by Jenifer Ruff
Stephen hung up.
“Do you know which motels they’re going to?” Victoria asked.
“D-d-don’t I get a lawyer to help me?”
“Absolutely. I’ll have one sent over.” Rivera pushed a pen and notepad across the table. “Now, write down the information about the motels.”
Victoria wrapped her fingers around the necklace under her T-shirt. Beside her, Rivera capped and uncapped a pen. Time passed at an impossibly slow pace as Petar held the pen over the notepad. He was silent for several seconds before scribbling down the names of two motels: the Winston Express and the Garden Courtyard. As soon as he finished, Victoria snatched the notepad and stood. She was as energized as if she’d gone for a fast run.
She took a few steps before stopping in the doorway. She had one more question. “There are several hospitals in Charlotte. How did you know Sofia was at this one? Or did you?”
“St—St—Stephen told me.”
“And how did he know?”
Petar shrugged.
♦ ♦ ♦
With the rescue operation and arrests in motion, Victoria had more time to think about loose ends. She also wanted to buy toothbrushes and toothpaste for her and Rivera from the hospital’s gift store. On her way there, she called Sam.
“Sorry, I never got back to you, Sam. Things got . . . busy, but Murphy’s got them under control. I know you still have some info to give me on the private investigator I asked you about.”
“Yes. Hold on. Let me switch to another file. Wait . . . here it is. Got it. Okay . . . this is specific to what you told me about him and the boy at the apartment complex. Jay Adams has been a mentor with a big brother program for years. Turns out anything he does with his mentee needs to be documented in their database. Everything is confidential, but it provides a record and ensures the person in charge knows what’s going on. Or at least knows what is being reported as going on.”
“And you were allowed access to this database?” She entered the gift shop and looked for the personal hygiene section.
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
“I’m sorry.” She walked to a corner of the store. “Please continue.”
“The boy Adams currently mentors has a history of being beaten by his mother’s boyfriend. It happens every time the guy goes on a drinking binge. And Adams has a history of taking the boy and his older sister to a hotel to keep them safe so they can get their homework done without being knocked around. You saw him with the boy. Apparently, the sister drove there and joined him after her work shift. Adams pays for it. Quite generous of him. He’s hoping the boyfriend will move on or the sister can move out soon and take the boy with her. Adams also reported taking a small baggie of drugs from the boy when he picked him up.”
“Okay. Not what I expected, but it all fits. He was just taking the kid somewhere safe to spend the night while the mother’s boyfriend cooled down. Adams helps troubled kids.” Or does he?
“Sounds like he might be a good guy,” Sam said.
She selected a tube of Crest. “Maybe.” Maybe he’s not a pedophile, but . . . troubled kids are the biggest targets for sex traffickers. “We’ll bring him in for questioning. Then I’ll decide.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Svet blasted heavy metal music, slammed the brakes at a stop light, and floored the gas on green. Anastasia had spent the past ninety-minutes feeling carsick and praying Sofia was still alive. Her friend’s absence, so soon after Sasha’s, left an aching void in her chest. She still wasn’t sure what had happened. After Svet dragged her half-dressed from the house and backhanded her hard enough to send her spinning, she’d pieced together important parts of the story. Sofia escaped and Svet shot her. But where was Sofia now? Had her brave friend died trying to save them? Or had she found a phone and called the tip line first? Were people coming to get Emma and free the rest of the girls?
Svet turned the music down and pressed a few buttons on his phone.
“Call me back now, bro! This is not cool.”
The voice mail messages he’d been leaving indicated something might have happened to Petar.
On the seat next to her, Maria scratched and picked at scabs on her arm. Anastasia was equally saddened and repulsed. Emma and Nadia were sedated and sleeping in the third row, both snoring loudly. Emma’s beautiful hair had been colored black, leaving her skin looking washed-out and pale. At least she hadn’t been shipped away to another country yet.
