“And she knew nothing?”
“Not much. Some little things that might add up to something. I asked her about anything she saw, overheard, et cetera. She said they could hear the men talking sometimes, but mostly, she said she just tried to keep her head down. She did mention the upcoming auction the girls were being taken to. Apparently, their kidnappers made no secret about that.”
“But she had no idea where they were kept before transporting them?”
“No,” she said. “I asked her all the questions I could think of that would trigger memories. The one thing she did mention was that she never heard traffic. She said they could hear when someone left or pulled up outside, but there wasn’t a busy road nearby.”
“So, they were held in a rural area,” Blake said.
“Most likely. If they were held in a neighborhood, seems like they would have heard the occasional car, but she said no. Never. She did say she heard an airplane occasionally.”
“Could they have been near an airport?” Jo asked.
“I didn’t get that impression. She said it wasn’t regular, just every so often and it sounded like a smaller engine. She said once they arrived at the house, everything was routine. Like the people who’d taken them had done this with so many girls, it was just a process and no one deviated from it. They were told up front that if they caused any trouble or tried to escape, they would be harshly dealt with.”
“I’m guessing Skye gave them trouble,” Blake said.
“Yes, but only when they were loading to leave the house. She panicked and freaked out at the thought of never seeing her family again. When she tried to run, she was pushed down a flight of stairs and kicked at the bottom. Hence the broken ribs.” Her gaze flicked to Blake. “She also said that Rachel was the one who was able to calm her down.”
Blake nodded. “What else did she say about Rachel?”
“Just that she wasn’t supposed to be on the truck and was only there because one of the men—Carson, I believe—said they’d already promised a certain number of girls to the buyers and Rachel had to get Skye there.”
“So Rachel went too,” Blake murmured.
“Yes.”
“Skye did say that the guy who pushed her down the stairs was beaten by one of the other guys, and she didn’t know if he was dead or alive when they left the house. The guy who told Rachel to go with Skye also told her not to try anything or think she was going anywhere because she was special and she’d be back at the house before dark.”
Blake frowned. “Because of me. They needed to keep her nearby.”
“So,” Linc said, “they had to deliver the girls—including the wounded Skye. Everything was planned.”
Chloe shook her head. “Skye would have died before they got there. She barely made it as it is.”
“We know they were heading from West Columbia into downtown,” Linc said.
Blake grunted. “Which tells us exactly nothing.”
“Not necessarily,” Jo said. “The fact that Rachel would be back before dark tells us they weren’t going too far. Could be several hours away, but they’d be back that night. At least our radius isn’t the whole country.”
“True,” Chloe said with a nod, “but I think right now our biggest leads are the tractor trailer, the girls we rescued, and the vehicle carrying Rachel.”
“And the two guys Derek took care of.”
Linc checked his iPad. “Right. The truck was registered in the names of Wilson Bowles and Clyde Harrison. They were identified as guns for hire and both had rap sheets as long as the Mississippi River. But nothing that tells us who hired them.”
“And the guy you collared?” Blake asked Chloe.
“Stupid Man? David sent me some information on him.” David Unger, an information specialist with the department who could find just about anything on anyone. Chloe checked her phone. “His real name is Van Stillman. Also a long rap sheet. Also very good at keeping his mouth shut. So far, not even the offer of a deal has unsealed his lips. However, something interesting did come back.”
“What’s that?”
“It took some digging, but David managed to find out that Stillman’s got an association with Alessandro Russo.”
Blake sucked in a breath. “Alessandro Russo?”
“I take it you’re familiar with him,” Chloe said.
“He’s a bandit we’ve been looking for. JoAnn and I trailed him all over South Carolina, then down into Georgia and Florida.” Bandit, the most common name used for a fugitive. “One of the biggest organized crime heads in the state. He’s into all kinds of stuff. Mostly extortion, murder, and gun running. While it’s rare for the Italian mafia to be involved in drug running, it looks like Russo brought them into it too. It’s not surprising that he’s linked to human trafficking now. It was only a matter of time. Last I heard, he was still in Florida, but his trail went completely cold and we turned his case over to the Miami Marshals’ Office. They haven’t been able to track him down yet, either.”
“That’s because there’s evidence he’s returned to South Carolina,” Chloe said. She raised a brow at her brother. “You want to continue?”
“Sure.” Linc pulled up a video and it began to play on the screen on the far wall. “We’ve got him on security footage leaving the Hyatt in downtown Greenville.” A man in a suit and tie walked out of the hotel, followed by his bodyguards. They climbed into a waiting limousine and it drove off. “When agents arrived, he was gone, his trail lost. I ran him by Derek, who said OCN was real interested in having him behind bars as well, due to his drug affiliations. He’s got every branch in law enforcement after him for one reason or another. They suspect he’s behind some bomb activity as well.”
Blake waved a hand. “We’ll come back to him in a minute,” he said. “I want to focus back on the vehicle in the parking garage. Why would Rachel climb in the back of that guy’s car? Did she know him?”
“We couldn’t really get a good angle but ran him through the facial recognition software with what we had. Unfortunately, we got nothing. He could have just been a stranger and she was using him as a way out of the garage quickly,” Linc said.
