CHAPTER ONE
​​
A light tap tap on Charlotte Cavanaugh’s open office door drew her attention away from the documents she was reviewing. Mitzi, one of the admins on the party committee, stood in the doorway. She held a white envelope and had a somewhat sheepish look on her face.
​
Charlotte instantly knew what that meant.
​
“Let me guess, it’s someone’s birthday?” She rolled her chair toward her credenza, opened it, and pulled her wallet from her messenger bag.
​
“Not quite—Mike is retiring.” She laughed. “Friday is his last day and I thought it would be nice to get him a cake.”
​
“Really?” She snapped open her wallet and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “I hadn’t heard he was retiring.” She held out the bill and Mitzi stepped into her office.
​
Not that her being in the dark about what was going in the office was a unique situation. Charlotte was out of the office as much as she was in the office. When she was there, she was usually knee-deep in catching up on paperwork.
​
“Yeah, he announced it two weeks ago. He’s the seventh person to leave in three months.” She accepted the money and slid it into the envelope. “Thanks. I know you’re super-busy, but do you have a minute to chat?”
​
“Sure, come on in.” Charlotte saved her work and closed the confidential case file she’d been reviewing.
​
She was a therapist and victim advocate with the Human Rescue Alliance. HRA was a non-governmental organization, an NGO, that provided support to victims of human trafficking.
​
One of her many responsibilities was to meet with the people running their intake facilities and train them on how to work with unaccompanied children who come across the border. Her favorite part of the job, and the most rewarding, was when she was able to sit down, one-on-one, with the children and young adults who’d been rescued from human trafficking. She would listen to their stories and create a unique treatment plan for each person to help them process what they had been through.
​
Mitzi quietly shut the door, hurried over to one of the chairs in front of Charlotte’s desk, and plopped down.
​
“Do you think all those people who left know something we don’t know?” Her words came out rapid-fire fast. “I mean, why would so many people be leaving suddenly? Should I start looking for another job? Do you know anything?”
​
Her co-worker was sweet as can be, but she could also be quite dramatic and—to use one of Charlotte’s Great Aunt Marjorie’s words—Mitzi could also be a bit of a fretter. She always seemed to be worried about something or someone.
​
“First off, HRA isn’t going anywhere.” Unfortunately, human trafficking was a growing industry, and there was a desperate need for organizations like HRA. “Secondly, it’s very easy to get burnt out in this business. When that happens, it’s best to move on or else it negatively affects the overall mission.”
​
Mitzi was young, only twenty, and, as a level two admin in the human resources department, she didn’t really deal with the ugly side of their business the way Charlotte did.
​
“You are an asset to this organization.” She smiled and tried to lighten the mood. “Besides, you’re the only one around here who can remember everyone’s birthday. If you go, the cakes go, and no one wants that to happen,” she teased.
​
“Yeah,” Mitzi laughed, “maybe that’s my job security.”
​
“Well, that and your amazing work ethic.” Charlotte stood and came around to the front of the desk “Don’t worry about HRA, it’s not going anywhere. And neither are you.”
​
“You’re right.” Mitzi pushed up from her chair with a resigned huff. “Thanks for talking me off the ledge.”
​
“You bet, and if you need to talk, you know you can always come to me, right?”
​
“Yeah, because you’re such a good listener.” She surprised Charlotte by throwing her arms around her in a hug. “Thanks, Charlotte.”
​
“You’re very welcome.” She hugged her back, and then they stepped back from each other.
​
“Welp, wish me luck with collecting more money.” She swung the door open. “People always seem to be on a call when they see me coming.”
​
“Good luck.” Charlotte shook her head and laughed as Mitzi strolled out of her office.
​
She returned to her desk, jiggled her mouse, and logged back into the system.
​
“Okay, where was I?” She rifled through some papers on her desk until she found the case number she needed and typed it in.
​
A document opened that she didn’t recognize. She looked at the number on the paper then at the one on the screen and realized she’d input an incorrect letter—it should’ve been an “H” and she’d hit the “J” key.
​
“Good grief.” Charlotte started to close the file and her eyes landed on a familiar name. She scanned down the list and realized every single person shown was powerful, influential, and very well-known.
​
“What in the world?” Her eyes traveled across the screen to the other columns, then down.
​
“Oh my God.” Charlotte’s heart nearly beat out of her chest at what she saw.
​
Fast as possible, she closed out of the document, sat back in her chair, and stared at the blank screen for a moment while her mind processed what she’d just read. She ripped a piece of paper from her notepad and scribbled down the file number. She folded it, stuffed it in her wallet, and shove it back in her bag.
​
Without meaning to, she’d stumbled upon something dark and evil, something she wasn’t meant to see—something no one was meant to see. If the people on that list found out she’d accessed the file, they would use their power and connections, and do whatever was necessary to keep her from talking.
​
Even with that threat looming over her, she couldn’t just move on and pretend like she hadn’t seen the horrors listed on that document. Charlotte owed it to the innocent victims to do something, even if it put her life in danger.
