My shoulder blades pinched together, and I stretched my neck from one side to the other as I allowed my body to adjust to the additional weight of my tactical duty vest, which was already equipped with three loaded magazines for my M4 rifle. I snatched my drop holster off the table in what was technically the dining room of the Special Investigations Task Force’s (SITF) Brooklyn headquarters in Crown Heights, and clipped it to my duty belt, then fastened the straps around my thigh. After checking to make sure my Glock 9mm had one in the chamber, I slipped it into my holster, and locked it in place. It was unlikely I’d be using it for this raid, since I’d be carrying my M4 rifle, affectionately known as my Huntress, but I never left my pistol behind.
“Hunt, your boy ready to roll?” Sergeant Kane Leota asked as he strapped on his vest.
I glanced over at my friend, FDNY Lieutenant Jesse Hogan, who was seated in one of the folding chairs over in the corner, bouncing his leg. “Yeah, I just got done briefing him. He’s going to drive over to his fire house with Coop, then once we’re in place, they’ll move out in the engine.”
He stroked a hand over his beard. “Good.” His dark eyes swept the room. “Circle up.” Kane was a scary looking motherfucker. With his beard and the tattoos that covered his arms, chest, and back, he looked more like the president of a motorcycle club than a cop. Sometimes, when he went undercover, he’d shave his crew cut off, which made him look even more intimidating. I wasn’t sure if he even knew how to smile. That being said, he was a damn good cop. He’d been the sergeant in charge of the SITF since before I’d gotten assigned to the unit four years prior, and there was no one I’d rather have watching my six than him.
My SITF teammates finished gearing up and we all turned to Kane. Jesse glanced at me, seeming to ask if he should join us around the table, and I gave him a nod, so he stood and filled in beside me.
In his deep voice and thick New York accent, Kane said, “Since this is Hunter’s op, he’ll be going through the final briefing.”
I cleared my throat. “All right. As you all know, Lt. Hogan responded to a call two days ago for a gas leak in a residential area off Linden Blvd.” I turned to my friend, “Jesse, you want to recap what you saw.”
“Sure.” He ran a hand through his side-combed dirty-blond hair. “One of the residents seemed off. He gave us a problem when we told him we had to enter the house with a gas meter to get a reading. After I insisted he let us in or I’d call the cops, he said he needed a few minutes and he shut the door. I heard a lot of shuffling sounds inside and I knocked again. It took him a couple of minutes before he opened the door. When he did, he let me and one of my guys enter. I asked him if anyone else was in the house, and he said no, but from the noises I’d heard, I figured that was a lie. Plus, the place was a mess like they’d had a party or something.
“We checked the first floor, but there was no sign of gas. We went upstairs to the bedrooms and the dude seemed real nervous. When we got to the first bedroom, I realized why. There were several dirty mattresses on the floor. We didn’t bother checking the rest of the house because I had a bad feeling that if my guy and I saw something we shouldn’t, we’d be in trouble, so since we hadn’t gotten any gas readings, I thanked him for letting us in and we took off. I called Hunter—I mean Detective Albanese—when I got back to the firehouse.”
“You can call me Hunter, we’re not formal.”
Jesse nodded. He and I had been friends for a few years. He’d married the sister of my best friend, Declan Murphy, and Declan had brought him into our friend group along with Jesse’s three brothers. All four of the Hogans, as well as Declan and our other friend Mack, are FDNY firemen, so I was the only LEO in our group, and I kinda liked it that way. Being a detective on the SITF could easily consume my life, just as it had for my sergeant, so it was good to have a group of friends who weren’t on the force to hang with.
A feminine voice asked, “Did you see anything else when you were in the house? Drugs or paraphernalia?” Detective Quinn Bishop was the lone woman on the SITF. Most of the time, Quinn was stuck with only us boys, so we called her our Queen B.
Jesse replied, “A few pipes were in the living room, but I didn’t look too hard.”
I hooked my thumbs beneath the shoulder straps of my vest. “As you know, Cooper and I did surveillance yesterday and we believe the house that Lt. Hogan is talking about is involved in human trafficking. We identified two of the men as brothers, Pavel and Nestor Lebedev, known members of the Vosstaniye Bratva.” The Vosstaniye Bratva was headed by the Sokolovs, the largest Russian crime family in the United States, and they were based out of Brighton Beach, Brooklyn.
