“Top?” Cassidy sounded panicky. “That most likely means she’s sold!”
Romero wrapped his arms around Cassidy and pulled her back against his chest. He needed the reassurance almost as much as he knew she did. “Have you told Trapp?”
“Not yet.” Yates grimaced. “I’m still trying to isolate where the IP address of the server might be, but I’m not the world’s greatest hacker. My equipment isn’t as high tech as the stuff these guys use.”
“Can you find her?” Romero almost dreaded asking the question.
He stared at the glazed-over look on Rachel’s face. She looked strung out. Her hair was lank and tangled. Her eye makeup was raccoon-like, and she was pale and drawn. The vibrant girl he remembered was long gone. The woman offered up for sale here looked like a prisoner of war.
“We have to find her,” Cassidy whispered. “But for now, I guess this is proof that she’s probably still alive.”
“That’s something to hold onto,” Romero agreed.
Cassidy buried her face against his chest, and he shared a look with Yates over the top of her head. There was really no way to know whether Rachel was alive or dead at this point. They had a place to start in the continued search, and that was it. For all they knew, some crazy serial killer purchased victims off this website. How could they possibly know where these women went after they were bought like cattle at auction?
“Well look at that,” Yates murmured.
Romero was wary of anything at the moment. “What?”
“I clicked on a comment that was posted by a PI to this local crime board about missing women.” Yates was busy reading the response. “Now she’s sent me a private message. She wants to share information.”
“Not until you vet the hell out of her. You should probably ask Trapp what he thinks too. It’s his sister,” Romero reminded him.
Yates was busy staring at the screen. “Oh, I agree, but this chick is fascinating.”
“How so?”
“Apparently she’s been arrested multiple times for breaking into the local police department records division and attempting to access their missing persons files.” Yates sounded almost impressed by this crime. “That’s certainly worth a response at least.”
“Fine then,” Romero said with a heavy sigh. “Respond.”
“I think I will.”
Cassidy raised her head from Romero’s chest, staring at the screen. “What do we do now?”
“We keep hoping.” Romero wished he had a better answer. Tugging her away from the gruesome sight on the computer screen, he cupped her cheeks in his hands. “I love you. And I know this is hard. But we’re going to get through it. I promise.”
She was staring at Yates. Romero turned, glancing at his friend first, and then taking a longer look. Yates was pounding away at his keyboard with more enthusiasm than Romero had seen him display in ages.
“Who is it he’s messaging?” Cassidy wanted to know.
Romero shrugged. “Some woman who has been working as a PI on some of these cases.”
“So when people can’t get the police to take an interest in their missing loved one, they hire a private investigator?” Cassidy shivered against him, and Romero tightened his hold. “That’s awful. Can you imagine? It was bad enough when I went to the cops in Richmond and they told me she had to be officially missing for forty-eight hours. I told them it might be too late by then, but they just kept telling me that she was a grown woman who could choose to do her own thing.”
“Sometimes that’s true, but from the beginning it’s seemed as if the cops were giving you the runaround.” Romero reconsidered that fact and then put it together with what Yates had told him about this private investigator. “This PI apparently believes the cops are in on it, from a cover up standpoint.”
“It wouldn’t be much of a stretch,” Cassidy mused.
She shook her head. “I know it’s crazy, but sometimes I just want to think about what’s going to happen with all of this is over.”
“Like what?” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek.
“I want to stay with you,” she whispered. “I want to try. Just like you said.”
“Good.” He held her tight, knowing now more than ever that whatever happiness he managed to find, he needed to hold on with both hands and never let go. Ever.
Epilogue
She was so tired of the rocking. Of all the things wrong with this situation, it was practically insane to think that the rocking was what bothered her the most. It never ended. The creaking of the containers and the shifting of the contents was always accompanied by the stench of fish and vermin. The entire thing made her stomach turn over.
Life had been so good before. Had she realized that? Sometimes you didn’t know what you had until it was gone. That phrase was horribly clichéd. She would have made fun of anyone who said such a thing before. But that was in another life. Now things were different. All of the old stressors and annoyances seemed paltry. She realized how petty she had been to so many people over the years.
Her perch shifted again, going with the rocking motion and nearly toppling her to the dirty ground below. She put her hands out to steady herself. Her fingers found the now familiar contour of the thick wire that surrounded her tiny space.
A door opened somewhere. Her belly knotted with fear. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she gripped the sharp wire with her hands in an effort to brace herself for what was coming.
The sounds started first. God, the screaming! High-pitched voices raised to fever pitch. Some were shrieking, some were crying, and all were begging for mercy. Didn’t they know that it was pointless to beg? Nobody cared here in hell. It was wall to wall piles of refuse in here. Stinking, bloated corpses in some places, and skinny, emaciated ones in others. Even the live ones were corpses. They were all as good as dead. Weren’t they?
She heard the shoes. The even cadence of measured steps. The clunk, clunk of his shoes as he walked between the cages. She listened to him make the rounds, listened to the girls beg and plead to be taken home. He never responded to their requests. It hadn’t taken her long to come to the realization that he liked the power their begging gave him. It gave him some sick, perverse sense of satisfaction to have them plead with him as though he were God and they were merely pawns in his game. They were—pawns, that was. All of them.
