Chapter Thirty-Five
Summer faded and transitioned to fall. For James and Quinn, most of the season was consumed by their task to thwart an assassin hired to kill a high-ranking Montenegrin government official. Fortunately, they were able to expose the nefarious plot, take down the would-be assassin and her benefactors, and still make it to San Diego in time to spend Thanksgiving with Quinn’s family.
Now December had arrived, and James and Quinn were on yet another mission. This one, though, was of a more personal nature. And while a light drizzle fell from the ceiling of low, gray clouds overhead, the less-than-cheery weather failed to dampen Quinn’s soaring spirits.
“Happy anniversary.” Her cheeks were pink and stung with cold, but the hand laced with James’s and buried deep in the pocket of his overcoat was toasty warm.
He shot her brilliant smile. “Happy anniversary.”
“You know what I’m talking about?”
“You wound me deeply, madam,” James said. The twinkle in his eyes belied his outrage. “Of course I know. Exactly two years ago today, I walked into the Westside Library and asked you to help me find out more about a Celtic brooch.”
“I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for Ragnar’s brooch,” she said affectionately. “And please accept my deepest apologies for questioning your romantic integrity.”
He stopped them halfway up the steps that led to the entrance of the Washington State Legislative Building and turned toward her. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her to him. He gave her a kiss that sent heat rolling through her extremities. The kiss ended, but he held her firmly in his embrace. “Apology accepted.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at him and brushed her fingers through the wavy, damp hair at his temple. “I gotta say, you make apologizing extremely enjoyable.”
He puffed out his chest. “I am pretty magnanimous, aren’t I?”
She snorted and bumped his shoulder with a wry smile. “Come on, you.”
They mounted the rest of the steps and entered the building. After flashing their federal identifications at security, they followed the rest of the guests toward the rotunda. Quinn glanced up at the impressively high dome soaring overhead as they ascended the marble steps. A massive bronze Tiffany chandelier hung from the center of the dome. She would never tire of visiting places of such stateliness and beauty.
James and Quinn arrived at the designated area where rows of chairs were lined up facing a wooden podium. Half the seats were already taken. Guests who chose not to sit yet milled around the edges of the seating area. A reporter and cameraman from a local news station were busy setting up at the back.
Quinn’s gaze swept the space, locating exits and uniformed security personnel. She was also searching for familiar faces. She spotted one a short distance away and touched James’s arm. “I see Dave. He’s right over there.” Dave sent them a low-key wave. She returned a similar one in response. “Emily’s here, too.”
They joined Dave and his wife. After greetings, handshakes, and small talk, James asked, “Now that the trafficking ring run by our dearly departed Russian friend has been dismantled, what’s next?”
Intel critical to taking down Borovsky’s empire had come not only from his laptop inside the briefcase recovered from the demolished Pagani, but from Yuri and Dmitri. They’d rolled on everyone they could inside the organization. Quinn wasn’t privy to all the details regarding the deals they’d struck. She was fairly confident if they served any time for their involvement, their families would be protected. For all she knew, the lot of them had been relocated outside of Russia. Odds were good she would never know.
“I’ve been hearing whispers about a small town in Cambodia that forces children to cater to men with deviant proclivities. We’re fixing to check into it sooner than later.”
Quinn swallowed her revulsion and turned to Emily. “It must be hard to have Dave out of the country so much.”
“It is. But knowing what he does and who he helps, it’s worth it.” Emily’s face beamed with excitement. “And thanks to you, he’s taking me to Turks and Caicos this summer.”
Quinn grinned along with her. “I’m so happy for you.” She knew from personal experience growing up as the daughter of a Marine, the sacrifices families made when loved ones were deployed. It gave her an immense amount of pleasure to know Emily would be honored for her unsung role. “Give the conch a try.” Quinn wrinkled her nose and added, “Just not raw.”
“Dave already warned me about that,” Emily said with a quiet laugh. “I think I’ll stick to something a little less exotic.”
“A wise choice,” Quinn said.
A voice over the portable speakers asked guests to take their seats. The two couples sat together. When the sound of feet shuffling and chairs scraping the floor ceased, a man stepped behind the podium and said, “Thank you for coming today and supporting our effort to shine a light on the evil that is human trafficking. We are here to talk about not only what happens in other parts of the world, but what takes place right here in this country.”
The speaker went on to discuss how men, women, and children are stolen, bought, and sold. How they are lured into modern-day slavery and forced into hard labor, child pornography, or prostitution where they are never freed from their “debt.” The statistics were dizzying, and by the time he neared the end of his talk, Quinn wished for a meteor to crash into Earth and destroy them all.