“There was a lot of activity, so chances are they got spooked by the FD, and will be moving the women or children soon.” I tipped my chin toward Detective Cooper Campbell, who was wearing fire department bunker gear. “Coop will be impersonating a firefighter while the rest of us wait in the van parked outside the house. The engine will pull up under the guise of another call for a gas leak. Jesse and Coop will make an attempt to get into the house, so we can hopefully get what we need for a warrant.”
As far as op plans go, it wasn’t the greatest, but we didn’t have time to sit and wait to make our move. We expected the traffickers to be suspicious, which was why Jesse and Coop were wearing vests under their gear. I didn’t like the idea of sending my friend into harm’s way, but we needed his eyes in the house that way he could tell us if anything had changed since he’d first gone in there. Coop was going with Jesse for protection, and since I trusted him with my life, I also trusted him with Jesse’s.
I continued, “Tai fitted cameras and microphones onto the radios strapped into the fronts of their bunker coats, so we’ll have eyes and ears. As soon as we’ve got something actionable, Tai will call it in.”
Detective Taiyō Hayashi chimed in, “There’s a search warrant sitting on Judge Madden’s desk ready to be signed.”
I pointed to Coop. “Once the fire department has left the scene, Cooper will get in his car, which is waiting at the fire house, and drive himself back. By then we should have the warrant and we’ll move in. Questions?” I scanned the circle. When no one spoke up, I said, “Okay, let’s do this.”
I grabbed my M4 off the table and passed through the kitchen to the door to the garage. Our Brooklyn headquarters had previously been a small commercial auto body shop attached to a twelve-hundred square foot home. It was ideal for our purposes because we could load into our tactical vehicles in the garage without being seen. I’m fairly certain the neighborhood thought we were in some kind of a gang since we weren’t open for business to the public. We were cool with that, though. Having anonymity was essential to our work because we were basically the black ops unit of the department, which was why we were the only unit that didn’t operate out of a police precinct. For a detective, it was the unit to be assigned to in the NYPD.
I patted Jesse on the shoulder as he approached the driver’s side door of his pickup truck. “All good, man?”
“Yeah. Let’s get these douche bags.” He held out his fist and I bumped it.
“Stick close to Coop. I’ll hit you up after.”
“Got it.” He opened the door and slid behind the wheel as Cooper went to the passenger side.
I tapped the hood as I rounded his truck, and made my way to the back our van. For this op, we were using a utility van that was outfitted to look like we were with the power company. It was the perfect cover to back-up our gas leak cover story. I took a seat beside Quinn, then Kane got in after me. Tai, who was dressed like he worked for the power company, got in the driver’s seat and once we were settled in, I heard the screeching of the garage door rolling up, then we were on the move.
I scrolled through the case notes on my phone. Having previously worked in the gang and organized crime unit, I was plenty familiar with the Sokolovs. In fact, they were the reason I’d gotten assigned to that unit in the first place because I’m fluent in Russian (as well as Ukrainian, Spanish, and Italian). My mother worked as a freelance translator, and I’d inherited her aptitude for language.
Quinn fidgeted with the velcro holding her spare rifle mags to the front of her tactical vest. She was a couple of years younger than me, and had been permanently assigned to the SITF the year before.
“What’s going through your head?” I asked.
“Human trafficking isn’t the Sokolov’s M.O.”
That was true. They mostly dealt in weapons, drugs, extortion and money laundering. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t put it past them. Human trafficking isn’t that big of a leap for a group like theirs.”
A worrisome look filled her green eyes. “I know. That part doesn’t surprise me.”
“What is it then?”
“If the Vosstaniye Bratva is indeed branching into human trafficking, then chances are this stash house isn’t the only one.”
I picked at the cuticle on my thumb. She was right. The Sokolov’s didn’t do anything small.
Quinn’s M4 was standing between her legs and she gripped the barrel with both hands. “This might just be the beginning of a long fight.”
While I’d yet to voice it, I’d been thinking the same thing.