CHAPTER TWO
Patrick “Hawk” Nakai scanned the area through his night vision goggles as his team moved through the dark shadows, avoiding the glow from streetlights on their way to their intended target. Remy, his two-year-old black lab partner kept pace with them, his body humming with excitement at the idea of getting to work.
​
To avoid drawing attention, his Dark Ops team waited to move in until after midnight. Their gear clicked against their tactical vests with each step and was joined by a deep hoot hoot from high overhead.
​
The owl wasn’t the only one hunting tonight.
​
Nighttime ops were always the most dangerous, and there was a sense of urgency around this one that added an extra layer of concern.
​
They’d received some last-minute intel that ten girls and eight boys, all under the age of fifteen, were being held in a small house, located on a quiet street in a middle-class neighborhood. No one would suspect the innocuous-looking Spanish-style structure with the bird bath and mirrored, blue gazing ball in the front yard was actually a halfway point for human trafficking victims waiting to be transported to their final destinations.
​
They had to get those kids out tonight, because, tomorrow, they were going to be sent off to parts unknown all across the US where they would be lost to a life of exploitation—either sexually or through forced labor.
​
The team was here to ensure that didn’t happen.
​
Cole Lambert, his boss and head of the OSI Dark Ops division of O’Halleran Security International, pointed toward a utility van parked by the curb across from the target house. They all nodded, crouched down, and hurried over to conceal themselves behind the vehicle. He raised his index finger, made a circular motion with it, then pointed two fingers toward the back of the house. Calliope Daniels, Eddie Calabretta, and Lucas O’Halleran split off from the group and ran across the street to take up position at the back door.
​
Thanks to Sammy, their tech wiz, they knew the house's layout. Unfortunately, there was no intel on how many traffickers were actually inside the damn thing, but the team was ready for anything. They were a specialized group of covert operators who focused on human trafficking. Tonight’s mission was one of many since the group's inception a little over a year ago.
​
Calliope’s voice whispered in their earpieces. “In position.”
​
Cole pointed toward the house then looked over at Hawk and Viking Bailey. They nodded, his boss took point, and all three of them, along with Remy, dashed across the street and up the driveway. Their boots were silent as they moved across the wooden porch, until, cre-e-eak. A wooden slat groaned beneath someone’s foot and they all froze in place, including Remy.
​
After a few minutes, when no one burst from the house, they lined up against the wall, ready to breach the front door. Viking pressed a small amount of C4 explosive right next to the deadbolt, set the charging caps, and stepped to the side of the doorframe. Lucas was doing the same to the back door.
​
"Explosive set," Lucas whispered.
​
“Prepare to breach,” Cole responded.
​
Remy, whined softly next to Hawk, excited and ready to get in on the action.
​
Hawk looked down at him, put a finger to his lips, and his partner immediately quieted.
​
Remy was an ESD canine who had been specially trained to sniff out electronic storage devices—hard drives, microSD cards, and other things like that. During a recent mission in Miami, he located a half dozen microSD cards hidden in a shoebox filled with mothballs and cedar chips. The damn thing was shoved to the back of a closet shelf in a hoarder’s mobile home.
​
The only way they were able to get through the house was by navigating around, up, and over stacks of old magazines and newspapers, stepping over pizza boxes, rotten food, and years’ worth of all kinds of other crap. Remy even had a stand-off with a pretty well-fed rat right before finding the SD card.
​
They’d struck gold.
​
The cards had contained thousands of videos and images of CSAM, child sexual abuse material created then downloaded to the internet by the asshole who lived there. Remy knew to sniff for triphenylphosphine oxide, one of the chemicals used in the production of electronic storage devices. If he found something, that meant he’d get a tasty treat and a chance to play with his favorite toy—a ridiculous stuffed duck with an obnoxious squeaker inside. Remy had chewed on the thing until he yanked out the squeaker, and then he’d whined for hours. Hawk learned his lesson and bought a huge box of the exact same stuffed ducks and kept them in reserve.
​
“On my mark.” Cole began his countdown. “Three, two, one, mark.”
​
There were two simultaneous small explosions at the front and back doors. Viking slammed his size sixteen boot against the door and the wood shattered inward. Rifle raised, Cole entered first, followed by Viking, then Hawk and Remy.
​
At the same time, his teammates Eddie Calabretta and Lucas O’Halleran burst into the kitchen through the back door. Calliope Daniels entered with them and immediately began to charge toward the sound of kids screaming.
​
“Get down, now!” Cole shouted at a man sitting on a couch, holding a can of beer in one hand and a partially eaten sub in the other.
​
The guy’s eye were huge, the beer slipped from his hand onto the carpet, and golden liquid shot up through the opening. A tomato slipped from the sub and landed on the front of his black t-shirt.
​
“Drop the weapon!” In the kitchen, Lucas repeated the command. “Drop. The. Weapon!”
​
A second later, they heard the distinctive thwip sound of a gun with a suppressor.
​
There was a deep grunt, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor.
​
“One down.” Eddie updated them from the kitchen.
​
Some obnoxious game show blared on the television and Hawk grabbed the remote from the coffee table and clicked it off.
​
Viking moved forward and began clearing rooms, his rifle up and ready to fire.
