“Yes.”
Douglas nodded toward Royce and the door, obviously suggesting her boss exit.
“I’m Ms. Barrett’s attorney.” Royce stepped back, but he didn’t leave the room.
The cop sighed, ignored Royce, and focused on Hannah. “I have some pictures I’d like you to look at.” The cop opened his folder. “Based on the description you gave me, I pulled the mug shots of some of our known local offenders.”
“All right.” Hannah found the handrail controls and raised the head of the bed until she was sitting upright.
He set a stack of photos in her hand. “See if any of these men look familiar.”
Hannah flipped through a few dozen photos and handed them back. “I don’t see either one of them here.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I had a good view of the first man. I only had a quick glimpse of the second.”
“I guess that would have been too easy.” The cop frowned. “See if any of these girls look like the one you saw.” He handed her a different set of pictures.
Hannah looked at each one, sadness pinging in her chest as she flipped through school pictures and family snapshots of dark-haired teenage girls. “My God, they’re all so young. Are they all missing?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The officer clasped his hands behind his back and stood square.
Hannah shuffled the last picture to the back of the stack. “I’m sorry. She’s not here.”
“I started in southern Nevada, but I’ll expand my query to the surrounding states.” The cop stuffed his photos back into their envelope. “I’ll call you if I have more pictures for you to view.”
All those girls were from this region. How could so many innocents go missing? The sheer number was dizzying. Hannah clenched her hands in the sheet at her waist as if her grip on the fabric would hold her distress at bay. “Were you able to trace the GPS on my phone?”
“No, ma’am. We assume he removed the battery or destroyed the phone,” the cop said.
“Have you found anything else?” Hannah couldn’t get the girl’s desperate eyes out of her head. Help me.
The cop tapped his pen on his notebook. “The club has surveillance cameras in the lot, but they don’t have a hundred percent coverage, and the section of the lot you were attacked in technically belongs to the motel. No camera coverage there, so we don’t have an image of your assailants. Surveillance cameras caught the black SUV on its way out of the parking lot, but the license plate was obscured, probably intentionally. We questioned the Carnival staff and did a sweep of the area. But the club borders on an industrial park. Most of the surrounding businesses are closed at night, and there isn’t much foot traffic.” He flipped the page. “The clerk at the motel denied that anyone fitting those descriptions checked in today. We did find another motel guest who thinks he saw a few other underage girls going into rooms, but he wasn’t close enough to be sure.” The cop closed his notebook. “Our fingerprint tech managed to lift several prints off the inside of the rental car.”
“But hundreds of people have been in that car. It’s a rental.”
“The prints are likely recent. Fingerprints evaporate, especially in this desert environment. I’d like to send our tech over to take your prints for comparison.”
“Of course,” Hannah said. “But I valet parked several times yesterday, with clients in the car.”
“It’s still our best lead.” He stacked the envelope of pictures with his notebook. “I have your cell number and address in New York. If we get a match on the fingerprints or I have more pictures for you to view, I’ll call you.”
“But you’re not hopeful?” she asked.
The cop was quiet for a few seconds. “My team specializes in investigating possible cases of human sex trafficking. From the scenario you described and what we’ve discovered at the hotel, we suspect she was being trafficked. One of the men with her could have been her pimp or her boyfriend.”
“She’s a child.” Even as she protested, Hannah saw the truth in his assessment. Outrage and sickness welled in her throat.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Our best bet is the fingerprints. If we’ve arrested either one of them previously, we’ll have their prints in the database. If the prints we lifted from the car aren’t theirs, then we might be out of luck. We’ll be watching the motel, but her pimp will probably move to a different location after tonight.”
Hannah’s mind spun. She moved her foot. An ache shot up her ankle. No doubt she’d discover more bruises tomorrow, but she didn’t care. Somewhere in the city, a young girl was being victimized, maybe killed, and the authorities were powerless.
“We appreciate your efforts, ma’am,” Douglas said. Despite his words, his eyes told Hannah he didn’t expect to find either the man or the girl.
“Isn’t there anything else you can do?” she asked. There must be something.
“I’ll check with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and the FBI’s National Crime Information Center for missing females who fit the basic description you provided. We’ll keep looking. The odds are against us, but sometimes we get lucky.”
“I understand,” Hannah said. “Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you. And take care, ma’am. Keep in mind that he stole your purse and phone. He has personal information about you. Have you canceled your credit cards?”
“Yes. I did that while I was in the ER.” She’d been carrying a small evening bag containing just the bare essentials, but her wallet had been inside.
“Be on the lookout for identity theft.”
Hannah nodded. The cop left, leaving her empty and hopeless.
“I’m sorry.” Royce moved to the bedside. He reached for her hand, then stopped with a frown. “I know you wanted to help that girl.”
“He was going to hurt her. Really hurt her. I could see it in his face.” The images were permanently branded into Hannah’s mind. The cold anger in the man’s eyes. The girl’s fear. Was she still alive?
“I’m sorry.” Royce shifted, glancing toward the door as if willing Grant to appear.
Grant . . .