The van pulled to the side of the road and Tai put it in park, then killed the engine. Stake outs in July could be miserable since most days were in the eighty to ninety-degree range, but thankfully it had rained overnight, which had cooled things some.
I fired off a text to Coop.
Me:
We’re in place
Two minutes later, he replied.
Cooper:
Pulling out of the firehouse now
I tucked my phone into my back pocket. “FD is en route.”
Tai took a seat at the desk along the side of the van and opened up the laptop. After pushing a few buttons, two camera views popped up on the screens mounted to the side, and the sound of sirens filled the van. Jesse and Cooper were in the fire engine, and Jesse must’ve been in the front seat because the view from his camera was of the windshield, while Coop was clearly in the back, facing another firefighter.
“We’re up and running,” Tai said.
Kane hunched over behind him. “Pull up the rear van cam.”
We were parked several houses up from the target, so our best vantage point was from the rear. Tai minimized the camera views from Jesse and Coop, and an image of the road appeared. After some manipulation, the camera was angled perfectly at the driveway side of the target house.
Sirens blared from outside the van, and Quinn said, “Sounds like they’re here.”
Tai pulled up the side van cam and sure enough, the fire engine came into view. He maneuvered the footage so that one screen displayed the van cams, and the other screen showed the body cams. We all huddled together and watched as Jesse and Coop got out of the truck. Jesse was holding a gas meter as he started down the street to check one of the neighboring houses with Coop, while the rest of the crew continued down the block. They had to sell it as an actual emergency.
There was a chance the guys we were after would be suspicious since the fire department had been there two days prior for the same thing, which was why that house wasn’t the first stop. After Jesse and Coop had cleared two homes, they knocked on the door of our target.
“Here we go,” I said.
The black door of the single-family home opened, and a man appeared. His sandy-blond hair was slicked back, and he was of average build. He stood all of five-foot-nine and the intensity in his blue eyes demanded obedience and respect. In a Russian accent, he said, “Can I help you?”
My eyes widened and Quinn muttered with shock, “Is that…?”
Kane cursed.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Ivan Sokolov.”
Technically, Ivan’s father, Mikhail was the leader of the Bratva, but he’d been battling prostate cancer, so Ivan was running the show. He was wearing a navy suit with a sheen that screamed expensive.
Jesse held up the gas meter and said, “We’ve got a report of a gas leak in the area and we’ve gotta come inside to get a reading.”
Ivan ran his striped tie through his fingers as he took his time looking Jesse and Coop over. When he was through, he opened the door and stepped to the side. “Come in.”
“Something’s not right,” Tai remarked.
“Yeah,” Quinn said. “Too easy.”
A moment later, we knew why. Jesse and Coop walked into a completely empty living room.
“You just move in?” Coop asked as Jesse walked through with the meter.
“Moving out,” Ivan replied as he followed the men into the kitchen, which was also bare.
Coop replied, “Oh yeah? Where you moving to?”
Ivan smirked. “Nowhere. My cousin was living here and he’s going back to Russia.”
The three men climbed the stairs and I held my breath as I waited to see something—anything—that could get us probable cause for a warrant, but when they entered the first bedroom, which was as empty as the rest of the house, I seethed.
I sank onto the bench across from the computers and slammed my fist into it. “Fuck,” I hissed. “They’ve already moved them.”
“Seems so,” Kane replied.
I couldn’t bring myself to watch the rest, so I pulled my phone out of my pocket and fired off a message to a friend of mine, Detective Giovanni Manetti, who I’d worked with when I was in the gang and organized crime unit.
Me:
Can you meet me today? It’s about Grozny.
Grozny was the nickname we’d given Ivan Sokolov. It came from Ivan Grozny, a Russian Tsar from the sixteenth century, commonly known as Ivan the Terrible. It was a fitting moniker.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
Gio:
Shit. Yeah, if that fucker did something to get on the SITF’s radar, I can make time. When and where?
I sent him the address to our place in Crown Heights and he said he’d be there that afternoon.
“All right, let’s pack it up,” Kane said, and I glanced up at the screens to see Jesse and Coop exiting the house.
“Wait,” I interjected before Tai could close out the cameras. Leave the van cams on, let’s sit on it for a while. Sokolov wouldn’t be chilling alone in an empty house for no reason.”
