by Jenifer Ruff
“You need to get that?” Victoria asked.
He responded without checking the phone. “No, it’s my personal line.”
Victoria wondered if it was related to his mother again. Having to take care of aging parents was stressful. She hoped he wasn’t the one having to pay for her assisted living facility and private care on his police salary.
Ms. Greenwood returned, barely a minute after she left the room. “Sorry about that, so how can I help you?” She smoothed her dress against the back of her legs and gracefully sat.
Victoria answered. “We have some questions about one of the office buildings you’re offering for lease in Resling Corporate Park.”
“Sure. Which one?” She scooted forward and hit a few buttons on her keyboard.
“It’s the eight thousand building.”
The realtor tilted her head to the side. “Are you interested in renting the property for one of the police units?” Her tone indicated she knew they weren’t.
“No. We’re interested as part of an ongoing investigation,” Connelly said.
“Got it. All right, in that case, what can I tell you? Let’s see. It’s been on the market for over a year. Haven’t had much interest in the property since it came available. A few months ago, I was hoping Amazon might want the land to build on, but they aren’t interested in another Charlotte area location right now.”
“When did you last visit the property and go inside?” Connelly asked.
“Oh, it’s been awhile. Like I said, not much interest. Just give me a few seconds here and I can tell you exactly,” she said, focusing on her laptop. “Okay. Four weeks ago. I showed the property to a corporate client from New Jersey. Is there something specific you’d like to know?”
Victoria doubted that whoever was living in the basement had been there that long. There would have been more trash. But it was possible. Maybe whoever was down there cleaned up every few days. “Did you go down to the bottom level when you were there?”
“The basement? No. The client wasn’t excited about the property. It was one of several I showed them. We didn’t stay long. I don’t know if I’ve ever been down to the bottom floor of that property. Why do you ask? Maybe if I knew what you were looking for, I could be more helpful.”
“We found evidence of squatters there,” Connelly said.
Victoria frowned. Squatters would not have locked themselves in one room with a bucket.
“Really? That’s not going to help it sell.” Miss Greenwood looked concerned. “Well, I guess it’s been cold lately. I suppose, as long as there’s no harm done . . .Was there any damage?”
“No. Nothing vandalized,” Connelly said. “A forensics team was out there yesterday and collected evidence.”
“They were?” Ms. Greenwood asked. “Did they have a code to get in, or did they break in . . . never mind. I better go out there today and have a look. Might have to put different locks on.”
“We’re done there.” The detective tapped his thigh. “But we might have someone watching the property in case whoever was there returns.”
“Okay. I understand.” The realtor glanced at her watch. Her tight, professional smile returned.
“Did anyone else go out there to show the place?” Victoria asked.
“Nope. That’s unusual by the way—so few showings. It’s a fluke. But location is everything. Most businesses don’t want to be isolated.” The realtor stood up. “I’m afraid I have to leave soon for another appointment. But, please, if there’s any way I can help you, just let me know. You’ve got my number.”
Victoria and Connelly exchanged a brief look. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking. The interview had not been particularly helpful so far, but she had nothing left to ask. “Thank you for your time.”
“Yes, thank you,” Connelly said. “We’ll let you know if there are any additional issues with the property."
Victoria and Connelly walked out together.
“That was a waste,” Connelly said. “I have to get back uptown.” He gave her a dismissive wave as he walked to his car.
Victoria followed. Not every lead will pan out, you still have to track down each and every one. “Look, I know this isn’t my case. But I really care about getting Emma Manning home. And I can’t help if I don’t have a better idea of what you’re doing.”
“We’re all very grateful for your help. You’ve been great. Especially with finding that website. If I didn’t thank you enough already, I should have.”
“I wasn’t looking for a thank you, Connelly.” Victoria stood with her hands on her hips. “I need to know what is and isn’t being done. I’m happy to fill in wherever needed.”
His phone rang again.
“That’s great. I really appreciate that. I do.” He smiled, but his jaw looked tight. His phone kept ringing. “Okay. Let me call you once I get to my office and I’ll send you an updated case list. Gotta go. Try that fried chicken I told you about, if you haven’t already.” He got into his car and shut the door.
Victoria wondered if his personal issues were impeding on his professional duties.
Chapter Eighteen
Stephen stood on the patio admiring the landscaped back yard. On the distant horizon, acres of plush green golf course met the hazy sky.
Svet had left and his brother, Petar, arrived to replace him. Petar joined Stephen on the patio. “N—n—nice digs.” He leaned against one of the chairs around the firepit. “So, are you g-g-gonna tell me what that was about yesterday?”
Stephen puffed his cigarette. His eyes settled on the tattoos covering Petar’s arms—a snake, a skull, and a mermaid with enormous breasts. “You’re the one who needs to tell me. What did you see?”
The bodyguard lit his own cigarette and spoke to his boss without looking at him. “Just one FBI woman.”
“What was she doing? And don’t make me drag this out of you with a hundred questions. Listening to you try to sputter out words requires more patience than I have right now.”
Petar swallowed. “I dunno.”
Stephen glared at him.