He was nearing her spot. She knew. There was always a scent when he was nearby. It made her gag, but she swallowed back the bile and refused to give in. She never gave in. Someone had taught her that. Before. When life was easy and pleasurable and she hadn’t valued all of the things she wished that she had.
“Hello.”
The fact that he spoke to her meant nothing. Not really. It was yet another power play. She even knew how it had started. Being the only one who did not beg or plead had drawn his attention to her. She hadn’t wanted the undue attention, yet she’d gained it all the same. It was a game, really. She couldn’t win. And yet it was not in her to give up.
“You’re looking rather ragged, don’t you think?” he prodded.
She sat on her perch and stared at him. Or rather, she stared at his shoes. They were white leather. It was ridiculous to wear white leather in this filthy place. There was a smudge of dirt on one shoe. Or was it something else? Blood, feces, there was no telling in hell. Perhaps it was ash from the Devil himself.
The shoes had shiny gold buckles on them. The metal was worked into an intricate knot pattern. It was huge. She couldn’t imagine what sort of man would need that kind of shoe. It wasn’t at all practical. In fact, she hated him more for his poor taste in shoes than anything else. At least, that was what she told herself.
He got right on her level, peering at her sitting on her perch and forcing her to meet his eyes. They were dark brown and eerie. Perhaps on anyone else the eyes would have seemed normal. To her they appeared tinged with red, demon’s eyes.
“You refuse to speak when spoken to?” he whispere
d.
She didn’t talk. It didn’t matter what he wanted. Keeping silent on purpose took the power away. She could tell. Because right after this was always when he tried to make her cower. Again.
“Bring her to me.”
The imperious command was followed by the clank of a key inside the lock on her door. She struggled, biting and kicking as two sets of hands emerged from the darkness to grab her. One man twisted his fingers into her dark, matted hair. The other one took her ankles. She bucked her hips and bent her knees and made things all around awkward for these two bastards, who grabbed her like this so very often.
They dragged her between them, taking her to the same place they always did. It was the center of the room. Where the rocking still happened and she still felt nauseous. They threw her on the ground. Her head bounced off the metal floor, and she saw pinpricks of light, like stars. She almost wished she could pass out. It would have made things so much easier. Yet she never did. Her consciousness seemed almost too stubborn to give up.
They grabbed her ankles and her wrists. Fighting her twisting, kicking legs and her punching, grasping hands, they shackled her to the floor. Chains were threaded through four metal eyelets set into the floor. The pulley-like system allowed them to pull her bonds so snug that she was pinned to the ground like a bug about to be fried beneath a microscope.
She knew what was coming. The anticipation was almost worse than the punishment.
“Sir,” someone said in a nasally voice. It was the one she called the Man With The Clipboard. “Might I remind you that The Broker won’t thank you for damaging the merchandise?”
“Thank you for the reminder.” There was a loud thump.
She didn’t have to see to know that the Man With The Clipboard had been struck. He likely flew across the room with the strength behind the hit. He didn’t like being questioned. It was the same reason she refused to react when he demanded it. Taking away his power was the only thing left to her. She had no dignity, no independence, no future, no choices. But she had rebellion. And even if that were to be her final legacy on this earth, she would hang onto it with teeth bared and fight until she was too dead to lift a finger.
The whip made a singing noise as it split the air on its way to her back. She had lost track of how many lashes she had received. It had begun as a warning to the other women. Now she did not know what purpose it served.
The ruined flesh on her back split open again. Fire burned through her muscle, sinew, and bone as the whip opened her body like rotten fruit thrown to the ground. She couldn’t feel it anymore. Did he know that? Her naked body flew free in these moments. She soared above the rocking, above the whip, above the man himself as she let her mind go to the soft, welcome place where the life she had left behind still existed in her mind.
Rachel.
She remembered the name. It had belonged to her once. She’d had a friend. Cassidy. The two of them had laughed and joked and acted silly, like girls barely out of school. The ground had been solid. She remembered that most of all. There had been no rocking. The world had been solid and whole. There had been food. She could remember the scent of it. The bitter taste of hops as she drank beer, smiling at a man who sat across the table from her.
Trapp.
Her last name. The same last name that her brother carried. Alexander Trapp. She could remember him in his uniform, with his awards and commendations shining in the sun. Alex didn’t give up. Ever. He would come. Had she always known that? Yes. She had. Alex would come. And He would die.
She began to laugh. The raspy sound of her laughter filled the room, swelling and seeping into the empty places between the cages. The incongruent noise made Him stop. The whip stopped singing and the lashes stopped coming.
“What?” He demanded. “What are you laughing about? Do you really find this funny?”
“You’re dead,” she told him, speaking to him for the first time since she’d been brought to this place. “You just don’t know it yet.”
“Bitch! Whore! You’re nothing. You have nothing. You can do nothing about what’s going to happen.”
“But my brother can.” The quiet certainty in her tone seemed to bother Him most of all. “You never should have taken me. You never should have challenged him. You don’t understand what you’ve done. You’re too arrogant and stupid to know.”
