Stolen Hearts

by Marci Bolden

  “Why?”

  She stared at him for a long time. “Because I give too much. I care too much. I feel too much.” Frowning, she served herself a slice of the cake. She needed the sweet treat even if he wasn’t interested. “I have this way of diving in headfirst and falling hard. And then realizing I’m the only one falling. I’m one of those bleeding-heart types, you know? I think losing my father and my sister when I was so young taught me how important it is to let people know how I feel about them. That’s not always a good thing. I fall too easily. That scares men off more than it endears them.”

  Dean’s gaze turned intense. “Not everyone appreciates what they have when they have it. It took Mom getting sick for me to realize I needed to be a better son. And Mandy disappearing before realizing I should have been a more attentive brother. It’s a good thing that you see the value in people without having to lose them first.”

  She chuckled. “Tell that to the rest of your half of the species. Women like me scare them.”

  “Women like you?”

  “I want the whole package. The hand holding and secret looks and sneaking kisses. I want romance and wooing and a man who isn’t afraid to give me that. It’s too much. I know it’s too much, but I don’t feel right pretending that I don’t want those things.”

  “You shouldn’t pretend. If that’s what you want, then that’s what you should get.”

  She frowned. “But the odds of finding that aren’t so great. My bar is too high. I’m setting every poor man I date up for failure.”

  Dean put his hand on hers. “No. You’re telling him what to aim for. To hell with any man who can’t reach it.”

  “I only have this one life,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to live it with someone who doesn’t cherish every moment I give him. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes,” he stated firmly.

  Heaving a sigh, she stared at her cake. “Holly and Jack have that. I know it’s out there. I just have to find it.”

  Glancing up, expecting to see some kind of smirk or disbelief on Dean’s face, Alexa jolted. He wasn’t looking at her like she was a foolish woman with her head in the clouds. He was looking at her like he could read her mind, see her innermost thoughts, and was debating whether he liked what he saw.

  “I said too much,” she stuttered out.

  Silence lingered between them before he reached for his slice of cake. He put it on his plate and dug in before dropping his fork. “I’m going to Chicago,” he said.

  She wasn’t surprised. She’d expected to hear that from him. “Not until I hear back from the detective I spoke with. If he confirms she’s still in the area, we’ll go together.”

  Dean smiled slightly, nodded his approval, and then finished his cake.

  Rolling onto his side, Dean stared into the darkness. His brain was bouncing all over the place, remembering everything from the photos of Mandy to the wistful look on Alexa’s face as she spoke about what she wanted in a relationship.

  She seemed to think she’d never find that. He thought it was crazy that she hadn’t already. Not only was she beautiful and thoughtful and brilliant, but she was sexy as hell. The way she stared him down, as if picking his brain apart, kept him enthralled. Her tenderness kept him sane. He thought he’d be lucky to have a woman like that in his life.

  A quick glance at the clock convinced him that his attempt at sleeping was futile. His options were to get up and do something to distract himself or lie there obsessing about his missing sister and the woman looking for her. Either situation was going to make him crazy.

  Kicking the blankets off, he flipped on the bedside light and headed straight for the closet. He tossed a small duffel bag on the bed and dug out three pairs of jeans, a handful of socks and boxer briefs, and several T-shirts and stuffed them inside. Even if Mandy wasn’t in Chicago any longer, someone there had seen her and might be able to tell him where to look next. He’d head out in the morning, with or without Alexa.

  He was zipping the bag before logic kicked in that without Alexa, he’d never even get close to finding his sister. Alexa had called the detective in charge of the human trafficking department. He was looking into Mandy’s case. He was going to let her know if she should come to Chicago. If there was no sign of Mandy in the area, there was no point in going. Alexa had told him this. More than once. And he had listened. He had heard. But he had nothing else to go on, and he had spent too long sitting still, twiddling his thumbs, and hoping for the best. He’d done all the being “patient” he could handle.

  When she’d first disappeared, his dad had said be patient. Then the police had said be patient. Now he had to be patient while Alexa waited to hear from the detective. Damn it. He was out of patience. Especially now that he knew what kind of trouble his sister had landed herself in.

  Jesus. Prostitution? Drugs? How had he not seen her going down this road? Sure, she was away at college and he only saw her every other month or so, but he tried to stay in touch. He tried to keep up with her on social media and over the phone. How had he missed that she was in so much trouble? And why hadn’t she told him?

  Maybe his dad was right. Maybe Dean had been too hard on her. He just wanted what was best for her. He wanted to push her to be the best possible version of herself that she could be. Had he pushed too hard?

  He didn’t think he had. He hadn’t tried to. Thinking back, he didn’t think his mother had either. In fact, he’d once told her that she coddled Mandy too much. That she was being too easy on her and giving her too much. His mother hadn’t had a lot of money; she was a single parent struggling to make ends meet. But she’d bent over backward to make sure Mandy could participate in any activity she showed interest in. She worked overtime hours to pay fees and keep Mandy in name-brand clothing.