“Looking around?” Petar inhaled and blew out a ribbon of smoke. “Sh-sh-he yelled out something to me. I took off. W-why didn’t you tell me you left with the new girl? I thought I was supposed to watch her.”
“I didn’t have time to tell you. Isn’t that obvious? I had just enough time to get her out of there. Did you change the plates on your car?”
“Yeah.” Petar swallowed, staring out towards the pool. “Just did. W-w-what are the girls doing here?”
“If you mean, why are they here—they’re here because I told Svet to bring them here. If you mean what are they doing at this very minute—I sedated our most recent addition. Sofia and Anastasia are watching television.”
There were no landlines in the house and the girls didn’t have access to a cell phone. As long as the local girl was sedated, he wasn’t worried about them going anywhere. Anastasia and Sofia could be trusted. Years of threatening them—I’ll always find you and I’ll slaughter your families if you try to leave, if you don’t do as I say—had taken their toll. Although, he’d thought the same about Sasha until she’d outright refused a new customer’s request, kicked him where it counted when he tried to force her, and then screamed for help.
“Sh-sh-sh—” Petar gulped. “Should I get them some food?”
Stephen sat down on one of the recliners and stretched his legs over the thick cushions. “They can fend for themselves with whatever food is in the house. Just keep an eye on them, make sure the girl doesn’t wake up.” His phone rang. Petar walked into the house as he answered.
“What happened?” Allison always got right to the point.
“We had to vacate your building. And good thing we did. An FBI agent came sniffing around.”
“That would be Agent Heslin. Who was staying there?”
“Sofia and Anastasia. And a new girl.”
“A new one?”
“Damian
brought her. She’s a local.”
“Please tell me it’s not the missing girl on television. Emma . . . something or other.”
Stephen was surprised and impressed that Allison had surmised correctly.
“Damian brought her. And I’m going to have a memorable chat with him about it. Believe me.”
“I’m glad you got everyone and most everything out in time. But that girl cannot—”
“How do you know we got out in time?”
“I tried to call you earlier. Detective Connelly and that agent came to poke around and ask questions. Now I know why. Emma Manning.”
Stephen sat up to grind his cigarette butt on the glass side table.
“So where are the girls now?”
He leaned back on the cushions again. “A friend’s house.”
“A friend?”
“A friend with a house that’s way too big for just her. A friend who must have so many other places to stay that she didn’t even come home last night.”
Allison inhaled like she was about to dive underwater and stay there. “Where are they, Stephen?”
“Don’t lose your professional demeanor. It’s unbecoming. They’re in one of your guest rooms.”
“What? Emma Manning, too? No! Absolutely not. I have neighbors! A neighborhood association.” Stephen knew Allison was in her office because she was only hissing, not shouting. Her rage came through the phone just the same.
“Miss Manning is drugged. She has no idea where she is, where she’s been, or where she’s going. Your nearest neighbors are acres away. If they see anything, they’ll think you’re having a few girlfriends to stay.”
She scoffed. “No one would ever believe that. Why didn’t you take them to your condo?”
“Why would I? You have extra space and a view of the golf course. Though I might have taken them somewhere else, had you answered your phone when I called you.”
“You could have taken them to a hotel! Get them out of my house. Did anyone see them go in?”
“No one saw us. Our cars are in your garage.”
“How the hell did—never mind. Listen to me, I have a new place for them. A place they can stay permanently.”
“You mean we would buy the place?”
“We should have someone else buy or lease it for us. It would put an end to these fire-drill evacuations. It’s an empty commercial property near the stadium. Used to be a club. It won’t sell. It’s run down and the owners won’t come down on the price, but I’ll get them to come around. It will be a good location for business. There are living quarters upstairs. You can take the girls there now, until they leave Charlotte. In that area, even if someone notices them, they won’t care.”
“I’m not moving again. We’re staying here until after the games, then we’re off to Winston-Salem.”
“No. No. No. Absolutely, not. This new spot will be closer to—”
“This is close enough.” He adjusted the lumbar pillow behind him. “It’s a wonderful place for me to meditate. You know, Allison, until now, I don’t think I ever fully appreciated the set-up you have. Our arrangement has certainly worked out well for you. For the most part, you get to live in the lap of luxury and keep your distance from the whole ugly operation.”
“Or I wouldn’t be able to do what I do for us.” Something snapped on Allison’s end of the phone. “If I have to be anywhere near those girls, I’m going to need a bigger cut.”
“If our business is suffering, you suffer, too.”
“Business is hardly suffering, Stephen. You don’t have enough girls to handle all the calls with this event in town. But if you think you can offer clients a girl whose picture is all over the news, you’ve lost it.”
Stephen laughed.
“Did you hear me? Do not put that girl on the market here. We need to get her to the Dominican Republic where she’ll disappear. I don’t care who you sell her to there, just make sure she never sees the light of day in this country again.”
“Don’t forget, Allison, this is my business. I started it and I know what I’m doing. But you’ve piqued my interest with the business property near the stadium.” He sat up to light another cigarette, then leaned back again on the striped chaise lounge and closed his eyes. “I was thinking, when we get back from Winston, I might want to buy myself a nice place like yours.”
