Kids that the Leónes would have no problem selling to a pedophile halfway across the world.
Ian swore to himself that he hadn’t known, but the truth was that he hadn’t wanted to know. Ignorance was bliss, as the saying went. But when the ignorance faded, revealing the true nature of the beast, what then? How was he supposed to live with himself if he sat by and did nothing?
Squeezing his eyes closed, Ian sucked in a sharp breath and rubbed his forehead.
Pull it together, asshole.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d kept his unseeing stare fixed on the pot. Ian gave his hair another tug as he glanced over to the microwave’s digital clock. In two hours, the first of his guests would arrive. As much as he wished that his intent was to kick back with good company and good food, he had an ulterior motive.
Though each of the detectives he’d invited were longtime colleagues and friends, they shared another commonality…the Leóne family. Ian didn’t know the specifics of each man’s involvement with the Leónes, and until recently, he’d told himself it was none of his business. However, with reports of the Kankakee County farm so fresh in his mind, he needed to know that none of them were involved in that.
Each detective was a close friend, and though he was confident none of them were capable of assaulting a child, he needed to confirm that none of them could be part of that happening to children.
Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Ian forced his attention back to the kitchen. For the next couple hours, he went about in preparation for the evening.
The doorbell chimed as he was setting the food up along the granite breakfast bar.
Dusting both hands on the front of his gray ZoSo t-shirt, Ian made his way through the living room and to the tiled foyer. As he pulled open the heavy wooden door, he forced an amiable smile to his lips. A rush of humid air greeted him, along with two familiar grins.
The taller of the pair, Detective Dale Berwick, raised a nine-by-thirteen glass casserole dish as he stepped over the threshold. “You know Prudence would give me hell if I ever came over here without bringing food.”
Despite his rapidly beating heart, Ian chuckled and closed the door behind his two friends. “Your wife sure knows what it takes to get invited back to a place. What did you make us this time?”
Kicking off his sneakers, the second man’s gaze flicked to the foil-covered pan. “Cheesecake, believe it or not.” Liam Rollins was only a hair over five-ten, but his broad-shouldered, muscular build more than made up for the difference in height. Not to mention the fact that he’d played football for Northwestern University for the four years of his undergrad.
A proud glimmer shone in Dale’s eyes. “Prudence is out of town visiting her parents, but she sent me a recipe and told me to use the cream cheese in the fridge before it went bad.”
The two men followed Ian to the breakfast bar, and Dale set down the cheesecake beside the seven-layer dip.
Ian gestured to the pan. “So, this is a Dale Berwick original?”
Dale scratched his reddening cheeks and looked away. Ian found it funny to witness his friend looking bashful. “I don’t know if I’d go that far. It was someone else’s recipe, and I just followed the instructions.”
As Ian let out a lighthearted chortle, he almost forgot the reason he’d set up the evening get-together.
Almost.
Another thirty minutes passed as they waited for their other two friends. Ian had told all his companions that they were welcome to bring their spouses or kids, but Cliff Allworth and Scotty McClellan both arrived alone.
Conversation flowed easily as they rehashed the previous night’s game between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Chicago Cubs. They were all lifelong Cubs fans and hoped their team might redeem themselves after Sunday’s decisive loss.
Once they’d loaded up bowls of chili and plates of snacks, the little group gathered on the spacious sectional couch that took up much of the living room. The discussion turned to their respective Labor Day weekends, and as soon as Scotty brought up a case he’d been stuck working over the holiday, Ian saw his opening.
His heart hammered a relentless cadence against his chest, and he took a long drink of soda to chase away the sensation of a hundred cotton balls stuffed in his mouth. He wanted the mention of the Leónes’ Kankakee County farm to come across as a natural part of their conversation, though the notion that a mafia-run child exploitation ring was a natural part of any conversation was just short of ridiculous.
He hadn’t bothered to recite or practice any part of the dialogue, and as he swallowed, he wondered if he should have put some more thought behind his half-cocked plan.
Clearing his throat, Ian set the bowl of chili on the stone coffee table and straightened. “You guys heard about what the Feds found out on that Kankakee County farm, didn’t you?”
A crease formed between Scotty’s eyebrows. His pale blue eyes shifted to Ian as he slowly shook his head.
When Ian turned his attention to Cliff, the tall man merely shrugged. “I hadn’t been following it. Why? What happened?”
“Hey, wait.” Liam returned his spoon to the bowl of chili he held in one hand. “Kankakee County? Wasn’t that the farm the Feds busted a couple weeks ago? The one the Leóne family was running?”
Ian’s stomach threatened to revolt. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
Blowing out a sigh, Liam shook his head. “The Feds busted a pretty big trafficking ring. Something about the Leónes running that acreage with a bunch of illegals they tricked into working for free. It’s nasty shit, if you ask me.”
The cold caress of dread clamped down on Ian’s heart. He knew that Liam had been affiliated with the Leóne family for almost his
