by Jenifer Ruff
The doctor moved to stand by the door and two strangers entered. Sofia couldn’t see their features clearly, but she sensed the casually dressed, blonde woman was attractive by her fit figure and the way she carried herself. The man looked solid and strong in his flannel shirt and jeans, but not a giant beast like Petar and Svet.
Sofia’s heart beat faster. She flattened her sweaty palms against the sheet. She was so close to being free, closer than she’d ever been, but she was also weak and could barely sit up in the bed. She couldn’t run. Maybe in a few days, but not now. She needed help. But how could she know who to trust?
“Hi. I’m agent Victoria Heslin.” The woman sounded confident and in charge, but not harsh. “And this is Agent Dante Rivera. We’re with the FBI. We’re here to help you. We want to find out who shot you.”
Sofia’s throat tightened and she had a hard time swallowing. Stephen had law enforcement officers on his payroll. Did he have FBI too? If she trusted them and was wrong, they would send her right back to him. She shuddered and her empty stomach heaved with fear. Stephen would be furious that she’d tried to escape. But maybe, just maybe . . . if she fed the agents the story she was supposed to tell if she ever got separated from Svet or Petar—I’m visiting my uncle. I can’t remember his address right now, but I’m sure he’ll come for me soon—maybe Stephen would forgive her.
The female agent held a black book or a computer tablet, Sofia wasn’t sure which. “Can you tell us your name?” the woman asked.
Should I pretend I don’t understand English? Pretend I have amnesia? Sofia pressed her lips together, twisting the edge of her hospital gown between her fingers. I’ve got two options— trust them, or stay quiet until Stephen finds me here. He always said he would find us anywhere.
“Do you know your name?” Agent Heslin asked. “Are you having trouble remembering?”
The room seemed to be shrinking in size, the air stifling. “I know my name.” Sofia responded in perfect English, although anyone could tell from her accent that she wasn’t American. “Sofia Domitrovich.”
The male agent responded, “That’s a start.” His voice was authoritative but kind.
Anyone can pretend.
“Do you remember why you were running and do you know who shot you?” he asked.
Sofia shook her head.
“We’re trying to piece together what happened. No one seems to know what you were doing in the area when you were shot.”
Sofia looked down at her hospital bed.
“Okay,” Agent Rivera conceded. “Let’s see what you do remember. Where are you from, Sofia?”
“Ukraine. I’m here visiting my uncle.”
Maybe he was making faces that would tell her more about what he was thinking, but from where he was standing, his face was mostly a blur of skin color topped with dark hair and offered Sofia no clues. “And your uncle’s name is?”
“I’m—he’s—I’ve always called him Uncle.” She looked away from the agent. “I’m not worried. I know he’ll come for me soon.” The knot in her stomach grew with those words.
“We saw a picture of the mark on the back of your neck,” Agent Rivera said. “Can you tell us what it means? How it got there?”
Sofia hadn’t expected that question. She stared ahead, trying to focus on the wires coming out of some sort of medical contraption. “It’s just a tattoo,” she whispered.
Agent Rivera cleared his throat. “Earlier this week, we found a girl with the same mark in Virginia. And yesterday, I saw the same mark on a girl in a motel, here in Charlotte.”
Sofia had questions she didn’t dare ask. Why was he at the motel? Did he save the girl or not? If he’s going to help me like he said he would, he would have saved her first. Now she really didn’t trust him.
“We know you’ve been through a lot.” Sofia had to give the agent credit for trying her best to say all the right things. “It’s over now. All of it. And we want it to be over for the rest of the girls, too. Can you tell us what happened to you?”
Sofia remained silent, straining to remember the tip line number, still wondering if all of this was a trick or a test and if Stephen was standing outside the door listening to see what she said.
“You are an incredibly strong person.” There was warmth and assurance in the female agent’s voice. “You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you. We just want to help you.”
Torn between wanting to trust the woman, and not letting herself fall for anyone’s lies, Sofia counted to twenty-two before the agent spoke again.