“I know it sounds like the world is nothing but a raging garbage fire,” the speaker said. “And sadly, it seems like the dark, horrible news is all we ever hear. Today, we want you to hear a story of survival, of courage, of selflessness, of compassion, and ultimately, of hope. We are honored to have a remarkable young woman speak to us today. Please welcome Mila Semenov.”
The rotunda echoed with the sound of polite applause. Quinn sat up as straight as possible to get a clear view of Mila as she approached the podium. A lump formed in her throat the second her eyes landed on the teenager. She hadn’t seen her since she and James left her and her siblings at the rehabilitation ranch in Colorado months before.
Mila was beautiful.
Her hair was longer and the color in her face gave her a vitality that had been absent before. And while Mila was obviously nervous, the quiet strength Quinn noted from their first encounter was present.
Eyes glued to the paper on the lectern, Mila hooked a strand of hair behind her ear and said, “My name is Mila and I just turned fifteen.” Her voice was clear, but hesitant. “I’ve never talked in front of a big group of people like this before. But if me telling my story can help others like me and my brother and sister, I’ll do my best.”
Several people in the audience shifted nervously in their seats.
Quinn’s palms turned sweaty with empathic anxiety as she silently cheered Mila on.
Mila’s gaze rose from the podium to the front row before her. A soft, affectionate smile formed. “These are my siblings, Sasha and Ilya.” As she looked at them, Quinn watched Mila’s confidence grow. Her shoulders squared and her startling, clear blue eyes met with those in the audience. “Up until a few months ago, we worked as slaves for a drug dealer in Saint Petersburg, Russia. We worked all day, every day, putting cocaine, heroin, and different kinds of pills in bags for sale on the street. I was also a drug mule, although I didn’t know that was the term at the time. My sister and brother and I were trapped there for two years.”
With a clear, measured voice, Mila told the story of how she and her siblings had been tricked, betrayed, and sold by their cousin and her boyfriend. The room grew as silent as a tomb as she spoke of the fear and despair they’d endured.
Throughout the room, throats gruffly cleared and fingers swiped at watery eyes.
Mila cast a spell over the audience as she told of how she and Pyotr would be sent all over the world to work as domestics and carry drugs back to Russia. She spoke of the guilt she felt for occasionally getting away from the horrible existence in Saint Petersburg while others were stuck inside the dreary flat. “And then, one day, a miracle happened.”
The air seemed to be sucked out of the room as the audience waited.
Mila’s eyes landed on Quinn and locked with hers. “Our guardian angel crawled through a window and promised to rescue us.”
Quinn’s eyes flooded with tears. James covered her hand with his.
Mila’s gaze shifted from Quinn to James to Dave. “It wasn’t right away and it was more like an army of angels, but if it wasn’t for them, my brother, sister, and I wouldn’t be here now.”
She broke eye contact and held the crowd in the palm of her hand as she, without naming names, told the story of the people who’d risked their lives to free them from their captors. She seemed to know instinctively not to speak of the extraordinary flight back to the United States. Instead, she easily moved the story along by talking about Elkhorn Ridge Ranch and its importance to their journey of healing.
Mila smiled at those in the front row again. “We’re back home with our mom and dad now. I don’t think they’re going to let us out of their sight ever again.” A current of quiet laughter rolled through the crowd. Mila paused to listen to a member of the honored front row. She grinned and reported, “Ilya just said, ‘I’m okay with that.’”
Quinn joined the swell of laughter and dabbed her knuckle under her eyes.
When a hush fell over the audience again, Mila shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know if anything I said today was helpful to anybody. I guess I’d just like to say if you can’t climb through windows or go places to save kids like us, support the people who can. Maybe you can help get a ranch or a house set up here in Washington that can help kids once they’re free but still kind of broken. If you can’t, tell other people about what you’ve heard today. You might get them interested in doing something. People won’t know there’s a problem to fix if nobody tells them about it.” She looked around the room and after a beat said, “I guess that’s it. Thanks for listening.”
The room went still, the air charged with electricity. Then, like a clap of thunder, it exploded with applause. As one, the audience rose to their feet.
Mila stepped back from the lectern and gave a little wave to no one in particular before returning to her seat.
The applause eventually subsided and everyone sat. Two more speakers made short speeches, one about policy and funding and the other about fair trade. Both were interesting and informative, but, for obvious reasons, failed to pack the emotional punch of Mila’s.
When the event was over, it was all Quinn could do not to barrel her way through the crowd like a running back to get to Mila, Sasha, and Ilya. But a crush of people surrounded them and Quinn craved quality time. Thirty seconds snatched between well-wishers and the reporter with a microphone wouldn’t do.