Kane gave me a nod. “Yeah, all right.”
I spoke into my wrist mic. “Coop, go get your car and come back. We’re gonna stake the place out. Position yourself so you can see the front door, but don’t get too close. We can’t have him recognizing you.”
“Got it,” he replied.
A minute or so later, when he was back on the fire engine, Cooper said, “I placed an audio bug in the living room under the windowsill.”
Atta boy, Coop.
Tai hit some buttons until the audio feed was up and running, which was confirmed by the tapping of Sokolov’s expensive shoes on the wood floor.
I stripped off my gear until I was only in my street clothes, and I put my Huntress in the lock box stowed under the bench. Once it was secured, I tucked my Glock into my appendix holster nestled beneath the waistband of my black cargo pants.
A man’s voice came through the speakers and he spoke in Russian.
Kane turned to me. “Hunt—”
“On it.”
Ivan was on the phone and I listened intently, translating his side of the conversation in my head. It lasted less than a minute. After he hung up, I said, “The fire department spooked him. Whatever he had planned for this place isn’t going to happen. Not today at least. Someone’s coming to pick him up.”
“Damn it.” Kane pursed his lips. “Could you tell who he was talking to?”
I shook my head. “Let’s wait and see who comes to get him.”
Cooper’s voice sounded through my earpiece. “I’m here. Parked three houses to the west of target.”
I glanced at the van cam view on the screen and saw Coop’s black Ford Explorer parked across the street. “Queen B, take the camera and get in Coop’s car. See if you can get a shot of whoever comes for Sokolov.”
While Quinn ditched her tactical vest and got down to her street clothes, I pulled a gear box out from under the bench seat and riffled through it, retrieving a camera. Once Quinn was ready, I handed it to her, and she tucked it into a backpack, then she squeezed through to the front and got out the driver’s side door because it was a blind spot for Sokolov.
We watched on the screen as she crossed to Cooper’s car. Since Sokolov had seen him, he had on sunglasses and a baseball cap to conceal his identity, but he still leaned over and kissed Quinn on the cheek for cover, like he was picking up his girl.
Twenty-minutes later, a black Lincoln pulled into the driveway of the target house. Though, the driver’s side was facing the rear of our van, we couldn’t make out the driver through the dark tinted windows.
Kane spoke into his wrist mic. “You guys got eyes?”
Cooper replied, “Negative. We might be able to get a glimpse when Sokolov opens the passenger door, but I think the angle is gonna be off.”
I ground my teeth.
The front door of the house opened and Sokolov stepped out, then descended the steps. On the other screen, I saw Quinn exit the vehicle.
“What’s she doing?” I muttered.
She crossed the street and walked down the sidewalk toward the target house.
“Quinn, do not engage,” I ordered into my wrist mic.
I held my breath as she passed the driveway, crossing right behind the vehicle. She didn’t stop, simply continued down the road, then rounded the corner.
Her voice came through my earpiece. “I got eyes on the driver. You’re not gonna believe this.”
The metal folding chair scratched across the linoleum tile floor as the man seated in the circle beside me stood. “I’m Jeff, and I’m an addict. I’ve been clean for sixty-one days.” He went on to tell our Narcotics Anonymous group about his struggle with cocaine. I’d met him a few times, since this was the meeting I went to most often.
When it was my turn, I brushed my blond hair off my shoulder as I stood and said, “My name is Lauren, and I’m an addict. I’ve been sober for 837 days. My drug of choice was heroin. I also used pills when I had to, and drank alcohol. Sometimes I still have cravings, but today is a good day.” I looked around the circle at the others smiling at me, which made my own lips turn up in the corners. I took a seat and the woman to my left got up and introduced herself.
Shortly after, a woman I hadn’t met before stood. Her black hair was greasy and she had dark circles beneath her sunken brown eyes. Softly, she said, “I’m Lisa and I’m one day sober.” No surprise there, judging by her appearance. She scratched her forearm, and I caught myself unconsciously mirroring her, remembering how badly I used to itch for a fix, so I tucked my hands under my thighs.
