Page 126 of Spooked

THE ASSISTANT

Two days later, we were still in Portugal putting the pieces together, both the broken fragments of our lives and the clues from Cássio Novo’s business dealings. At least Elsa had received medical treatment now. A contact of Priest’s had arranged a room in a private hospital, and today, she’d undergone the operation to fix her femoral malunion. They’d had to perform an osteotomy—which effectively meant rebreaking her leg—and insert a rod into the bone’s medullary cavity. She’d stay in the facility for another week at least, and then she’d start the long road to recovery. Three months for the bone to heal, followed by physio and a gradual return to normal life.

Whatever that was.

Brax had offered all of us a place to stay—me, Meera, and Elsa—but we’d made no decisions about our long-term future. Although he said he loved me, he’d distanced himself since the rescue, spending most of his time on the phone while I comforted Meera and visited Elsa. Was he giving us space, or had he come to the conclusion that I brought nothing but trouble into his life?

As for Meera, she’d barely left her room in the farmhouse. This afternoon, we were sitting on the king-sized bed together, Meera bundled up under the quilt because she’d been chilled to the bone overnight in the stables, and she still shivered every few minutes from the memory.

“That reporter’s on again,” Meera said.

She fixed her gaze on the TV, and I unmuted the sound, even though I had no idea what the reporter was saying. The pretty brunette was speaking from outside Novo’s gates. Meera had learned basic Portuguese, so she understood some of it.

“Is there anything new?” I asked.

Jerry and her team had managed to overrun the estate without a single casualty. When the police arrived, they’d found the six remaining women huddled together in one stable while Cássio Novo’s men, all nine of them, were drugged and hog-tied in another. As for Novo himself, he’d survived the helicopter’s crash landing with a concussion and a broken leg, only for Jerry and Tulsa to catch up with him. They’d handcuffed him to a tree along with the groggy pilot. Two more men had appeared from somewhere—a security company, Brax said—and one of them was friendly with a guy in the Polícia Judiciária, which was the National Police Agency that dealt with serious crimes in Portugal. Kidnapping and trafficking certainly counted. And it was a good thing we hadn’t gone to the local police because it turned out that one of Novo’s men had a brother who worked there. Whether anyone could prove the guy had been aware of what went on at Novo’s estate was a question that would only be answered in time.

At this moment, specialists were combing through computers found in Novo’s home while trying to navigate the depths of the dark web. Elsa and I had both been interviewed with a lawyer present, and Elsa had listed all the names she could remember for further investigation. There were over a hundred of them. The detective heading up the investigation warned us it would be a long haul.

As for Jerry, Tulsa, and Priest, they’d skipped town before anyone could ask them questions. Since they’d loaded up the car with surfboards, I had to assume they were heading to a beach someplace. Brax had refused to discuss their involvement with anyone in authority, and I’d played dumb too. We owed them everything. And since Novo’s gang had been left alive and relatively unscathed—Novo had lost several teeth, apparently—the police didn’t seem overly concerned about our silence. Irritated, yes, but the lawyers said they wouldn’t try charging us with anything.

Reporters had quickly picked up on the story, and there was a crowd of them camped outside Novo’s gates. So far, we’d kept our presence under the radar, and the farmhouse had stayed blessedly quiet.

“A source says there’s been a breakthrough with Novo’s records,” Meera said. “They hope that maybe they’ll be able to find some of the other women.”

I hated to think of where they might be now. Sold to the highest bidder, forced into lives they hated. Or early deaths. I shuddered, and Meera touched my arm.

“It’ll be okay.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”

She managed a tiny smile, the first since we’d found her, and I felt a flicker of hope.

“I don’t even know where to start with fixing my life.” Meera picked at a loose thread on the quilt. “Alfie’s been trying to call me.”

Her phone had reappeared at the house yesterday, courtesy of Chase.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of taking him back?”

She snorted. “I sent a text telling him to go to hell.”

“Good.”

“I’m off men forever. No more dicks.” That smile grew a little wider. “Unless Brax has a brother?”

There was a glimmer of the old Meera, and boy, was I relieved to see it.

“Shut up!”

She began humming “Here Comes the Bride,” and I groaned.

“It won’t happen. He just got divorced last week, and I doubt he’ll ever want to get married again.”

“Wait, he actually got divorced?”

“I’ve seen the papers.”

“Wow. At least he’s not one of those assholes who messes around with you and then goes back to his wife.”

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