Her Winter of Darkness

by Melinda Woodhall

  Springing up from her hiding place, Astrid was surprised to find that her numb feet were still able to support her as she headed deeper into the forest. Hope filled her chest as she neared a heavy clump of spruce trees.

  I’m going to make it.

  Astrid’s last thought was followed by a deafening crack. A single gunshot echoed through the forest as the brilliant white world around her exploded into darkness.

  Chapter Two

  The Channel Ten newsroom felt uncomfortably warm despite the late January chill outside. Veronica Lee shrugged off her jacket and frowned at the computer screen on her desk. The next report in her trafficking series was ready, and thanks to Finn Jordan’s help the production was flawless.

  So, why does it feel like something’s wrong?

  Clicking on the finished video file, Veronica watched closely as the report began to play again. She knew every shot and every word by heart. The in-depth investigative report focused on a disturbing increase in trafficking activity in South Florida, revealing evidence of a newly formed crime syndicate with ties to several small towns in the area, including Willow Bay.

  Veronica had been satisfied with the script she’d written, and with Finn’s work behind the camera. It had all come together smoothly. Everything appeared to be just as she’d planned.

  So, what’s bothering me?

  Leaning forward, Veronica held her breath as the interview segment began. It had been the most difficult part of the project to shoot, and the most sensitive.

  A young trafficking victim had agreed to be interviewed on the condition that her identity would be concealed. The woman on the screen remained hidden in shadow as she began to recount her ordeal at the hands of the men who had exploited her.

  During the original interview, the woman’s frightening tales of intimidation and violence had made Veronica’s stomach turn. The shame and fear that filled the trembling, broken voice had shaken Veronica to her core.

  Now, in the finished report, she could hear only the clear, smooth voice-over Finn had used to disguise the woman’s identity.

  That’s it. That’s what’s wrong with our report. We can’t hear her voice.

  Veronica slumped back in her chair. The detached voice in the finished report diminished the story’s impact. It couldn’t convey the true horror of everything the woman had endured.

  “The look on your face is telling me you aren’t happy with it.”

  Veronica jumped, startled to see Finn standing at her shoulder as the video ended. She opened her mouth to assure the young videographer that the report was fine, then hesitated.

  Why should she be happy when the woman they’d interviewed was still too ashamed to show her face in public, and too scared to tell her story in her own voice? How effective had their investigation been if the heart of the story had been silenced?

  “You did good work, Finn. You always do…”

  Veronica hesitated, knowing her disappointment wasn’t rational. News stories rarely had satisfying endings. Sliding her eyes back to the screen, she pictured the woman behind the shadows.

  “It just feels…wrong to have the victim in this story hidden as if she’s ashamed while the criminals responsible are still out there.”

  Finn considered her words, then shook his head.

  “We’ve got to protect our source, Veronica. Fair or not, that always has to be our number one priority. You know that.”

  He took in her downcast expression and his voice softened.

  “Cheer up. Our series isn’t over yet. These guys will make a mistake soon enough. Once they do, we’ll be there.”

  Holding out a piece of paper, he cleared his throat.

  “I actually came to see you about something else. Not sure it’s the best timing, but I thought you’d want to see it. Just in case.”

  “In case what?’

  Veronica narrowed her eyes, staring at the printout without taking it from Finn’s outstretched hand.

  “In case it’s not just some kind of sick prank. But it probably is.”

  She heard doubt in his voice.

  Plucking the paper from his hand with a sigh, she saw it was a printout of a viewer comment from the Channel Ten News website.

  The words made her heart skip a beat. She raised wide green eyes to stare at Finn, then dropped them back to the paper.

  Please help me. My name is Astrid Peterson. I am a victim like the women in your report. The Professor has me and Skylar and he won’t let us go. Please send help before it’s too late. He’s coming back now, please hurry.

  Veronica studied the words for a long beat, then turned to her computer and opened the web browser. She ignored Finn’s curious stare as she navigated to the FBI’s website for missing persons.

  “What are you doing?”

  Ignoring Finn’s question, Veronica typed the name Astrid Peterson into the search field and held her breath. Within seconds she was staring at a picture of a lovely young woman with long strawberry blonde hair and smiling blue eyes.

  The report below the picture identified the woman as twenty-three-year-old Astrid Peterson, a coed reported missing from her college campus in Montana almost two years before.

  “Oh, damn.” Finn moved closer, studying the screen. “If this is someone’s idea of a prank, they are seriously messed up.”

  Scanning the information included on the FBI missing person’s page, Veronica saw that Astrid Peterson was from Sweden, and that she’d been in the US on a student visa. The young woman had only been in the country a few months when she’d gone missing.

  “What are you two working on?”

  Veronica looked up to see Hunter Hadley’s tall figure approaching, followed by Gracie, Finn’s white Labrador retriever. The smile on Hunter’s face faded as he registered Veronica’s strained expression.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s happened?”

  He circled around to stand beside Finn, who made room as he gestured toward Veronica’s screen.

  “We got a comment on the station’s website from a viewer who claims she’s being held against her will by some professor.”

  Finn held up the printout, then pointed at Astrid Peterson’s photo.