  Things Dean had never had. He’d worked part time to help pay his fees, and all he’d played was basketball. He never had top-of-the-line clothing. Maybe he resented that more than he’d realized. The first big fight he and Mandy had after their mother passed away was Dean’s refusal to buy her new jeans when she had perfectly good ones in her drawer. She insisted that colored jeans were the new trend and she needed just one pair. He told her to get a job and buy them.

  That had gone over about as well as telling her that he’d take her to a consignment shop to buy her prom dress. She was only going to wear the thing one night. He wasn’t paying hundreds of dollars for something new.

  Their mom had spoiled her, and when Dean didn’t continue that trend, he was the bad guy. And their father had reinforced her thoughts on that. He had given her money for jeans and a prom dress. Dean had rolled his eyes and told her she’d never learn the value of anything if it was always given to her. Maybe that was too much to expect from a teenager who had just lost her mother.

  Raking his fingers through his hair, he dropped onto the bed as another thread of guilt weaved through his brain. He should have protected her. Spoiled or not, she needed him to protect her. He should have known she was in trouble. Somehow. He should have known.

  The phone on his nightstand chirped, indicating he had a new text. The clock next to the phone reminded him it was two in the morning. Jumping up, he snatched his cell, disconnecting the cord so it didn’t snag. The text was from an unknown number.

  Dean? U there?

  Mandy?

  I need u.

  His heart pounded and fingers trembled as he typed, I know. Where r u? R u ok?

  Idk. I’m sorry.

  Call me.

  I cant.

  Damn it. He wanted to scream. R u in danger?

  Come get me.

  Where? He waited. And waited. Mandy? She didn’t respond. Mandy? Plz. I’m trying to find u.

  Silence. He pressed the button to call the phone and closed his eyes as the ringing on the line went unanswered until a robotic voice told him the voicemail for that number had not been set up.

  Mandy? he texted.

  Clutching the phone, he stood and
paced as panic settled in his bones. Finally he texted, I’ll find u. I promise. I love you. No matter what.

  Then he scrolled through his numbers. “She texted me,” he said as soon as Alexa’s groggy voice answered. “Mandy was texting me. But then she stopped. I think she’s in trouble. I mean immediate trouble.”

  Alexa cleared her throat. “Can you screenshot it and text it to me?”

  Pulling the phone from his ear, he sent her several screenshots. “Did you get them?”

  “One sec.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said as she yawned out the words. “I know it’s late, but I thought—”

  “You did the right thing calling me,” she said. “Hang on.”

  He started pacing again, waiting for her response.

  “I got the images,” she said. “Let me call you back in a few minutes. I need to boot up my laptop and try to trace this number.”

  “Alexa, she sounds scared. Don’t you think?”

  Alexa was quiet for a moment before saying, “She seemed distressed. That doesn’t mean she’s in immediate danger. Maybe she just wants to come home and isn’t sure how to do that. Let me trace this number. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

  She ended the call, but she might as well have cut his last remaining tie to reality. Mandy was in danger. Immediate danger. He felt it. She was reaching out to him to save her, and he was helpless. Desperate, he did the only thing he could think of. He called his dad.

  He didn’t answer the call. Not that Dean was surprised. He did, however, leave a message at the beep. “Mandy is in trouble. If you know where she is, you need to tell me so I can find her.” There was raw anger in his tone, and he hadn’t done a damn thing to hide it.

  Isolated. That was the only way he could describe what he was feeling in that moment. Isolated from anyone who cared about him or his sister. Terrified. That was another good word. He’d lost Mandy to this world, but he couldn’t face that he might not be able to save her from it. She had gotten in over her head somehow, but she wanted out. Her text messages proved that in his mind. She wanted out. He just had to find her.

  He startled when the phone in his hand rang. Alexa. “Well?”

  “That call came from Chicago. Pack a bag. We’ll leave in the morning.”

  “I’ve already packed my bag. We’ll leave now.”

  “Dean—”

  “It’s about five and a half hours, Alexa. We’ll get there first thing in the morning.”

  “We’ll get there exhausted and unable to think.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Do you really think I’ll sleep now? Will you?”

  She was quiet before heaving a loud sigh in his hear. “Stay put. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”

  7

  The drive to Chicago was unpleasant, to say the least. Alexa did her best to keep Dean calm, but he was restless and impatient. They stopped for gas just outside the city, and she was tempted to tell him to put the coffee pot down as he filled a big disposable cup, but she didn’t.

  His behavior was to be expected. She’d be more concerned if he weren’t so irritable. Calm and cool were not the responses she’d expect given the events that had unfolded overnight. As she parked at the police station, she sank back in the driver’s seat and looked over at him. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in there, Dean.”

  “I know.”

  “It might be best if you let me go in and talk to them. You can find us a hotel and crash. Just text me where you are—”

  “I need to be there.” Rolling his head to her, he let out a long breath. “I’ve done enough research that I know what’s happening to her. It will be difficult to hear, but…I can’t waste any more time being oversensitive. The faster we find her, the faster we get her into recovery. Let’s just get in there and find my sister.”

  “Okay. If it gets to be too much, you can leave. I’ll let you know everything.”

  “I’m not leaving.” He opened the car door and stepped out in the cool Chicago morning.

