Becca’s eyes were wide when they swung to him. “They still haven’t caught them?”
“Not yet, but we will find them.” He injected a confidence he didn’t feel into his voice. Ashley was running the image of the driver through facial recognition programs. Then she and Mallory were going to determine what other surveillance cameras were in the vicinity of the brothel and see if they could find any additional footage. The cops had canvassed the area already, but there was no harm in doing it again.
If he could find a clean image of the fugitives the FBI could send it to Interpol and expand the search internationally.
“In the meantime, we need to be careful. They don’t know you survived the explosion so they’re not even thinking about looking for you.”
Her fingers gripped the covers. “I don’t want them to find me. I don’t want them to hurt me again.”
“That’s why I’m here, sweetheart,” Curtis interrupted, holding back one side of her jacket so her weapon was visible. “No one’s getting past me or Agent Bueller.”
Bueller was the other ATF agent taking turns to protect Becca.
“And as soon as you’re well enough to leave here we’ll get you to a safe house.” At some point the Trafficking Victims Protection Act would enable them to safeguard Becca, but for that they’d have to reveal she survived. So far Sloan had managed to keep it between the two of them, her SAC and the ATF team. If this thing went to trial there was a good chance Becca would need to go into WITSEC. It would be nice if she could be reunited with her family before she had to disappear forever. They might want to go with her.
“Did you decide what you want to do when this is all over?” He turned to Curtis. “I promised her a day out.” They exchanged a glance. They both knew it would be a while until this was finished.
Curtis grinned. “I like that idea.”
Becca shook her head mutely and looked away.
“There are no strings attached, Becs.”
She looked up and his heart shattered at the uncertainty he saw there.
“You never have to worry about doing any of that stuff again,” he said firmly, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing. “If I offer you a treat, it’s because I want to give a strong kid something good after how brave she’s been. It’s not because I want something from you in return. No one’s gonna hurt you like that again, got it?” Christ, he hoped he wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep.
She picked at a knot of cotton in the sheets, then nodded.
It would be a while before she’d trust him completely. He knew that, but right now he just wanted her to feel secure. “Come on, there’s got to be something on your bucket list.”
“I wouldn’t mind going to the mall,” she mumbled.
His heart gave a hard twist. “The mall? Shopping?” Normally he’d make a joke about that being his idea of hell, but she knew that reality better than anyone.
“I don’t have any of my own clothes.” She pressed her lips together as if embarrassed.
His throat constricted. “I can take you shopping.”
He had no idea how to outfit a young girl. Maybe he could persuade Mallory or Ashley to come with him. Agent Chen looked like she knew her way around clothes shops.
“You can take me shopping anytime, Agent Randall.” Curtis winked at him and picked up her bag. “I’m going to grab breakfast. Want anything?”
They both shook their heads and watched the woman leave.
He walked over to the windows and opened the shades just enough to let in more light, but not enough for anyone to see inside. He turned back to the bed, dug in his pocket, and unfolded the printout of the image of the minivan driver Ashley had tracked down. He held it out to Becca. “Do you recognize this person?”
Her blue gaze dropped to the image. Her mouth opened, and her pale skin blanched. Slowly she swallowed.
“Is he the man who took you?”
She nodded again, and his heart sped up.
“How long ago?”
She looked down at the covers. “I don’t know.”
“A few weeks ago? A month?”
Her gaze went inward as she concentrated. “Longer.”
“How much longer? Can you take a guess?” he asked. There was no record of this kid anywhere in the system.
“I don’t remember, but…” The sheets rustled as she knelt in the bed. “They made me take a pill every day and at first I counted them.”
Roofies? No, they didn’t need narcotics to control a kid like Becca. Birth control? A way to stop periods and pregnancy should the child hit puberty? Heaven forbid something as basic as biology got in the way of sexual slavery.
It was a lead they might be able to trace.
“How many pills did they make you take, Becca?”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I lost count after I got to five hundred.”
Bile hit his throat. He forced himself to unclench his jaw and swallow. She’d been in that hellhole for at least eighteen months? Jesus, she’d have barely been in double digits when she’d been taken. “So the man in the photograph…did he, er, live in the same building?”