“But that makes no sense,” Chloe said. “And besides, she seemed so deliberate in her actions. Like she was following him.”
Linc nodded. “I agree with Chloe. I think we need a task force set up ASAP to go after this human trafficking ring.” He looked at Blake. “And if this Alessandro Russo is involved, then we’ll want the US Marshals on this force too.”
“Marshals, DEA, Homeland Security, FBI, Batman, and the Power Rangers too,” Blake said. “Whatever. I don’t care what it takes, I just want this guy found and my daughter—and the other girls—home safe. Jo and I can keep looking for Russo when we’re not on judge duty. And the more minions we capture, the closer we’ll get to him. So, every time there’s a call related to this case, Jo and I need to be there as well—or if we can’t be there, we need to be brought up to speed ASAP.”
“Agreed,” Linc said. “Anything technology related goes to us. We’ve got a new girl in the tech department who’s a genius. Her name’s Annie. So, if you’re all right with that, we can use our resources and add everything to our database as it comes in, which will enable us to keep all the information in one place.”
“Hey, Columbia PD technology is state of the art,” Chloe said. “Maybe better than yours. And David can find information as fast as your bureau flunky.”
Linc smirked and rolled his eyes. Blake now understood Linc’s exasperation with his sister. Chloe knew as well as he did that the bureau’s resources far surpassed anyone else’s, but apparently that wouldn’t stop her from razzing him about it. If he hadn’t been so worried about Rachel, he would have enjoyed the ringside seat to their sibling antics. Something he missed terribly with his own brother.
“We’ll get David and Annie on it, working together so they can compare notes,” Linc said. “I’ll fill them in.”
“Tha
t’s a good idea,” Chloe said. “OCN is already involved due to the drugs found at the scene, so you’ve already got them aware of what’s going on. When you set up the task force, can you make sure I’m in on it?”
“I think I can arrange it, sure,” Linc nodded. “You may have to work on other things as well for your department, but yeah.”
“Good. Make sure they know that anything related to drugs that could be connected to human trafficking, Hank and I get the call.” She’d be sleeping with her cell phone on her pillow.
Blake was gratified to see a plan coming together. It would be the best way to handle it. Chloe would see each scene and be able to recognize anything that looked different . . . or the same. If there was a different K-9 team called, something might get overlooked. “Chloe, I’ll see if we can swear you and Hank in as Deputy US Marshals. That way you’ll have federal arrest powers should you come across something—or someone like Alessandro Russo or human traffickers crossing state lines. If we have to chase them, those federal arrest powers will come in handy.”
“Good. That would work.”
“I want Russo,” Blake said softly. “Want him behind bars so bad I can taste it.” And he had for a very long time.
“Yeah.” Linc ran a hand over his jaw. “Okay, I’ll get this taken care of right now.”
Chloe looked at Blake. “I’m just curious as to how your judge connects to this whole thing and why someone wants him dead so bad.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” He nodded to Jo. “Our next shift is tomorrow. I think it’s time to have a chat with the man.”
The sun had gone down three hours ago, taking the slightly warmer temperatures with it. Rachel huddled against the wall of the barn, knees drawn to her chin, and shivered in her thin blouse. She thought she’d overheard someone say something about snow a couple of days ago, but dismissed it as ridiculous. It didn’t snow in Columbia. At least not more than a few flakes.
However, she had to admit, she was cold. Very cold. And hungry—and an idiot. Had she really thought she could save Lindsey?
She pulled one of the protein bars from her jeans pocket and ate it slowly. With no way to check her blood sugar, she was just going to have to pray it didn’t drop too low. Or go too high. High was better than low, but neither were good. With little food, she was in more danger of it going low. She thought about removing the pod, but couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Once again, she’d made a stupid, possibly life-threatening, choice. She should have stayed at the hospital. Should have told someone her story. But it hadn’t taken her long to figure out that these people had been doing this for a very long time. And no one had discovered it or caught them. So maybe, somehow, Rachel could help by gathering as much information as possible and making sure she lived to give it to the right people.
She shivered again. Yeah. She was an idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Just like her mother had yelled at her when she’d failed algebra and had to take summer school classes.
Stupid, worthless girl, do you see now why your father doesn’t want you? She’d tossed the report card onto the table and stalked off, her disgust with Rachel plain.
But at least Rachel hadn’t gotten caught yet. And she had a roof over her head. Such that it was. Maybe she wasn’t quite as stupid as her mother thought she was.
Then again, she was still stuck, with no way to get help for herself or any of the others. She fingered the insulin pen in her pocket. But she would be okay on insulin for at least seven days.
Seven days. Where would she be in seven days? Would she even be alive?
Panic welled and she stuffed it down.
A sound to her left jerked her attention around and her pulse skyrocketed. Had someone from the house seen her? Or just come to get something from the barn. She clasped her arms around her knees and stayed still, willing herself to be invisible even while knowing the childish wish wouldn’t happen.
Another sound as soft as a brush of wings stirring the air. But she heard it.
Meow.