Svet swore, threw his phone onto the passenger seat, and turned his music back up. He sped around a corner, sending Emma and Nadia tumbling toward one side of the van and then tossing them back together. Emma’s eyes flickered open. She made a garbled noise and struggled to sit up.
Svet pulled into the parking lot of the Garden Courtyard motel, drove to the back, and turned off the engine. “Get out,” he growled.
Damian arrived and parked his car alongside the van. He got out at the same time Svet slid the van door open.
“I’m going in there, too?” Anastasia asked with a tremor in her voice.
“What does it look like, princess?” Svet shot her an evil look. “It’s just you and them now. And if anything happened to my brother because of your little friend, you’re going to be sorry. I don’t give a damn if I hurt you and it shows. I’ll whip you with a wire hanger until your skin falls off in bloody chunks. I’ll yank your hair out by its roots so hard your eyes will pop out. No one who comes here will care what you look like as long as they can spread your legs and then stick their—”
“He still hasn’t responded?” Damian asked. “Is that why you drove the whole way like you were begging to get pulled over?”
“He’s not answering his phone,” Svet snarled. He pushed against Emma’s shoulder to wake her and dragged her out by her arm. She moaned as her head flopped to the side.
“Get a hold of yourself, man,” Damian said. “If anyone sees you . . .”
“Shut up,” Svet responded, yanking on Emma.
Damian gave Anastasia a look of sympathy, at least she thought he did. He helped a frail girl with long brown hair from his car, putting his arm around her as she stumbled out and then letting her lean heavily against him.
The wind sliced through Anastasia’s thin jacket as she stood next to the van. She shivered and glanced at the beckoning woods behind the motel, then toward the dark road they’d turned from. What would happen if she ran? Would Svet shoot her, too? Did she care anymore?
Svet jerked Maria out and called her disgusting.
“Um, I should get the room keys?” Anastasia asked Svet. There’s got to be a phone at the check-in counter. She hadn’t forgotten the number, but she scarcely believed that it was real anymore. It was more like a far-fetched fantasy she and Sofia had concocted to give them hope.
“We already have keys.” Svet barked and pointed toward the stairs. “Move.”
The other girls shuffled along toward the stairs like zombies, barely noticing where they were. Maria’s arm dripped blood onto the dusty ground. Anastasia walked behind them, her mind racing through her options—every one of them futile.
On the second floor, near the end of a dirty passageway littered with cigarette butts, Svet told the girls to stop. He pushed them aside so he could open one of the rooms. Damian slid a key into the door to the room next to it.
Svet shoved Nadia forward and walked in, pulling Emma along behind him. Under his shirt, his gun created a bulge against his hip.
Anastasia stood on the landing, looking over her shoulder, fighting a strong urge to vomit. Am I one of the motel girls now? She couldn’t go in there, but she didn’t know where else to go. Who would believe her even if she got away? Not that she needed to worry about that. She’d be shot before she got very far. At this point, with Sasha and Sofia both gone, wouldn’t that be the most merciful way to go? A few bullets through my back while I’m running away—it would be quick, quicker than so many things I’ve endured—and all of this can finall
y end. Trembling, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she crept backwards towards the stairs.
A loud and sudden commotion erupted inside the room. Svet shouted. The girls screamed. Something crashed to the ground. Anastasia froze in her tracks.
Three armed men wearing metal vests and helmets with shields emerged from other rooms. Anastasia hurried forward, into the room with the other girls, unsure of who was the bigger threat, Svet or the men carrying guns. Inside were three more armed men wearing the same black uniforms. In the back of the room, Svet struggled in handcuffs and screamed, “This is my sister’s birthday party, assholes!” He glared at Anastasia. “Tell them!”
Anastasia kept her mouth shut, shrinking back against the wall as the strangers stared at her.
One of the men raised his face shield and spoke to her. “It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re not going to hurt you. Are you Emma Manning?”