Lisa continued, “I, uh, I’ve been sober before, but I’ve always gone back to oxy.” Her voice caught in her throat. “Something happened and I needa stop for good this time.”
I felt for her. I’d gotten sober and relapsed nine times in seven years. This time was different, though. I’d never been clean for longer than a few months before. This time, I was determined to stay sober. I was finally happy with my life, and I never wanted to mess that up, so I tried to attend one or two meetings a week on top of my individual therapy.
The chairman asked, “Would you like to share what happened?”
Lisa shuffled her feet before replying. “I’m pregnant.” She let out a long breath and her shoulders visibly relaxed. “I wanna to be a mom. I wanna do right by my kid.” Her lip quivered.
“You’re in the right place,” the chairman responded.
Lisa folded her arms across her chest and nodded. “Yeah.” She sunk back into her chair and the next person stood.
When the meeting was over, I made a beeline for Lisa.
“I’m Lauren.” I held my hand out and she shook it.
“Lisa.”
“How are you feeling?”
She looked up at the ceiling of the classroom in the church. “Like I needa fix.”
Bless her heart. I placed a hand on her shoulder. “If I told you I know of a place where you can go, would you let me take you?”
“I don’t got money for rehab.”
I shook my head. “Your first thirty days will be free.”
Her eyes welled up with tears. “Free?”
I nodded. “But you’ve got to promise to commit to it.”
She sniffled. “I will. I want this baby. I ain’t got nobody else.”
My heart broke for her. “Let’s go then.”
Lisa followed me to my car, an old Volkswagen Jetta that I’d bought used once I’d saved up enough after my last stay in rehab.
Once I pulled away from the curb, Lisa asked, “Where you from? You have an accent.”
“North Carolina. I’ve been here for two and a half years.”
“Since you’ve been sober?”
I nodded. “Pretty much. My sister lives here. She came down and got me, and checked me into rehab. The same place I’m bringing you.” I left out the part about how I’d relapsed a few months after that and had to check in a second time, because I didn’t want Lisa to get discouraged. Harmony House was one of the better rehabs I’d been to.
“You’re lucky you have her.”
I grinned. “Yeah, I am. Zoe and I have been through a lot together. My favorite part about being sober is having a good relationship with my sister again.”
When I was sixteen, my parents had been killed when our house caught fire. Since Zoe had been eighteen, she’d stepped in to take care of me, and I hadn’t made it easy for her. It hadn’t been long after losing our parents when I’d found drugs. Zoe had tried to help me, but I hadn’t wanted to be helped. I owed her my life.
We pulled up to Harmony House in Long Island City, Queens. I’d spent several months there and still went regularly to see my therapist. I pulled into the parking garage, then turned off the engine and looked over at Lisa. “You ready?”
Staring straight ahead, she took several breaths. I didn’t rush her. She scratched her arm and I looked away as I tried to tune out the sound of her brittle nails against her dry skin. After a few minutes, Lisa said, “I dunno about this.”
I turned to her and cradled her hand between mine. “It’s gonna be hard. You already know that.”
She bit her lip.
“But think about your baby. He or she is depending on you. You can do this for your child.”
She gave me a half-smile. “You’re right.” Lisa pulled her hand away and got out of the car.
I walked with her to the entrance and I accompanied her to the front desk.
“Hi, Lauren,” Mona, the receptionist said.
“Hey there. This is my friend Lisa.”
Lisa glanced at me and I gave her a reassuring nod.
She exhaled. “I’m checking in.”
Mona got the paperwork together and I helped Lisa fill it out, then sat in the waiting room with her until a case manager came out. When she did, Lisa stood and took two steps before turning back toward me. She pulled me into a hug and I held her for a moment before she pulled away.
She muttered, “Thank you,” then turned and followed the woman into the back.
I went over to Mona who held up the clipboard with Lisa’s paperwork and pointed to the line where I had Lisa write in,
free program. She said, “I take it she’s on your scholarship.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Zoe and I had trust funds. I’d spent a good chunk of mine on drugs, so once I’d gotten sober, I’d signed control of my money over to my sister. She gave me a monthly allowance to pay my bills, so I saved the paycheck I made at my job and used it to give people a chance to get clean that they might not get otherwise. I never told them it was me, though.