Last night’s incident would disturb him. “Look, my brother doesn’t need to know all the details.”
Grant had suffered post-traumatic stress. He was doing better since he’d left the military, but crimes against kids were Grant’s weak spot. She didn’t want anything to disrupt the peace he’d found or impede his progress. Why should they both suffer?
Someone knocked on the door frame. Tears burned the corners of her eyes as Grant walked into the room. The safety and comfort his presence offered flooded her with relief.
Grant’s gaze swept over Hannah, his blue eyes assessing her with military precision. She suspected he’d never truly be able to shake the soldier inside of him. “What happened?”
She offered a weak smile. “I got in between a big guy and his girlfriend.”
Grant’s eyes hardened.
“What can I say?” She picked at the blanket weave. “You know me. All leap, no look.”
Royce cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry.” Hannah introduced them. “Royce Black. My brother, Major Grant Barrett.”
“It’s just Grant now. I’ve dropped the major, remember?” Grant shook Royce’s hand. “Thanks for calling me.”
Royce summed up her condition in a few sentences. Grant nodded and asked Royce a few questions about her follow-up care.
“Hello, I’m right here.” Hannah waggled her fingers.
“Thank God.” With an indulgent expression he usually reserved for the children, Grant leaned over and kissed her cheek. He turned back to Royce. “You’re sure she’s supposed to be released today? She looks terrible.”
Hannah would have rolled her eyes if movement of her eyeba
lls didn’t hurt. “You’re still talking about me as if I’m not here.”
Both men ignored her.
Royce said, “Yes, discharge papers are on the way. She tried to refuse admittance.”
The men exchanged an Of course she did look.
“I just want to go home, Grant,” she said, embarrassed at the pitiful tone of her voice. “My injuries are minor.” Really, she was achy and bruised, but Royce’s worries seemed overboard. The doctor hadn’t seemed nearly as concerned.
He squeezed her hand. “OK.”
Royce turned to Hannah. “I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
After a long flight and drive, Hannah’s sore muscles and bruises had stiffened. Grant led her inside the fixer-upper he and his surely soon-to-be fiancée, Ellie, had bought over the summer. Hannah limped into the house. Baby gates blocked off the dining and living rooms on either side of the foyer. Though Halloween had passed more than a week ago, three paper bats hung from the foyer light fixture.
Barking, AnnaBelle the golden retriever barreled down the hall. Grant stopped the dog with one hand. “Whoa.”
“She’s fine.” Hannah scratched behind the silky ears. “Good girl.”
Hannah vaguely registered a gated-off room full of building and painting supplies.
“Aunt Hannah!” Carson ran down the stairs in race-car pajamas. He threw his arms around her waist and buried his face in her sweater. “I missed you.”
Her bruised tailbone protested as she stooped to hug him. She held him close, the contact with his small body—and giant affection—softening her like butter left in the sun. “I missed you, too. It’s so late. What are you doing up?”
“I heard AnnaBelle bark, and I knew you were here.” He rubbed his sleepy eyes.
An earsplitting scream rattled the walls.
“And the baby who never sleeps wants her hug.” Ellie appeared at the end of the hall. In her robe and slippers, she looked ragged. “You might want to change first.”
“How long has she been up?” Grant asked.
“Half hour,” Ellie said. “I gave her some Tylenol.”
Stretching her grubby hands toward Hannah, Faith tottered down the hall.
“Oh, my God. She’s walking.” With one arm around Carson, Hannah reached for the baby. “What is that on her hands?”
Carson eased away. “Ew.”
“Looks like dog food.” Ellie sighed. “I thought the bowl was empty. AnnaBelle must have filled up on macaroni and cheese. I swear more of Faith’s food ends up on the floor than in her mouth. She’s the Tasmanian Devil baby.”
Faith reached Hannah, squealed, and grabbed her aunt’s slacks with two disgusting fists. Hannah scooped her up. Definitely dog food. “Girlfriend, let’s wash those hands.”
The baby babbled as Hannah carried her into the kitchen. Propping Faith on her hip, she turned on the faucet, tested the water temperature, and leaned the baby toward the stream. She soaped up one chubby hand.
“Watch out!” Ellie said.
Faith grabbed the pull-out nozzle and pointed it at Hannah’s face. Water soaked her sweater and dripped off her face.
Laughing, Grant shut off the water. “Sorry about that. She discovered the pull-out feature last week.”
“You are a little pistol.” Hannah kissed the baby on the top of the head. Sniffing her baby shampoo–scented hair, she felt the tension inside her loosen further. The love that crowded her heart when she was with the kids filled her with equal parts joy—and terror.
Faith kicked her feet and twisted.
“Can I let her down?” Hannah scanned the room. Everything appeared to be barricaded except the kitchen and hall.
“Sure. The kitchen is babyproof.” Grant picked up the dog’s bowl and set it on the counter. “Are you hungry?”
“No, just tired.” Hannah mopped at her drenched sweater with a dish towel.