Heart thudding, relief snagging the breath from her lungs, Rachel stretched her legs and pressed a hand to her stomach. “Come here, kitty, come here.” The cat sauntered over and climbed on Rachel’s leg. After kneading her thigh, the animal curled in her lap. She was probably cold too. Rachel relished the slight warmth the cat brought with her. It wasn’t much, but she’d take it.
Tilting her head, Rachel studied the ceiling while she thought. Her fingers stroked the silky gray-and-white fur as prayers tumbled through her mind.
A plan. She definitely needed a plan. Her gaze roamed the building. The barn was filled with old, broken-down farm and horse equipment. No telephone, of course.
But if she’d calculated right, Carson had driven for about thirty minutes—maybe forty—before pulling to a stop in the drive of the house. The same place she’d been when she’d awakened after being drugged. She recognized the barn from when they’d walked them up out of the basement and loaded them into the trailer early that morning.
And then the sun had fallen and now Rachel had to figure out her next move. Start walking and hope she went in the right direction? Or ran into someone willing to let her use a cell phone? What if no one believed her? What if no one would help her?
Oh God, what do I do? Help me!
The tears came and this time she let them out, sobbing into the fur of the sweet cat.
When she finally fell silent, her crying under control, Rachel forced her mind to work. She’d had her cry. It was time to figure out what to do next that wouldn’t lead to her capture and wouldn’t get Lindsey or her father killed.
She buried her protein bar wrapper in the dirt floor while her mind went back to that first awful day after the drugs had worn off, the pounding in her head had eased, and she’d been given food and water. She, Lindsey, and four other girls had appeared to be the newbies in the group.
Carson had walked the length of the cages holding up pictures, his nauseating mask something out of a horror movie. Briefly, she’d wondered why he bothered, then realized he wasn’t the only one luring girls into the ring. Some of them had no idea what he looked like. “If you decide not to cooperate,” he said, “if you try to escape, if you cause us any trouble, it’s not only you that will suffer—” his dramatic pause had only heightened her terror—“but your families as well.” He held out one of the photos to the girl in the cage next to Rachel. “You have a little sister, Melly, right? She’s ten, right? Well, guess what? She’s next.”
“No,” the girl whispered before bursting into tears.
“Then don’t do anything stupid.” To Lindsey. “You seem to be real close to your mother. She’s easy to get to.”
Lindsey’s sobs echoed through the cavernous area.
He turned to Rachel. “You have a father.” He passed her the picture and Rachel simply stared at it, mixed emotions coursing through her. She loved her father. And she hated him. Keeping her features expressionless, she passed the picture back, turned her back on the boy—man—she hadn’t trusted, but hadn’t feared, stretched out on the floor, and closed her eyes.
The room was silent except for Lindsey’s crying and the whimpers coming from the other girls. Rachel had no idea why her own emotions had been frozen that day. She’d been incapable of responding. With tears, anger—even fear. It seemed to confuse Carson and he stared at her, his dark eyes glittering through the holes in the mask. Then he’d marched on to the next girl. And the next.
And while that numbness had quickly worn off, she was determined to get that back. Because right now, she couldn’t afford to feel.
She sat up.
As soon as the sun started to rise, she was going to act.
Chloe rubbed her eyes and blinked. The clock on the wall pushed midnight and her adrenaline was crashing in spite of the gallons of coffee she’d consumed.
They’d made their way back to the hospital where, as an official task force—thanks to Linc’s influ
ential pushing and the quick action of the powers that be—they’d finished questioning the victims.
Unfortunately, they still didn’t know much more than what they’d started with.
A house with an underground area, darkness, cages, threats, men with masks and guns. And terror. That had pretty much summed up their stories.
Krista, one of the victims, had tilted her head, a thoughtful expression momentarily replacing the fear. “But they fed us well and they didn’t touch us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard of human trafficking, of course, and I figured the next step would be the . . . rape. You know?” She shuddered and shook her head. “But they didn’t. The only time they put their hands on us was when they transported us—or when the guy they said was a doctor examined us.” She grimaced. “They were rough, but it was almost like they were careful not to leave bruises too.”
Because they already had buyers. And buyers didn’t want their property damaged. Chloe had barely managed to hold back her own shudder.
“Except for Skye,” Krista said. “When she started crying and fighting, trying to run away, the guy who was loading us in the truck just . . . snapped. He grabbed her and shoved her down a flight of stairs. He went after her, and she later said he kicked her when she was lying on the floor.” Krista’s eyes filled. “He treated her like she was nobody.” Another shiver wracked her and she drew in a deep breath. “Anyway, that’s why her ribs were hurting so bad.”
Which supported Rachel’s story.
“And then someone started beating on him,” Krista said. Another eyewitness to the beating, corroborating Rachel’s account.
“What was his name? The one who hurt Skye.”
“They called him Manny.”
“And what happened to Manny?”
“I don’t know. This was while they were loading us all in the truck. I couldn’t see what was happening, I just heard it.” Her eyes met Chloe’s. “Is it wrong to hope he’s dead?” she whispered. Then sobs ripped through her.
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