  Meeting his long stride, she walked beside him into the police station and asked to see Detective Wilson. After being directed to sit in the hardback chairs lining the lobby, they waited nearly twenty minutes before a tall, dark-skinned man in khakis and a blue polo shirt approached them. The logo embroidered on his shirt identified him as part of the Chicago human trafficking task force.

  “Ms. Rodriguez?” He held his hand out.

  She returned the firm shake and gestured to Dean. “This is my client, and Mandy’s brother, Dean Campbell.”

  “Have you found my sister?” Dean asked.

  The detective, hand on Dean’s upper arm, gestured toward the door he’d just walked though. “Let’s take this to a conference room.” He led the way, offering drinks that both Alexa and Dean declined. Once in the room, Detective Wilson sat on one side of a table as Alexa and Dean sat on the other. He looked like a man who had been through this very situation a thousand times. He sat straight, ready to tackle Mandy’s case head on, but he also had sympathy in his eyes.

  “We traced the number you gave us and arrested the john. He was quick to flip, as they all are. We know which ad he answered and will make a call this afternoon. I want to be clear about one thing. Just because we call the same number doesn’t guarantee your sister will be the victim sent to the designated meeting place. He was able to identify her brand, so—”

  “Her brand?” Dean asked, looking confused.

  Wilson shifted uneasily, but the movement was so slight Dean probably didn’t notice. “These girls, they are viewed as property by their exploiters. Property that is marked, usually with tattoos, so other pimps know who the girl belongs to. According to the john, he noticed three stars on her right wrist. Like this.” He held up a photo from a stack of papers on his desk, showing them three dark stars outlined on a thin, pale wrist. “This is a brand.”

  Dean closed his eyes and eased his breath out.

  “With Mandy’s branding, we’ve been able to identify her exploiter—”

  “Exploiter?” Dean shook his head. “Sorry. I’m just not following.”

  “We call the men who sell their victims exploiters. These rings aren’t old-fashioned prostitution rings, Mr. Campbell. These aren’t old-fashioned pimps who take a percentage. These are men who find vulnerable people, usually children or young men and women, find their weakness, and prey on it. These victims are groomed and manipulated into believing they are acting out of love and respect for the person who they perceive to be their protector.”

  Dean creased his brow. “Are you saying she’s been brainwashed?”

  “In a sense, yes. We are a lot closer to finding your sister than we were twenty-four hours ago, but that doesn’t mean we’re that much closer to rescuing her. The fact that she called you is a good sign. She reached out. She wants help. I know this is a horrific situation, but believe me when I tell you that so far she’s been lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Dean snapped. “She’s being sold for sex.”

  Wilson lifted his hand. “But according to the john, she appeared well-fed and healthy. He did indicate that she was taking drugs, but as of two a.m., she was alive and reaching out for help.”

  “Did he let her use his phone?”

  “No. He went to the bathroom. He didn’t even know she’d used it.” Wilson offered as much reassurance as he could. “We’re going to call the ad and set up a sting. Even if Mandy isn’t the victim sent to us, as soon as she takes money, we have her and can work on her to turn in her exploiter. Once we get him, we can offer him a deal to turn over all his victims, including Mandy.”

  “As soon as? Once we?” Dean looked at Alexa, and the desperation in his eyes broke her heart. “Are they even going to find her?”

  “We’re going to find her,” she reassured him. “They break up these rings all the time, Dean. They know what they’re doing. They’re going to do everything they can to rescue her as soon as possible.”

  �
�We know who is selling her, Mr. Campbell. That is more than half the battle here. I want to talk to you about what’s going to happen if this is Mandy.”

  Alexa nodded for him to go ahead. Clearly Dean was not fully focused, but he needed to know there was a plan to save his sister.

  “Once she arrives at the room, we have to wait for money to exchange hands before we can consider her activity illegal. Then the officer inside will say the code word to let us know we can make the bust. There will be a survivor advocate with the team. She’ll be the one who interacts with Mandy. We’re going to find out what drugs she’s taking, have her checked by a doctor, and she’ll be moved to a recovery center for human trafficking victims.”

  “She won’t come home with me?” Dean asked.

  “Unfortunately, we’ve learned that these women tend to get pulled back into drug abuse, which ultimately leads many of them to return to their pimps. We have to break the cycle, get her clean from her addiction, and get her mentally and emotionally strong enough to resist falling back into this trap.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “It can vary depending on a lot of things. If she wants, we can help her relocate to a recovery center closer to you, but Mr. Campbell, for your sister’s sake, it’s best that she goes through at least a year of recovery to teach her how to live without drugs and the codependency her exploiter has created.”

  He sank back, and Alexa put her hand to his arm. “You’ll call and let us know if you find Mandy this evening?”

  “Of course,” he agreed. He focused on Dean. “I’m sorry this happened to your family, Mr. Campbell. But please know, these men are experts at manipulating victims into doing their bidding. This in no way is a reflection of your sister or something she’s done. She’s a victim of a group of people who have made billions of dollars in human trafficking. She stumbled on the wrong person and was pulled into something she has no way of escaping without help.”

  “I’m not blaming her,” he said.

  “There’s no way you could have known, either,” Alexa assured him. “So stop blaming yourself.”