“We can protect you and get you back to your family, if that’s a safe place for you. But we can’t help you until you help us first with some information.”
The statement reminded her of Ms. Bois when they arrived in America. “No money until you earn back the cost of your travel.” Total BS. I should know better by now. Sofia stared down at her lap. “If you work with Stephen, then you must know everything already. I shouldn’t need to tell you.” There, Stephen should be pleased with that response. I told them nothing. But then she thought of Sasha’s tongue wrapped in foil under the back seat of the van. What did Sasha do or say to deserve that? What will Svet do to me?
Agent Heslin moved closer to the bed, close enough for Sofia to see her well-defined bone structure, her perfect nose, and her long-lashes. What is her beauty hiding?
“We heard you were shot running away from someone or something.” Agent Heslin dipped her head. “You took a huge risk because you’re brave. Fear is not a reason to give up now, not after you’ve come this far. But . . . I understand that trusting someone now might be your biggest leap of faith. Take all the time you need, but please, let us know what we can do to earn your trust.”
The agent’s blue eyes contained something Sofia hadn’t seen in a very long time—empathy. She had occasions to see pity, and even mild concern from men after they were done with her, but no one besides Anastasia and Sasha had ever understood what was going on in her head. No one in America had spoken to her as if she was strong and intelligent.
Agent Rivera poured a glass of water from a pitcher. Sofia had noticed it previously, but with her vision, she thought it was some sort of decorative vase. He handed her the glass and she gulped the water down. It was pure heaven on her parched throat.
Something shifted inside Sofia. Isn’t freedom worth taking a big risk? Even if it means sacrificing my life?
She summoned her bravery. It’s now or never.
But if I’m wrong . . .
She sputtered out the words before she could talk herself out of it. “I know where the missing American girl is. Emma. I know who took her and where to find her. But you better move fast because they’re about to smuggle her out of the country.” She shut her eyes and tensed her body, half-expecting Stephen to burst in, grab her by the neck, and slam her head against the wall.
“That’s great,” Agent Rivera said. “There are a lot of people looking for her, her family is worried.”
Ignoring a pang of jealousy, Sofia opened her eyes. “I know. I saw it on television.” She struggled to sit up straighter and a pulling sensation around her stitched shoulder made her wince. “But I can’t remember the number to call.”
“What number?” Agent Heslin asked. “Are you talking about the tip line that was on the news?”
“Yes.”
“That’s okay,” Agent Heslin said. “You don’t need it. You can tell us.”
Sofia wrapped her good arm around her chest. She met Victoria’s eyes, and held her gaze steady, summoning every last ounce of her strength. “But I won’t tell you unless you help me, too. That’s the deal.”
“Of course, of course, we’ll help you.” Agent Heslin’s imploring look said why wouldn’t we?
“And Anastasia,” Sofia said.
“We don’t know who Anastasia is, but we want to help free all of the girls in this operation.” The female agent looked and sounded sincere. But Ms. Bois could also look and sound sinc
ere. Three years ago, she’d looked Sofia’s mother in the eyes and promised to take care of Sofia as if she was her own daughter. But whether the agents were tricking her or not, none of it mattered now anyway. It was done. She had betrayed Stephen. There was nothing left for Sofia to do except wait and see if she’d made a fatal mistake. The tears began to flow. Tears of relief—the decision was now out of her hands. She hadn’t cried in a long, long time.
“If you’re ready,” Agent Rivera said. “I want to show you a picture and see if you can identify someone else for us.”
Sofia wiped at her tears, biting down on her bottom lip. “I’m ready.”
He held up a photograph. “This is the girl we found in Virginia.”
“Bring it closer,” Sofia said. Agent Rivera complied.
Sasha looked to be sleeping in the photo, although her lips were a troubling bluish-gray color.
Sofia pressed her hand against her cheek. She held her breath for several seconds before exhaling. Of course, she knew there was a good chance Sasha was dead even before Svet presented her tongue. Yet she’d tried to convince herself the tongue hadn’t really belonged to her friend. The proof in the photograph hit her hard. She had to overcome her disorientation and focus. “That’s Sasha. Svet gave us her tongue last night.”