James, Quinn, Dave, and Emily stood off to one side and chatted while they waited for the crowd to clear. Amongst their varying topics, Quinn spoke of her recent research regarding the whereabouts of the kids’ cousin, Yana. Her intel indicated that, ironically, Yana was stripping at a club in Moscow. None voiced disappointment to hear the boyfriend, Alexei, was currently incarcerated in Siberia for drug trafficking.
Thirty minutes later, Mila came at Quinn like a heat-seeking missile. They enveloped each other in a crushing embrace.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Mila whispered. “Thank you for coming.”
“We wouldn’t have missed this for anything. I’m so proud of you.”
“I want a hug, too,” Sasha said, tugging at her older sister.
Ilya hadn’t bothered asking. He shoved an arm between Mila and Quinn and squeezed.
With a watery laugh, Quinn released Mila and gave first Ilya and then Sasha proper hugs.
Quinn nearly dissolved into a puddle as she watched them greet James with shorter, but no less heartfelt hugs. James’s glassy eyes made the grip on her emotions even more tenuous.
While the kids hugged Dave and smiled at Emily, their parents, Vasily and Ekaterina, shook hands with James and Quinn.
“We can never repay you for what you did to help bring our children home,” Vasily said, his voice thick and raspy. He wasn’t as tall as Quinn’s father, but the broad build and steely eyes reminded her of him. Vasily cleared his throat in a struggle to maintain his composure.
Ekaterina wasn’t as restrained. Plump tears of gratitude coursed down her face.
“Seeing them here with you is the best repayment possible,” James said.
Quinn lowered her voice. “How are they doing?”
“Still adjusting,” Ekaterina said. “They have only been home for a month. But they are doing well. Katie from Elkhorn Ridge Ranch connected us with a wonderful therapist here. They might even be able to start back to school next fall.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” Quinn said. At the tug on her sleeve, she looked down to see Ilya’s face gazing up at her.
“Can I ask a question?”
Quinn chucked a finger under the boy’s chin. “Of course.”
“Where’s Mother Olga?”
“She’s in prison.”
Ilya’s brow lowered. “Good. She deserves it.”
“And Boss?” Sasha asked, referring to Grigori Yefimov.
“He’s dead.”
Their expressions reminded Quinn of when the three had watched Anatoly expire in the safe house’s backyard. No tears would be shed over their captor’s death.
“What about Gibson Honeycutt and Rhys Townsend?” Mila asked.
Quinn’s eyes slid from Mila to her parents, silently questioning whether or not she should answer. The kids apparently had not seen the tabloids and celebrity websites that had been plastered with headlines and photos covering Townsend’s arrest and subsequent charges. The last thing Quinn wanted to do was open wounds that were now beginning to heal.
Ekaterina nodded.
“Gibson’s father has managed to shield him, so far anyway. Townsend is in jail in Monaco awaiting trial. The investigating magistrate considered him a flight risk, so he was denied bail.”
“What happens to him if he’s found guilty?”
“Since he’s not a citizen of Monaco, he’ll be sent to a French prison to serve his time.”
Mila’s body went rigid with tension. “What happens if he gets away with it?”
“I don’t think that will happen,” Quinn said. She and James were aware of the physical evidence and testimony that had been collected against Townsend. The chances of him being found not guilty were low. “But if it does, he can be charged with drug smuggling in Turks and Caicos. A request to have him extradited has already been filed.”
Mila’s arms crossed in defiance. “I’ll testify against him,” she said without hesitation. “And Gibson Honeycutt, too, if they arrest him.”
Quinn met Mila’s resolute gaze. “So will I.”
After a beat, Dave said, “From the looks on your faces, Townsend had better hope he’s convicted in Monaco. He doesn’t want to come up against you two.”
“As long as he ends up in jail, I don’t care where it is,” Mila said.
Full-throated agreement sounded from everyone.
“Hey, with it so cold and rainy outside,” James said, lightening the mood, “I could go for some warm pie and hot coffee. Who’s with me?”
The positive response was loud and enthusiastic.
Sasha’s face was incandescent with excitement. “Can I have coffee too?” she asked James breathlessly.
James raised his hands as if in surrender. “That’s up to your mom and dad.”
“We’ll get you some hot cocoa,” her mother said.
Vasily winked at his younger daughter and said conspiratorially, “You can have a sip of mine.”
Quinn chuckled and shook her head as the Semenov family hurried off to collect their belongings. When it came to daughters, most dads were complete pushovers. She would know.
The phone in Quinn’s pocket buzzed. She pulled it out far enough to check the caller ID. “Excuse me. I need to answer this.”
James’s forehead creased in silent question.
Quinn squeezed his hand before stepping away and putting the phone to her ear. “Hi, Grandpa. What’s up?”