  “The name she used matches a woman on the FBI’s missing person website. But anybody can access the site, so maybe-”

  Snatching the paper out of Hunter’s hand, Veronica stood to face Finn, impatient with his skepticism.

  “I hope it is just a sick joke, Finn,” she said in a tight voice. “But I plan to take it seriously until we find out for sure.”

  She turned to Hunter, who was standing close enough for her to smell his cologne. It was the one she’d gotten him for Christmas, and the familiar scent immediately calmed her nerves.

  “We need to find the computer that was used to send this comment,” she said, clutching the paper and heading down the hall. “If we find the computer, we just might find Astrid Peterson.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “No luck,” Jack Carson said, stepping into Spencer Nash’s office with a rueful shake of his balding head. “Whoever submitted that comment on the message board used a VPN to connect to the internet. My buddy says there’s no way to track it back to a specific person or a physical location.”

  Veronica stared at the older man in dismay. Jack always seemed to have the answer to any technical problem, and he knew everyone in town. It had taken him only minutes to get a specialist from the news station’s internet service provider to call him back.

  Half an hour later he’d gotten his answer, but it wasn’t the one Veronica had been hoping to hear. The IP address linked to the comment was a dead end. She was back to square one.

  Looking at the other men in the room, Veronica sighed.

  “That’s a shame,” she said, still holding the printout as she prepared to stand. “I’m not sure this is much to go on, but maybe the FBI will have better luck than we did.”

  “Hold on a minute, Veronica.”

/>   Spencer lifted a well-manicured hand to smooth back his neat thatch of blonde hair. The station manager motioned for Veronica to stay seated as he leaned forward.

  “That message was sent to Channel Ten, not the FBI,” he said slowly. “And that may mean that this person, whether it’s Astrid Peterson or someone else, may not want the FBI involved. Maybe they have information they want to share with the press.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Veronica considered Spencer’s words. Before she could respond, he spoke again, warming to his theory.

  “You found the FBI missing person’s page in just a few clicks, right? So why wouldn’t this woman have contacted the FBI directly? Why reach out to us?”

  Jack Carson leaned against the doorframe and nodded.

  “And the computer used a VPN to mask its location,” he agreed. “So, the person could be trying to hide from the feds or the cops.”

  The men’s words sounded logical, but Veronica wasn’t convinced.

  “I think you’re all forgetting something.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin.

  “That comment was posted under my report asking me for help. I think Astrid Peterson watched the report and saw that I’m trying to help women like her. It gave her the courage to reach out, and I’m not about to let her down now.”

  Pushing back her chair, Veronica stood and crossed to the door. As Jack Carson stepped aside to let her pass, she stopped and looked back into Spencer’s office.

  “I’m going to do everything I can to find Astrid Peterson,” she said, her eyes finding Hunter’s handsome face. “I plan to start by contacting the WBPD and the FBI. I’ll take any other help I can get.”

  Hunter’s approving gaze sent a warm flush through Veronica as she turned and walked back to her desk. She could always count on him to have her back when she was working on a difficult story. That was one of the many reasons she’d fallen for him.

  Back in front of her computer, Veronica read the printout one more time. This time her eyes stopped on the other name in the comment. Wherever Astrid Peterson was, she wasn’t alone. A girl named Skylar was with her, and they both needed help.

  Chapter Three

  Acool wind whipped Nessa Ainsley’s red curls around her face as she climbed out of her black Dodge Charger. The light blanket of grayish clouds had parted momentarily, allowing the weak winter sun to make an appearance. Lifting her face to the sky, Nessa relished the warmth of the sun on her skin, already dreading the stale, artificial atmosphere inside the police station.

  She’d made it halfway across the parking lot when her coat pocket began to vibrate. Without breaking her stride, Nessa pulled out her phone and glanced down to see Veronica Lee’s name pop up on the little display.

  Suspecting she knew why the investigative reporter was calling, Nessa dropped the phone back into her pocket.

  Veronica must’ve heard that the WBPD is joining the FBI trafficking task force. She’ll want a statement, and I just don’t have the time.

  Willow Bay’s chief of police had been surprised the week before when Special Agent Clint Marlowe called to invite her little department to be involved in Operation Stolen Angels.

  The objective of the newly formed task force was to infiltrate and ultimately bring down a crime syndicate that had recently started operating in South Florida. The unsavory group trafficked in illegal narcotics and young, vulnerable women.

  Nessa suspected that Channel Ten’s series of reports on trafficking in the area had drawn the FBI’s attention, and may even have persuaded them to include Willow Bay in the operation.

  Whatever the reason, she had gladly accepted the invitation, and was on her way to meet with the man heading up the task force.

  Before she could get through the station’s door, Nessa’s phone pinged with a text message. Reaching into her pocket again, she saw that Veronica Lee wasn’t going to give up so easily.

  Need to speak to you urgently. Please call ASAP.

  Shaking her head at the reporter’s persistence, Nessa was about to tap on Veronica’s number when the door to the station opened and Detective Tucker Vanzinger’s wide shoulders filled the doorway.