“Lies!” He shouted. “All lies!”
“My name is Rachel Trapp,” she said softly. “And my brother is a SEAL. Go ahead. Do your worst. But know that whatever happens to me, my brother will pay you back tenfold.”
She had never heard Him have a tantrum before. There was screaming and shouting, and perhaps the Man With The Clipboard got beaten as well. She didn’t know. And for the first time, she didn’t care. Nothing mattered. The men came and put her back in her tiny cage. They threw her inside and locked the door. She climbed back onto her perch and curled up into her corner. She thought of Alex, and she was comforted. This was going to end. Soon.
~~~
BRECKIN
Chapter One
“Get out and stay out!” The big, rawboned desk sergeant gave Tasha a shove that nearly sent her to her knees.
The blow propelled her through the door and back into the reception area of the police station. The sergeant slammed the door closed behind her. Now a huge desk and a big expanse of bulletproof glass separated them. Great. She was never going to get the info she needed from this side of the glass. Maybe she could get arrested…
The sergeant wasn’t done lecturing. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you that you’re barking up the wrong tree! You private investigator types just want to keep cases alive to squeeze more money out of the families.” The man’s face turned red as he snarled down at her. “It’s sickening!”
Tasha pursed her lips. She knew she should really keep her mouth shut, but it was hard not to respond when someone was being so blatantly stupid!
“Go on.” He shooed her off like a fly at a picnic. “Get out of here before I have you arrested for trespassing.”
“At a police station?” Tasha finally exploded like fireworks on the Fourth of July. “You can’t trespass at a police station, you moron! It’s a public building! And I’m not keeping a case alive—as you call it. I’m just trying to do your job because you and your colleagues can’t find any leads and are too lazy to go look for some!”
“Red” did not even cover the color of the detective’s face now. She would have had to call it puce. Tasha found she was grateful for the chunky desk and thick Plexiglas between her and the angry cop. She gave him one last nasty glare and then turned on her heel and stalked out of the police station. Obviously she wasn’t going to get any more information out of the DC cops. Not today, anyway. Sometimes she felt like there was something going on behind the scenes. Almost like the cops were in on the missing persons reports that kept coming across her desk. Or maybe they’d been paid to look the other way. It was hard to decide.
Tasha Campbell stepped outside the police station and paused on the top step. As with any city of decent size, the DC station was a pretty busy place. Tasha watched the beat cops marching their cuffed suspects in through the front door. Cop cars came and went from the designated parking right out front, and attorneys zipped to and fro, hoping either to score a new case or find their current clients.
Tossing her long, pale blond ponytail over one shoulder, Tasha puffed out a breath of frustration. She was sick and tired of nobody taking her seriously. And it wasn’t just this latest batch of jobs either. It pretty much felt like nobody took her seriously. Ever. So what if she was only five foot six in heels and a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet? She was still a crack shot with the twin 9mm Sig Sauers she carried in her shoulder holsters. She could take down just about anyone in hand to hand combat. And she had solved more cases in her first two years of being a PI than her predecessor had done in the last ten years of his career.
Tasha’s phone beeped. She pulled it
out and gave a satisfied grunt. These missing persons cases were driving her crazy. A few days ago she’d gotten her first lead in more than six months. Now she finally had something to work with. She just had to meet with this new source to get the intel. He was cagey, though, and not in a good way. In fact, “paranoid” was probably a better word to describe this guy. He’d agreed to meet her at a pub just around the corner from the police station.
She set out down the stairs, wondering what this guy would be like. She was picturing some old man—probably in his sixties or something. He was a career military man searching for the younger sister of an old Navy buddy. A quick walk around the block and she was entering the pub.
It was smoky inside and smelled of stale beer. Tasha had picked the place because it was always full of locals looking for a good time. There was no better place to blend into a crowd. Except now she was supposed to be looking for a guy wearing an Orioles baseball cap.
Tasha stepped out of the traffic heading to the bar to buy a drink and slunk back next to the wall. She observed the patrons for a while. There was no old white guy with fuzzy hair and caterpillar eyebrows wearing a baseball cap, although she did see a man in an Orioles hat. She swallowed, feeling a tingle start in her fingertips and quickly bloom into a full on thrill that raced up her spine.
Who is that?
If this was her source, he was definitely not old. If he was career military, he was active duty, as in active. And also as in hot. Tasha swallowed. She was staring. She knew she was staring. In fact, she felt like a total idiot. She turned around and took a seat in a booth where she could observe the super attractive guy who might be her contact.
He hadn’t noticed her yet. Or at least she didn’t think he had. He was typing information into a tablet. It was lying on the table in front of him, and he appeared to be totally absorbed in whatever he was doing. He was big, as in athletic. The man looked like one of those types who never had to actually work out, but always looked as if he spent half his life in the gym. His muscles had muscles. Except—as Tasha took further notice—he had corded forearms, and legs that looked like tree saplings. His head was shaved close, the stubble beneath it looked blond. He had a scowl that probably scared most people out of their minds, but to Tasha he appeared to be the most fascinating thing in the pub.
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