“I’m heading over to the place to make sure it’s safe—the spot I want you to move to. And then we’ll talk again. Those girls need to get out of my house. And don’t let them touch anything. I mean it. And for the record—I was away on business last night, not that I need to explain my private life to you.”
Allison hung up.
She was freaking out, showing the cracks in her facade of control. He had expected no less. In her perfectionist mind, she had a reputation to uphold—sexy, powerful business woman who donated generously to the community. If the world ever found out she was a key player in a human trafficking ring—well, that would derail her carefully-constructed persona before she knew what hit her.
How fun would it be to bring down Allison?
Maybe someday he’d find out. She wouldn’t be the first colleague he’d had to murder. Mr. Jones tried to cheat me and didn’t realize how carefully I tracked our earnings. But for right now, she was useful and he benefitted from her ambitions. Bottom line—she was an asset.
Allison was right about the American girl, though. Little Miss Manning was an escalating liability. Because of her, the FBI was on their trail. Something had to be done about the situation.
There was nothing easier and more lucrative than selling girls for sex. A bag of drugs could only be sold once. One and done. A young girl could fetch thousands of dollars an hour and be sold over and over again. A recyclable product with unlimited earning potential. If he picked the right girls and paid off a few business allies to look out for him, no one gave them any trouble. But if he took the wrong girl . . .
He leaned his head against the pillow and smoked another cigarette before making his next phone call. “Hello, my friend.”
“Stephen! I was gonna call you. I, uh—listen—”
“Shut up.”
“I mean, uh—I’ve got to know—you don’t have Emma Manning, do you?”
Anger pulled at the corners of Stephen’s mouth as he spoke. “It appears you’ve forgotten why I’m paying you.”
The man on the other end of the line gulped. “This is a whole different game you’ve stepped into. First I have—”
Stephen frowned. “Whatever you’re going to do to get the cops, the FBI, and the media off our trail—do it now!”
“So, you do have her? I need to know—”
Stephen hung up. He opened the Peace and Calm Meditation App on his phone and selected the gentle sounds of rainfall before placing the phone down on the chaise. He closed his eyes, but his mind raced. What was the point of a home like Allison’s if he couldn’t relax here?
A faint chirping noise sounded through the recorded rain. At first, he thought it came from the App, but soon realized it originated somewhere in the bushes. He stood, cocking his head to listen, and then strolled toward the sound.
A bird lay on the ground, uselessly flapping one broken wing. Stephen picked the animal up and peered at it. The bird struggled and Stephen tightened his grasp. The chirping intensified into a high-pitched screech as he clenched his fist and the space surrounding the bird became smaller. He grinned at the desperate fight for survival erupting inside his hand. The tension in his shoulders relieved a bit more with the shattering of each fragile bone.
The bird’s head flopped to one side, lifeless. Stephen dropped it on the ground and booted it out of sight.
Returning to the chaise, he kicked off his shoes and sat down, wiping blood and gore onto the blue-striped cushion.
He turned off the fake rain, lay back, and closed his eyes.
♦ ♦ ♦
Perched on the edge of her office chair, Allison took a sip of her
coffee, eyes glued on the local news coverage. Spoiled little Emma Manning. Her disappearance had caused quite a stir, although it had recently taken a back seat to the bomb threat news. How nice to have so many people worried about you, so many people concerned with your well-being.
Allison crushed her empty cup, tossed it into the trash, and shut off the television. She scooped up her key fob and stood. What a difference from the rusty old key she carried as a child, the one that opened a one-room apartment crawling with roaches. The frail latchkey kid with the frizzy red hair had disappeared without leaving a trace, just like Emma Manning. Allison’s money brought power. The power to teach people a lesson if they crossed her.
“I’m going to check on one of our properties.” She cruised by the front desk in her high heels. “I won’t be back today.”
“Miss Greenwood, wait.” The receptionist craned her neck. “Aren’t representatives from the Kline Company meeting you here later?”
“I pushed that back. Something came up.” Her smile was forced. She couldn’t escape the unpleasant knowledge of those girls in her house. The space she’d tried to keep separate from the ugly realities of her current and past life. She wanted them out.
Inside her Mercedes, Allison gripped the steering wheel hard, still reeling from her conversation with Stephen. Does he not realize just how much he owes me? When I first met him—showing him the tacky condos he asked to see—he expected me to believe he recruited models. Ha! Considered himself an ‘entertainment services entrepreneur.’ What a joke! All he had was a few foreign girls from poor families and none of them were lasting under his living conditions.
She braked hard to avoid blowing through a red light. The sudden stop sent her lurching forward against her seatbelt.
I’m the one who got him to branch out with a higher quality product.
She’d elevated Stephen from dime-a-dozen pimp to a provider of luxury entertainment services. His upgraded girls really could be models. And why? Because she’d taught him how to maintain them—hair, nails, nice clothes, ballet and stretching videos daily, keeping them underfed, making sure they never got pregnant or caught a disease.