Anastasia shook her head and pointed across the room. Emma cowered on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, with unfocused, bloodshot eyes. The man looked at Emma and then back at Anastasia. He didn’t believe her. Emma was almost unrecognizable from the girl Anastasia first met a few days ago. Anastasia was the only girl in the room who didn’t look deathly sick.
Svet continued to scream and swear like a raging bull. In the next room, visible through the adjoining door, Damian stood with his head bowed, silent, also handcuffed with a gun trained on him. The motel girls he brought were huddled together in the corner, looking terrified and confused.
The man nearest Anastasia pushed a button on his collar. “This is Delta forty-four. We have two men in custody. We found seven girls. One of them has been identified as Emma Manning.”
A rush of static and then a woman responded. “There was no one at the other motel. That’s all of them. We have medics on the way to take the girls to a hospital.”
Shaking, Anastasia pressed her back and shoulders against the wall, unsure of her emotions. More than anything she wanted to reach for Sofia’s hand.
Sofia did it. She saved us.
♦ ♦ ♦
The front and back doors of Allison’s house crashed open simultaneously, shattering the silent tension between her and Stephen. By the time he processed what was happening—an actual SWAT team busting in like we’re part of a damn action thriller—there were two guns targeting his body and two focused on Allison.
“FBI. Hands up and don’t move,” one of the men shouted.
“Drop your gun,” another yelled.
Stephen set his gun down. It suddenly looked pathetic and small. “I think there’s been a serious misunderstanding,” he said calmly as he lifted his hands.
“Yes. A big misunderstanding,” Allison echoed, reaching for her phone.
“Don’t move!” The shout came from several of the men at once, their aim steady. “Keep your hands overhead.”
Allison lifted her hands. “Okay. I’m Allison Greenwood.” She spoke with the eloquence of someone leading a meeting full of important clients. “I’m not sure what this is about, gentlemen, but I think I should ring my attorney so he can help us clear up whatever this is.”
One of the men stepped forward and yanked the phone from her hand. “You’re under arrest for the kidnapping of Emma Manning.”
“Kidnapping?” Allison laughed, her voice inappropriately light and pleasant. “I assure you, Emma Manning was not kidnapped. She was visiting.”
Stephen would have preferred to deny all knowledge of the girls, but he had to admire Allison’s uncanny composure, her cool lies under pressure. And now he had to play along. “Emma is Allison’s half-sister,” he said. “She was just telling me about her.”
“That’s right.” Allison’s surprise at their predicament was genuine, as was his, but nothing in her demeanor suggested guilt, only confusion and shock. “Emma came to stay with me, hoping to get acquainted, get to know each other. She’s at a friend’s birthday party right now. Wait—are you saying she didn’t tell her parents? She promised me—”
One of the agents looked at their leader, the man in charge.
Stephen knew it was working. Whatever intelligence the FBI possessed; they were now questioning its validity. The girls would back up any stories he and Allison told. They wouldn’t dare turn on them.
“Murphy,” one of the men said, “this one lies like the best of them, doesn’t she?”
Murphy strode past one of the men to get to Allison. “Put your hands behind your back.” He snapped cuffs around her wrists. “Stop talking and start walking. No one’s buying your stories.”
“This is preposterous.” Allison glared at Murphy. “Do you know who I am?”
“Yep. You’re Allison Greenwood, previously Allison Wood, aka Allison Bois. Part of an interstate-sex trafficking ring, and you’re on your way to prison.”
Stephen dropped his head and surrendered his wrists to handcuffs. Two agents escorted him through Allison’s front door.
Chapter Thirty-Six
With the shades drawn and the television on in the Charlotte safe house, Victoria sat on the couch cradling her phone in her hands. Sofia’s jacket was strewn across a chair, and pink running shoes lay in the middle of the floor.
With Ned finishing up a shift at the vet clinic and her father busy with a dinner and board meeting, she’d passed the last few hours keeping herself updated on every miniscule new piece of information in the investigation. A few questions still needed to be answered before she was satisfied with her work in Charlotte.