The agents quickly turned to look at each other. They were close enough now for her to pick up on their sympathetic expressions.
Sofia stopped her tears and told her whole story from the beginning.
“We were supposed to be models. Ms. Bois saw us walking home from school. Me and Sasha. She said we were strikingly beautiful and it would be a crime not to share us with the world. Stephen found Anastasia at another school in our town and told her the same.”
The agents listened without interrupting as she recounted bits of her sad and sordid story about Stephen and Ms. Bois, the brothers, and the parties with the men. She ended by describing the house from which she escaped. She was mentally and physically exhausted.
Dr. Chaudhry came in and did a quick exam. “She’s been through a lot,” she told the agents. “We need to give her some time to rest.” The doctor’s expression left no room for negotiations.
“We’ll be back in a few hours,” Victoria said. “We still need specific information—names, locations.”
Sofia was struggling to keep her eyes open. “Okay. I’ll just rest for a few minutes.”
She immediately drifted into a sound sleep.
♦ ♦ ♦
Victoria had a heavy feeling in her stomach as she and Rivera walked down the hospital corridor.
“We don’t have enough information to go after the sex traffickers yet,” Rivera said. “But we can get a search warrant and send police to the house she ran from.”
“What she just told us—it’s so heartbreaking—I couldn’t interrupt. And the ‘motel girls.’ I can’t imagine how any of them survive. We’ve got to find them fast.”
“I told you.”
“We have to protect her. That was huge for her to trust us.” Victoria placed her hand over her mouth, covering a yawn. “I wouldn’t trust anyone if I were her.”
“She’s tough.”
“And smart. Came speaking little English, and now she’s fluent.”
“But did you pick up on the way she talks about Emma and the other girls? Everyone except Anastasia. There’s no compassion. Like their weaknesses disgust her.”
“Three years as a sex-slave—how is she supposed to learn about compassion? Not from the people exploiting her. Not from the men paying to rape her. People don’t go to prison and come out kinder and nicer. They get tougher in order to endure.” Victoria lowered her voice. “She’s going to help us bring down this sex trafficking ring. And then, if necessary, I’m going to help get her the best psychologist out there. But right now, we need to keep her safe.”
They walked the rest of the way to the nurse’s station in silence. A few of the hospital staff were busy typing on computers and sorting through charts.
“Excuse me.” Victoria cleared her throat. “May I have your attention?” She held up her badge, waiting until one of the doctors put down her phone and a nurse looked up from a computer. “I’m Agent Heslin with the FBI, and this is Agent Rivera. The patient in room 302 needs a private room. There’s no one else in there now, and we need to keep it that way. We’ll have a guard posted outside the door at all times.”
The woman on the computer nodded.
“And we cannot have her listed in your database,” Victoria continued. “Change her name and age, whatever you need to do so she becomes invisible here. Can that happen immediately?”
“Yes,” Dr. Chaudhry responded. “We have a protocol in place for that.”
“Might she have any visitors?” a nurse with glasses asked, shifting the chart he carried to the opposite side of his body.
“No visitors.” Victoria made eye contact with each of the workers as she spoke. “Until you hear otherwise from me, no one other than her doctor and the nurses can see her. Her life is in danger and anyone attempting to visit her is a potential threat, no matter what they tell you.”
“Are the other patients on the floor in any danger?” the same nurse asked.
Victoria didn’t answer, exactly. “As soon as she can be safely discharged, we’ll be taking her to an isolated location. Until then, we’ll have agents or guards on the floor. Please make sure everyone working on this floor is aware and each next shift is informed.”
There were nods and murmurs from the staff.
“Thank you,” Victoria said. “I’m going to talk to security now. Agent Rivera will be outside the patient’s room.”
She headed downstairs to meet with security. Better try to find some coffee, too. Almost two nights without sleep was beginning to take its toll.