“Let’s get you settled, then.” Upstairs, he led her into a guest room that smelled faintly of fresh paint. A white iron bed faced the window. White curtains framed a view of the dark woods behind the house. The soft green walls and white linens looked serene. “I’ll bring your luggage up. Ellie took your clothes from the trunks in Lee’s attic and put them in the closet and drawers.” Grant headed for the door.
She ran a finger across the glossy white window trim. “What?”
After she and her brothers had moved their father to a nursing home, Lee had convinced her to keep her few belongings, mostly off-season clothes, at his house. The cost of living in New York City is outrageous. Save your money, and you’ll be able to purchase a unit with less debt later, he’d said. At the time, she hadn’t known his anti-debt spiel was coming from personal experience, but he’d been right. She had a nice down payment in her brokerage account. After Lee’s death, Grant offered her his new place as her official address. But she’d never asked for a room of her own.
Her protest had to wait for him to return with her luggage. A few minutes later he lined her bags up in front of the closet.
“Ellie didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” Hannah said. Having her personal belongings in the dresser and closet felt . . . permanent. Her brother was playing hardball. He knew how much she feared attachment, and he was forcing her hand.
“You don’t have that much stuff. This is your room. You might not be here very often, but it’s yours whenever you want to be here.” Grant dug into his front pocket and pulled out a key. “I had a house key made for you, too.” He put it on the dresser. Pointing to a doorway, he said, “You have your own bathroom, too.”
“Really? How did you get all this done since I was here last?”
“Two months is a long time, and we want you to feel at home.”
The address on her license was a formality. She’d never intended to actually live in Scarlet Falls again. She floated from city to city, with no permanent ties to any particular place. In the beginning, she’d liked the feeling of freedom. But Lee’s death had changed everything. Hannah’s world was tilted. Instead of free, she now felt lost. As soon as her promotion came through, she’d start looking for an apartment. It would be in the city, not her hometown, but she couldn’t hurt Grant’s feelings. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to help Ellie get the kids back to bed. You should try to sleep, too.” Grant left the room.
Had it really been two months since she’d visited? How could she let that happen? She stared up at the freshly painted ceiling for a minute, then got up and went into the new bathroom. Grant and Ellie had kept the vintage feel of the house with a modern pedestal sink and a mosaic tile floor in the same pale green and white they’d used in the bedroom. A deep, modern freestanding tub invited her for a soak, and the shower had more jets than an airport. Had this been a bedroom or a closet before her brother had reallocated the space for her? Guilt lay in a thick layer on her skin. She needed to visit more, no matter how painful it was to leave.
As much as she resisted, Grant’s house felt like home. It felt too good. Almost good enough to blot out the image of a frightened teenager Hannah had left behind in Vegas. Almost.
Suddenly, she needed to wash the trip from her skin. She took a hot shower. The clothes in her suitcase were dirty, but she found her battered Syracuse University sweatshirt in one of the dresser drawers. She tugged it on with a pair of yoga pants and thick socks. After the warmth of the desert, the damp of autumn in New York State chilled her to the marrow.
Tired but restless, she fluffed up the pillows and settled in bed with her laptop. Her e-mail account was full, as usual. There were several messages from concerned coworkers and clients who’d heard about the attack in Vegas. She sent quick thank-you notes back.
Her mouse hovered over an e-mail from [email protected]. The subject line read Jewel. Hannah’s hands froze. A wave of cold swept over her skin. Only the police and Royce
had been present when Hannah had given her statement. No one else would know the girl’s name—except the girl and the men who took her.
Hannah clicked on the e-mail. The message was short: Help. The end comes Tuesday.
Chapter Five
“You sure this is the right address?” Brody shifted his unmarked police car into park at the curb in front of a narrow two-story home. A dozen blocks from the town center, the houses crowded together on small lots. White with black shutters, the place was plain but neat. No trash littered the tiny chain-linked yard. A maple tree had turned to crimson in the center of the small front yard, and its fallen leaves had been raked recently.
In the passenger seat, Chet Thatcher, the only other detective on the small Scarlet Falls PD, checked his paperwork against the brass numbers affixed next to the front door. “This is Jordan Brown’s last known address. Maybe he moved.”
Brody pointed to the small script letters that spelled Brown on the side of the black metal mailbox.
Chet tapped a forefinger on his report. “His parents’ house.”
“What do we know about him?” Brody asked. Chet had been working this case for the last month, but he’d asked for Brody to ride backup today.
“Jordan is twenty. He’s been arrested for burglary and once for narcotics possession. He got out of rehab six months ago.” Chet flipped a page on his clipboard. “A house was burglarized two blocks from here last night. The resident came home to find her window smashed, jewelry and two hundred dollars in cash missing. In her words, Must be that no-good piece-of-shit Brown kid who lives on Tyler Street.”
“Anybody actually see Jordan in the act?” Brody asked.
“No. I don’t have enough probable cause for a warrant, but the theft follows his established pattern of behavior. We arrested him two years ago for breaking into neighbors’ cars to fund his habit.” Chet showed him the kid’s mug shot. “There have been three similar break-ins in this neighborhood over the past six weeks.”
“Let’s go see if he’s home.” Chet got out of the car.
Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls) Page 4