Five arrests had been made so far. All played a part in the sex trafficking. More would come. Someone was helping the ring thrive by providing protection and inside information.
One step at a time. She smiled. That was one of Ned’s sayings. One step at a time, he told her when Tallulah broke her leg and needed surgery and months of recovery. One step at a time, is how he told her he finished each triathlon, which wasn’t quite accurate because there was no stepping once he was in the ocean or on his bike. But the point remained.
Right now, Ned would be—oh crap, I almost forgot! She typed “livestock transportation in North Carolina” into her phone’s browser and then made a few phone calls.
A message from Rivera popped onto her screen. Hey, what’s going on there?
For some reason she didn’t understand, hearing from Rivera made her sad.
She typed her response. Still nothing.
Victoria went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Her phone rang. Ned’s name appeared on the screen. She set her water down and accepted his call.
“Calling to say hello,” he said.
She took a satisfied breath. “Hello. Where are you now?”
“At your house. Just got all the dogs fed. I’m going to put you on speaker phone so you can say hello to everyone. Hey dogs, it’s Victoria.”
“Hi, babies. I miss you. I’ll be home soon and the first thing we’re going to do is go for a long hike.” After cooing to her dogs, her normal speaking voice returned. “I can’t wait to get home. You patched up that area of fallen fence on the side of the house a few weeks ago, right?”
“That old corral? Yes. It’s fixed.”
“Great. I—” She thought she saw a shadow pass outside the door, but she hadn’t heard a car. “Hold on a sec.”
Through a crack in the blinds, she spotted Detective Connelly. She might have let it slip that she was alone with Sofia near an older establishment touted as having the best barbecue.
“I have to go,” she whispered.
“Sure thing, be careful—”
Outside, Connelly looked around before approaching the safe house. He stopped on the landing. Looked around again. Then he knocked.
With no idea of what might happen next, Victoria flipped the locks. She opened the door a few inches, leaving the security chain still attached. “Hold on, Connelly. Be right there.” She walked to the other side of the small home and stopped outside the closed bathroom door. “Sofia?
It’s me. Just making sure you’re still okay in there.” She returned to the front and unlocked the chain with a smile.
Connelly stepped inside, running his hand through his hair. The door to the bedroom was open. Some casual teen clothes—a pink T-shirt, a white sweatshirt, and a pair of jeans—were strewn across a chair and the bed. “Where’s your partner?”
“Rivera? He’s not my partner. He just went out to grab some food. He’ll be right back. Glad you came, actually.”
“How’s it going?”
“Fine. Not much to do here. I’m catching up on some reading.”
“Where’s the girl now?”
“She’s in the bathroom. In the tub, I believe. Poor girl. What she’s been through.”
“I know.” Connelly lifted his hands toward the ceiling. “Listen, why don’t you take a break and join Rivera. I’ll wait here until you get back.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure how I would ever decide between the best burgers or the best pizza or the best wings.”
The detective chuckled, but his laughter had a sharp, nervous edge. “Actually, I was giving Rivera the same food advice at the hospital, and he told me you were a vegetarian.”
She grinned. “So, now you have a whole new list of recommendations?”
“Nope. Not a one. I’m a carnivore.”
Victoria stretched her arms overhead. “Okay. I am a little hungry. Let me just tell Sofia I’m going.” She walked to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “Sofia?” She waited. “I’m just going to get something to eat and come right back. Detective Connelly is here. He’ll take care of you. Okay? I’ll be back soon. You have my number. Let me know if you want anything. The detective can call me and I’ll pick it up on the way back.”
She returned to the living room and lifted her coat off the back of a chair. “Thanks. I appreciate this. I’ll just let my boss know you’re in charge for a bit. Shouldn’t be more than forty-five minutes, or an hour at the most.”
Victoria stepped outside into the night and walked around the safehouse, taking the side with no windows. On the road behind the house, she spotted a white Maserati and made the connection. The guy who almost hit me at the airport. No wonder Connelly looked so familiar when I first saw him.
