Allied

Chapter 5

Georgie

Washington, D.C., Present Day

I'm on my fifth cup of coffee. It's not something that I'm proud of — I strive to never have more than two — but today is a special occasion. I'm finally going to bust Operation Houdini. I can just feel it. I might be standing in the middle of my office at 3am, staring at a pinboard with a bunch of post-it notes and torn newspaper clippings, but I, Georgie Davis, have never felt more zen.

And caffeinated.

Definitely caffeinated.

"Come on, Georgie," I mutter to myself. "What are you missing?"

Well, a life, apparently, according to Jo. And probably a fair chunk of my sanity. But that's not what I'm thinking about right now. I tap my chin, surveying the web on the pinboard. The thing with human trafficking schemes is that they always need some sort of financial front — like a nail parlor, or vintage clothing shop — to make the money seem legal. I've pinned a half-dozen newspaper articles on the board about cash only businesses in the area that are doing suspiciously well, but nothing stuck out to me.

At least, not until today.

Remember how I swore that I would never trust an undercover agent? Well, the undercover agent just provided her handler with some information. Some pretty big information.

The front is a massage parlor.

And while I don't entirely  trust her intel (I'm assuming it's a her, if the agent is masquerading as a beautician or masseuse — sexist, but logical), I am willing to consider it. It matches a lot of the evidence that I've already dug up about Operation Houdini. I knew that they were likely working within the beauty industry, but I never considered a massage parlor.

Now I just need to figure out which one it is.

I examine the weeks of financial statements, previous criminal offenses, missing people reports, and maps of Washington that I've gathered, and then I wait. This is the part that Jo always refers to as my "lightning strike" moment. One moment, I'm completely lost, and then a second later, it all makes sense.

And then it hits me.

"Oh my god," I whisper.

My phone jumps into my hand. Fortunately, I have my boss on speed dial, and it only rings for a second before Grant picks up. "Davis?" He sounds exhausted. "This better be an emergency."

I hear a rustling noise, and a moment later, a muffled female voice whispers something shockingly rude. I realize belatedly that I must have also woken up Annette — Grant's wife — but honestly, I'm too excited to care. And in a moment, Grant will be, too.

"I found them." I'm grinning like an idiot. "Grant, I know where they are."

There's complete silence.

"You found them?" he croaks. "You're sure?"

"They left a paper trail." My voice is firm. "It's a slightly sleazy massage parlor on 12th. Can you get me a search warrant?"

"Easy," Grant says, and I hear the sound of a door clicking shut. He must be in the bathroom, so he doesn't disturb Annette. "I'm coming with you."

I hesitate. "On the raid?"

"Yes."

"I can handle it, Grant," I say shortly, and even though I'm trying not to sound defensive, I totally am. I'm the only woman in the Washington department. I wish that it wasn't a "thing", but it is; it's why I always wear my hair up, and why I never wear anything but nude nail polish. I hate being labelled as a female FBI agent. I'm just an FBI agent. Full-stop. "I've led raids like this before," I continue, growing more passionate. "You don't need to take the lead, I can handle-"