The elevator doors slid apart as she approached. Detective Connelly stepped out.
Victoria offered a tight-lipped smile of acknowledgement.
“Agent Heslin. You’re still in Charlotte.” Connelly stood directly in front of her. “Heard there might be a girl—?”
“Yes, there is.”
“Have you determined if she’s connected to Emma Manning’s disappearance?”
Victoria studied him. “She just had surgery. We can’t talk to her yet. Doctor’s orders. We’re going to handle this from here out.”
A flash of resentment narrowed his bloodshot eyes. He rubbed his hand over his face. Circles of sweat stained his shirt under his arms. “Who is ‘we’?”
“The girl in the hospital is now my responsibility, detective. And so is Emma Manning.”
“Since when?”
“Since yesterday.”
“Who gave you jurisdiction? I didn’t hear anything about it.” Connelly raised his voice and one of the nurses turned to look their way.
“No one, yet. I thought you’d be grateful, seeing you’re getting pulled into other work. Excuse me. I have a meeting.” And then, probably because she was sleep deprived, she couldn’t resist adding. “I’ll give you an update as soon as I can.” She stepped around the detective and walked away. Better wake up Murphy before I meet with security, since I’m going to tell them no cops or investigators allowed on the floor. At least not without Rivera or me present.
Chapter Thirty
Stephen backed his BMW between the faded lines of a parking spot. I hate this dump. The motel reminded him of starting out in the business. He supposed the dark and dingy place perfectly matched his mood since he found out Sofia had been shot and was now unaccounted for.
He knocked on one of the doors to signal his arrival. Svet answered, shirtless, with a beer in his hand. There were empty bottles on the nightstand and on the table holding the television. Trash from fast food restaurants littered the floor.
Nadia was sprawled across a bed, sleeping like a limp doll. Maria lay on her side on the stained carpet, obsessed with scratching her arm and chest. Stephen slapped her hand away from her bod
y to stop her from clawing at her skin.
Still wearing her dress, jewelry, and elegant but mussed hair-do, Anastasia huddled in a corner chair looking like she didn’t belong. One of these things is not like the others.
“Just gave them a fix,” Svet said, tipping his head toward Maria and Nadia.
Heroin and meth rendered them confused but compliant, barely able to stand on their own, mostly wanting to lay around and sleep. When the drugs wore off, they turned desperate, crying and clawing, like rabid, feral animals. They gave Stephen the creeps. No way could he bring them to Allison’s house, just in case a nosy neighbor came over to borrow something. These girls had to stay hidden from all but the customers, who rarely complained.
“Petar was at the gym.” Svet picked a bag of trash off a chair and sat down. “But he’s on his way here, now.”
Stephen had to endure less than a minute in the room before Petar trudged in.
“Glad you got my message.” Stephen glared at Petar. He deliberately paced to let them all see how angry yet how in control he was. He stopped at Damian. “And it started with you.”
“Me?” Damian looked to the door and then his shoes, blinking. He knew not to look at Stephen when he was mad.
Never show fear. Stephen pounded his fist into his hand. Give them a glimpse of your crazy. Kill whoever they care about. That’s how to keep them in line. “I’ve had a very bad few days, or we would have had this conversation much sooner.”
Stephen locked eyes with Svet and signaled toward Damian. Svet knew exactly what to do. He moved quickly, wrapping one arm tight around Damian’s neck and gripping Damian’s hands behind his back. Damian was strong, but no match for Svet.
Stephen stared Damian down. “Why? Why? Why, Damian?”
“Why what?” Damian struggled to get the words out through Svet’s chokehold.
“Why did you take the American girl?”
Damian grimaced under Svet’s grip. “You said one of your best clients wanted a white prep school girl.”
“Really, Damian? If a client says he wants a girl who reminds him of a pirate, do we go to the damn ocean and smuggle one off a boat? No! You stupid little . . . we buy a damn pirate costume! What were you thinking? Little princess Emma’s family wants her back and they have friends in high places.”