Mona put the clipboard on her desk and smiled up at me. “You’re one of the good ones, Lauren.”
I shrugged. “See you later, Mona.”
Once back in my car, I drove to work in the Jackson Heights neighborhood of Queens. It didn’t take long to get to the shelter. I started at three since I was on the dinner shift that night, so I didn’t have to worry about rush hour, which was nice. New York traffic was unlike anything I’d ever seen in North Carolina. A ten-minute drive without traffic could easily take two-hours with traffic. I pulled into the driveway and parked in one of the spaces behind the Queen Anne style home that had been converted into a battered women’s shelter.
After scanning my fingerprint and punching in my code, I entered through the back door that led straight into the kitchen. I’d been working there for the past year and I absolutely loved it. We could house up to eight women and some had their children with them, too. I’d met several truly inspiring women there.
“Miss Lauren,” the screech of a child sounded through the room before tiny arms wrapped around my thighs.
I laughed and patted the wild mane of red curls. “Hi, Penny.”
The six-year-old had been with us for two-months, and she never failed to put a smile on my face. Having had such a rough start in life, it was incredible how friendly and bubbly she always was. Penny wasn’t her real name. I didn’t know her real name. In fact, none of the residents used their real names as an extra precaution since they’d all fled abusive situations. Penny got her name because her coppery red hair was reminiscent of pennies.
She released me and grinned, showing off her missing front tooth. “Can I help you cook tonight?”
“Sure can,” I replied.
All of the residents helped around the house, alternating between cooking and cleaning. There was always an employee there to help make sure everything ran smoothly, but we gave our residents plenty of autonomy. After living under the thumbs of their abusers, the women needed to learn that they were in control of their lives.
“What are we cooking?” Penny asked.
I crossed to the counter and grabbed the binder where we scheduled everything, and flipped to that day’s plan. “Tonight is pasta and meatballs.”
“Yay!”
I wished I got half as excited about anything as Penny got about pasta. “I have to get a few things done, but I’ll let you know when it’s time to start cooking, okay?”
Her green eyes lit up. “Can I roll the meatballs?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of letting anyone else do it.”
She hopped up and down then ran out of the kitchen to tell her mom. I shook my head and laughed as I went in search of Amelia, the woman I was relieving. I found her in the office, which had formerly been a laundry room. When the house had been converted into a shelter, they’d moved the laundry machines to the basement in order to make space for an administrative office.
Since the door was open, I knocked on the frame. Amelia, who was akin to the house grandmother, glanced up from the computer screen and flashed her perfect dentures in a smile. “Lauren, dear. Hello.”
“Hi, Amelia.” I stepped into the room and sat in the chair beside her desk. “What are you working on?”
She sighed. “There’s a woman who reached out to the hotline for help. We set her up with our last spot here, but now she won’t answer our calls or messages.”
“Oh, no. Can we send the police to do a wellness check?”
“No. This one is…” She tapped her purple manicured nails on the desk. “Complicated.”
I nodded, needing no further explanation. Discretion is integral when it comes to getting a woman out of a domestic violence situation. “Do we have an address? I can do a fly by tomorrow.”
The crow’s feet in Amelia’s pale pink skin deepened. “She didn’t give us one. All we know is that she’s in Brighton Beach.”
“Brooklyn?”
“Yes.”
“How’d she get sent to us, then? Wouldn’t the hotline reach out to a place in Kings County?”
She brushed her gray bangs off her forehead. “Normally, yes, but like I said, it’s complicated. Her husband is a very powerful man.”
My stomach sank. “There must be something we can do.”
She reached for my hand and squeezed. “You know we can’t always save them all.”
I looked away. Knowing a woman needed help, but we couldn’t help her was easily the worst part of my job. I’d been in their shoes. While I’d never recognized the abuse while I was in it, my therapist had helped me see the truth. Actually, I’d gotten into drugs because of a man. He was twenty-six and I was seventeen. My parents had just died, and he’d come in to save me from the pain. I’d been reluctant at first, but he’d been persistent. The guilt he made me feel for not wanting to try anything harder than pot was what eventually pushed me to try other things. He’d been a master manipulator, and I’d been the perfect prey.
