Page 7 of Hack
CHAPTER THREE
Glad to be away from the stress of the STK house, Carter pulled into his driveway, looking forward to a few hours of sleep. He'd been going strong for nearly two weeks, catching only a nap here and there as he tried to collect evidence on a group of sex traffickers who were taking women off the streets. While the team didn't often deal with adults, anyone being forced into sex was an issue for them. It was mostly runaways and homeless who were taken against their will and held in prison-type conditions as they were bought and sold on the black-market and dark web for sexual exploitation.
The rest of the team had the facts, now they just needed to decide if they would go in and take down the sex traffickers or if the operation was too large for their small team. If so, they'd hand the information off to the police and let them decide what to do with it. Not Carter's first choice, but when it came to the safety of the team, sometimes it was the only option.
As he walked up to the front porch, he glanced around his neighborhood. It was quiet as always. It was one of the things he loved. He liked the silence and calm in area. It's what kept him there. Even not using the house much, it was still home to him.
The yard was nice, the flowers blooming. He paused, debating on sitting on the porch for a minute, but he was too tired. He needed sleep.
After grabbing the pile of mail from his mailbox, he made his way inside. The house almost felt foreign since he spent so little time there. As much as he wanted to relax and enjoy life, every time he tried to take time for himself, he thought about the children he could be saving, the evidence he could be collecting, and the parents who suffered like he did because their children had gone missing. Unlike him, many of them could still get their children back, and it was that fact that kept him at the team house, digging through the dark web, and working himself to death. He couldn't save his own daughter, but he could save others.
He dropped the mail on the counter to go through later. No one of any importance had his address, so it was probably nothing more than bills and advertisements. It was sad, really, how little of his life was normal. He hadn't been out on a date in months, and even that had been a quick hook-up with a guy he'd met at one of the computer stores in town. The distraction had been good for a night, but he always found himself being drawn back to work at the STK house, focusing on saving the kids.
As he headed to the bedroom, guilt already ate at him for leaving all the work for Trenton and Matt to handle. It wasn't that they couldn't do it, but he liked to be there, liked always being in the know.
Truth was, when he was at work he was focusing on other kids and not the fact that he'd lost his own.
He tossed his cell phone on the nightstand and emptied his pockets before stripping down and changing into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He smiled, thinking how much the guys would tease him if they could see him now. He wasn't known for going casual, even when he was in jeans and a t-shirt, they were designer and practically new. He always dressed nice, and as odd as it was, he missed being in a suit all the time like he had been when he'd worked for the CIA.
He glanced at the clock, seeing it was just after five in the evening. He'd told Bryon he'd be back in the morning, but he doubted he'd stay away that long. Once he found something to eat and got a few hours' sleep, he'd head back, curious if there was anything new they'd found and were working on.
He didn't have much food in the house since he was hardly ever home, so he decided on a quick bowl of oatmeal. It would be enough. It wasn't the steak he was craving, but he wasn't about to take the time to run to the store and cook something big. Not when it was just him. He ate well at the STK house. Becca usually made them something, and if she wasn't around, almost all the guys could throw something together.
He set his bowl on the counter to let it cool just as the doorbell rang.
He sighed, debating on ignoring it. No one knew where he lived, and even if they did, anyone of importance knew to call him first. He didn't do well with unannounced visitors. Still, it was obvious someone was home. His car was in the driveway and the lights were on.
Hoping it was nothing more than a kid selling candy bars for school, he headed out front and opened the door, shocked to find an older, dark-haired man standing there. "Can I help you?"
The man smiled. "You're a hard man to track down."
Carter raised a brow. "Why would someone be trying to track me?"
"A friend gave me your name. I’m Archer Rodriguez, and I'm hoping you can help me."
"With?" Carter didn't have the patience to be polite.
"Tracking down a criminal." The man's brown eyes held Carter's gaze.
Carter sighed. "I'm no longer doing that. I'm sorry. You'd be better to contact the local authorities."
"That's the thing. They can't help me. I need someone who can do more than they are able to." Archer stared at him. "Howard Gibbons sent me to you."
Carter sucked in a breath. He hadn't heard from Howard in a few years. He'd always gotten along with his brother-in-law, but ever since Beth had committed suicide, it had been hard for Carter to be around her family. He struggled not to feel guilty about her death and take the blame on his shoulders. Like with his daughter, he'd failed his wife, not being there when she'd needed him the most. "I'm sorry, I'm still not interested in helping." Carter went to shut the door.
"It's about Angel," Archer quickly said.
Carter froze, his gaze flashing up to meet Archer's. "What about Angel?" His chest tightened as he said her name. The pain never faded. It was always there, always squeezing at his heart, reminding him of things he couldn't leave in the past.
Archer seemed to pause and take a deep breath. "I think I'm close to catching the man who killed her."
Carter rolled his eyes. "Do you have any idea how many detectives have said that over the years? Every time a new grave is found, someone claims they are close." He didn't have the patience to go through this again. He knew where the case stood. At least once a week he was hacking into files, looking for any updates.
"I'm aware, trust me, I've been working this case for years. I quit my job at the FBI to solve this case. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think we could help each other," Archer told him. "Does the name Lyle Carmen mean anything to you?"
Carter's eyes widened. "Carmen is the name of the family the DNA hit came back to." He'd done enough digging to know that the FBI had linked it to the family, but it didn't fit any of the men they'd contacted.
"Lyle is the oldest brother. The missing brother," Archer told him.
