connection or the possible victims is lost. Plus, she sent this kid out for a reason. We’ll figure out what it is and be in a better position to act.”

Nate knew Klay was right, but his gut did not rest any easier. He felt like he’d swallowed a lemon, the way his stomach was churning.

Klay’s phone chirped. He walked away down the hall toward his office. “Klay.” Whatever the other person said stopped him in his tracks. “You are fucking kidding me. I don’t know, the kid hasn’t been able to stay awake long enough to form a sentence… Send it.”

Nate approached with caution. “What was that?”

“Ten-year-old Rafael Possos disappeared nine years ago during a family trip to visit his grandparents in La Paz, Bolivia. His American-born mother, Sophia Possos, was a diplomat associated with the Bolivian chargé d’affaires working on an international commission to bring Bolivia within touching distance of international standards on human trafficking. Ransom demands were made but couldn’t be met. Ms. Possos stopped pushing the Bolivian commission for change, but her son was never returned. Quantico is sending an age progression over for us, but I can’t imagine a kid would pull that name out of a hat.”

“Jesus Christ.” Nate couldn’t imagine what Rafael had lived through, assuming it was him. “This is huge.”

“Yeah. Just a sec.” Klay finished the trip to his office and returned with a color printout. At the top of the page was a smiling boy, probably a school photo. He was missing his two top front teeth and wore an impish smile. The age-enhanced picture at the bottom of the page was the young man currently sleeping in their break room, there was no doubt. Nineteen-year-old Rafael Possos had a scar along the left side of his face that his mother might not recognize, and he was underweight and traumatized… it was going to be a hard reunion.

Klay sent Seth and Sacha away. Once the home office was involved, there was no reason for them to be there. Soon enough the office would be full of suits from the East Coast coming to verify Rafael Possos’s existence.

The reappearance of a missing US citizen was going to raise the profile of this operation. Klay felt the team was going to need to move faster if they were going to break this ring. It could be that the traffickers hadn’t known who they had in Rafael. He was too delicate to be questioned yet about where he’d been and who had held him. He might never be able to answer. Nate thought it more than likely that, over the course of a series of exchanges between criminal groups, the knowledge of Rafael’s identity had been lost. Why they hadn’t killed him after the family had been unable to meet ransom demands was a mystery that would probably never be solved.

Neither Klay nor Nate slept, keeping vigil over their charge and taking phone calls. The East Coast was on site by nine. Nate wondered what miracle flight had been procured to get them there so quickly. It was obvious these agents wanted to take control of the case and Rafael, but Klay held his ground. There was shouting, and Nate was glad to be sitting with Rafael instead of with his boss. Rafael was transported to St. Joe’s for observation. “So much for keeping this under wraps,” Klay muttered.

The West Coast field director, Mohammad Azaya, arrived at the hospital minutes after Nate and Klay. Nate knew that the two held a great deal of respect for each other, but it was still a surprise to see Klay—tough guy—give his boss a big hug.

“Agent Richardson,” Azaya greeted Nate.

“Director.”

“Tell me what you know. The family will be arriving in just a few hours; what will we be able to tell them?”

That the team had kicked a hornet’s nest, and now they were waiting for the wasps to swarm out? That’s what Nate knew: that the moment Rafael had escaped, leaving Gomez behind, it had become a waiting game. Whether or not his captors knew who he was, the fact that he had escaped meant something was going to happen. And Gomez would be right in the middle of it.