  “Where have you been, Chief?” Vanzinger looked over his shoulder as if someone may be listening in. “Agent Marlowe’s already set up in the briefing room and he’s getting a little antsy.”

  Nessa stuck the phone back in her pocket and hurried after Vanzinger, bypassing her office and following the big detective’s figure down the narrow hall and into the briefing room.

  Special Agent Clint Marlowe stood at the front of the room. His shirts sleeves were already rolled up, and he’d thrown his suit jacket over the back of a chair.

  “Morning, Agent Marlowe, morning Detectives,” Nessa said, trying to rein in her southern accent. “Hope I didn’t keep you all waiting too long.”

  “I’m sure you must be very busy, Chief Ainsley.”

  Marlowe’s voice was brisk.

  “I appreciate your team’s willingness to jump into the operation on such short notice. I know you’ve had your hands full lately.”

  Despite his reassuring words, the agent’s dark eyes followed Nessa with undisguised impatience as she took off her coat and settled into a chair at the long table. She waited for Vanzinger to take a seat next to his partner, Detective Simon Jankowski, then nodded.

  “Okay, we’re anxious to get started,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Tell us all about Operation Stolen Angels.”

  Turning to the white board behind him, Marlowe gestured to a poster-sized map of Florida he’d affixed to the board. Stickers of various colors had been placed on the map, and several cities had been circled in red marker.

  “As you know, there’s been a steep increase in trafficking activity throughout South Florida in the last few months.”

  Marlowe tapped on the map for emphasis.

  “The red stickers indicate reported or confirmed incidents of human trafficking, and the blue stickers indicate drug trafficking.”

  Nessa leaned forward to study the map as Marlowe continued.

  “We’ve noticed an unusually high density of incidents outside the normal geographic areas we’d expect. Most crime organizations start up in one of the bigger cities. Places with international airports and maybe even seaports. Places like Miami and Tampa.”

  Gesturing to the map, Marlowe turned to face Nessa.

  “What do you notice about this pattern, Chief Ainsley?”

  Nessa sat up straighter, feeling like a student being called on in class. Luckily, she thought she knew the answer.

  “Looks like the incidents are clustered in the smaller towns and cities,” she said with a frown. “Places like Willow Bay.”

  “Exactly,” Marlowe said. “And we need to understand why.”

  Jankowski stood and moved closer to the board. The detective crossed thick arms over his chest and rubbed the stubble on his chin.

  “It seems like these guys are avoiding the big cities all together,” he murmured, tracing a line of stickers with a long finger. “Maybe they’re just trying to stay off the radar of the bigger police forces.”

  “That’s certainly a possibility,” Marlowe agreed, “which is why we need to involve the local police in these smaller towns whenever possible. But we think this pattern could tell us a lot about this specific organization.”

  Looking over at Nessa, he pointed to her coat.

  “Where’d you get that coat, Chief Ainsley?”

  Nessa shrugged, confused.

  “I’ve had it for years,” she admitted. “Ever since I lived up in Atlanta. Not much need for a winter coat down here.”

  “So, you probably got it at a store. Maybe in downtown Atlanta, where everybody goes to shop. But if you were buying that coat today, you’d probably start online. Maybe find out if the coat you want is available, and if there’s free shipping, right?”

  Nodding in agreement, Nessa thought she knew where Agent M
arlowe was going.

  “So, you all think this organization is soliciting customers online? That they don’t need to be in the big cities anymore to find buyers?”

  “That’s the theory,” Marlowe agreed. “If a local group is running things, they probably want to stick close to home. Maybe stay in a town where they have the right connections. Perhaps be in a position where they can smooth over any concerns or questions that arise.”

  Vanzinger sat up in his chair, suddenly interested.

  “Hold on, now, Agent Marlowe. Are you saying you suspect that someone in Willow Bay is involved with this group? Maybe even running it?”

  The faint creases between Marlowe’s eyes deepened as he considered Vanzinger’s question.

  “If you’re asking if we have a specific suspect in mind, then the answer is no, Detective. But if you’re wondering if we suspect that someone in this town, or one of the other towns on this map could be involved, then the answer is yes. That’s why we need your help.”

  A hesitant knock on the door stopped Vanzinger’s reply. Officer Dave Eddings stuck his head into the room.

  “Sorry, Chief, but someone’s asking to see you. Says it’s urgent.”

  “We’re in the middle of a meeting, Officer Eddings. Who is it?”

  Giving Marlowe a nervous glance, Eddings cleared his throat.

  “It’s Veronica Lee, Chief. Says she’s been calling you, and-”

  “Okay, tell her I’ll be right out.”

  Once Eddings had closed the door behind him, Nessa turned to Marlowe, ready to apologize for a further delay, but the agent spoke up first.

  “Veronica Lee? Isn’t she the reporter who’s been investigating trafficking in South Florida?”

  Surprised by the question, Nessa nodded.

  “She’s covered some of the big cases we’ve handled recently.”

  Nessa felt suddenly protective of the young woman who had been through so much in the last year.

  “And she can get herself into some pretty risky situations trying to get her story. I better talk to her and find out what’s going on.”