​
“I said, get down!” Cole shouted and pointed his rifle at the guy on the couch. “Do it! Now!”
​
Finally, the moron tossed the sub onto the table, got to his knees, then sprawled out face down on the floor, his arms stretched wide. Cole yanked zip ties from his vest and secured the asshole’s hands behind his back and his legs together at his ankles. He started digging through his pockets and pulled a semi-automatic pistol from his waistband.
​
“Here, take this.” He handed it to Hawk, who tucked it in a pocket on his vest.
​
“Who the hell are—”
​
Cole pressed his forearm against the back of the guy’s neck and leaned in close. “Shut the fuck up.”
​
The man coughed and grunted then decided it would be a good idea to do as he was told and shut the fuck up.
​
“All clear.” Eddie stepped into the front room.
​
“Found ‘em!” Calliope called out from the back of the house. Some of the kids started crying and she quietly reassured them. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”
​
She was as tough as any man Hawk knew and had one hell of a reputation as a sniper. She also had a gift for dealing with victims.
​
In that way, she reminded him of Charlotte Cavanaugh. She was incredibly empathetic and compassionate with the victims she counseled. Though, unlike Calliope, he doubted Charlotte had ever climbed a tree, sighted in a bad guy, and taken them out.
Charlotte had recently begun consulting with Every Last Child, ELC. A powerful non-profit established by Dulce Lambert, Cole’s wife and the daughter of a very powerful US senator. ELC provided financial and material support to organizations around the world that worked to save people trapped in the human trafficking trade. Once they were liberated, ELC would help reunite them with family, if they had any, and provided whatever follow-on care they may require, including medical treatments and therapy.
​
Which is where Charlotte came in.
​
Hawk wasn’t sure why he was thinking about Charlotte in the middle of an op. Lately, thoughts of her seemed to pop up multiple times a day. Eddie had been goading him to ask her out, but his teammate was also the kind of guy who never committed to anyone. Calliope called him a man whore, and she wasn’t wrong.
​
Unlike his friend, Hawk was a very private guy and he was pretty particular about the people he invited into his life.
​
“Coming out.” Calliope stepped into the hallway and stood at the front of the group holding hands with one of the little girls. Lucas brought up the rear carrying another little one.
​
Lucas and Calliope were more than just teammates at work, they were teammates in life, too. They were funny together—always knocking on each other. Then again, Calliope gave everybody shit. She liked to say it was part of her charm. Strangely enough, she was right.
​
Eddie held up his hand.
​
“Guys, hold up a sec.” He rushed into the bedroom, came out with a comforter, and threw it over the body on the floor. “Okay, bring ‘em through.”
​
The kids were guided out through the kitchen, with Eddie and Lucas doing their best to block their view of the dead guy.
Once they were safely outside, Hawk and Remy got to work.
​
He led his partner from room to room where Remy zigzagged back and forth, his nose twitched and you could hear him snuffling as he poked his head into nooks and crannies, scanning up and down, side to side. They moved into the kitchen—the last room left to search. Remy checked everything, while ignoring the overflowing garbage and the lunch meat on the table. After a few minutes, his partner sat in front of the refrigerator and looked up at Hawk.
​
Hawk opened the fridge and let Remy sniff, but he didn’t hit on anything. He opened the freezer and was instantly suspicious when he discovered it wasn’t working. He tapped the top edge of the fridge door; Remy stood on his hind legs and placed his front paws against the door. Almost immediately, he sat again and whined.
​
Hawk pulled out his knife, flipped it open, and wedged it between the automatic ice maker and the side of the freezer. He pried off the cover, and, hidden inside, wrapped in plastic and butcher paper, was an external hard drive.
​
“Good job, bud.” Hawk squatted in front of him, scratched his neck, and gave a couple of good solid thumps to his side. “Good job.”
​
Remy wagged his tail and did a little happy dance knowing exactly what happened next.
​
“Here ya go.” Hawk dug out a good-sized chunk of his homemade jerky from a pocket in his tactical vest and gave it to Remy. “Wanna go outside?”
​
Remy barked and hopped up and down, excited to play.
​
They crossed back through the house as Cole and Viking were lifting the creep off the floor.
​
“Found this.” Hawk handed the hard drive to Cole.
​
“Good work, Remy.” His boss leaned over and gave Remy some attention. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
​
All of OSI’s teams, including Dark Ops, were covert. In other words, they didn’t exist. Once an op was done, they disappeared and the feds and locals took care of the aftermath. Because, unlike the feds and local law enforcement, OSI’s teams operated in the gray area, where the rules were more … fluid.
​
Hawk loved that about his job.
​
“Come on, you piece of shit.” Cole tightened his grip on the trafficker’s elbow, causing him to wince, and then he and Viking escorted the dirtbag trafficker outside.
​
Hawk followed, jogged down the porch steps, and tugged Remy’s stuffed duck toy from a pocket on the leg of his pants.
​
“Sit.” He waited until Remy sat, then drew back his arm and tossed the toy. “Get it!”
​
Remy took off like a shot, ran over to grab his toy where it landed on the grass, and trotted back to him with a smile on his doggy face, not a care in the world.
​
Hawk envied his partner.