“No. But I saw him in the kitchen a few times.”
“They let you into the kitchen?” he asked in surprise.
“Yeah. Sometimes I’d help out with cooking and clearing up after meals.”
“You like cooking?”
“Better than staying in my room.”
The honesty of those words slayed him. A lump formed in his throat. He needed as much information as he could get, but he was scared he’d say the wrong thing and she’d clam up. Or get upset. Or he would.
“Did you see any of the other girls?”
She nodded like it was a stupid question.
He pulled out the photograph of Agata Maroulis. “You ever see this girl?” Why hadn’t he thought to ask her this yesterday? Probably because she’d been terrified. Not to mention injured by a bomb blast.
Her pupils dilated, and she gave a rapid nod. “Yeah, but not for a long time.” The bed rustled as she shifted position. “I remember she talked funny, but I don’t think she was very well. Her hands shook when she ladled soup into bowls. Madam hit her and wouldn’t let her carry the tray because she spilled some.” She looked away again. “She was punished.”
He wondered what that entailed when you lived in torment. “You meet any other girls?”
She worried at the cuticle on her thumb. “Yes, but we only knew each other by the names they gave us.” She nodded toward the photo of Agata. “They called her Greta. I met Mary, Sam, Diana. Julia.”
“You never found out their real names?”
“No. They never left us alone and didn’t let us ask questions. Some of them must have talked to one another in the dorms, but not those of us they kept in the rooms downstairs.” Her brows scrunched. “One of the girls told me there were cameras up there in the dorms too, and anyone who didn’t behave was punished. One girl used to cry for her mother, until Cho made her stop.”
Her eyes went far away for a moment. Had she cried for her mother? Or was she remembering some other terrible thing Cho had done to her?
“Tell me who your parents are, Becs, so we can tell them you’re safe. And if you don’t want to live with your mom and dad, maybe we can find another relative—”
“Mom. There’s just my mom.” She stared off into space.
Okay.
That was something.
He eased into a chair beside the bed. “You didn’t know your dad?”
She shook her head.
“Grandparents?”
A frown, then another shake of her head.
“Siblings?”
She flinched.
“Brother?”
She nodded slowly.
“Older?” Was that why she’d run away? Had her older brother abused her?
Her teeth caught her lower lip. “He was just a baby when I left.”
That was a relief. “What was
his name?”
“Jackson. I called him Baby Jax.” Her eyes held his with an imploring look. Unfortunately, he couldn’t back off from this now she’d started to talk. He turned on the recorder on his phone and set it on the bedside table.
“Can you tell me where you lived? Somewhere hot? Cold?”
Her eyes darted from him to his phone. “If I tell you you’ll send me back to her.” Her voice gained a hostile edge. Bitterness and experience and the living breathing knowledge of what it felt like to have no control over her life.
“I won’t send you back into danger, Becca,” he said, holding her gaze. “I promise you that.”
“Yes, you will. You want to know my momma’s name so you can send me back to her!”
“I just want you to be safe—”
“It’s not safe!” she cried. “She’s the one who gave me away—” She slapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late.
He kept his voice calm. He reached out and took her hand in his and squeezed her thin fingers. “Are you telling me your mother sold you to the people in the brothel?”
She flinched at the word “brothel” but he didn’t know what else to call it.
Tears shimmered in her blue eyes. “She owed them money. Lots of money.” She seemed to implore him for understanding. “We’d already lost our home and we didn’t always have food to eat, but she couldn’t stop gambling.” Becca’s voice rose into a sob, and he sat on the side of the bed and pulled her into his arms, careful of the tubes still connected to her. He rocked her against his chest.
“She said she’d stop going to the casino when Baby Jax was born, but she never did. And then the man came for his money and he hurt her.”
“The man in the photo?”
She nodded.
So he was some sort of enforcer. “You know his name?”
“No,” she whispered. “But he had the scariest eyes I’ve ever seen. He beat her, and I thought he was going to kill her. Then she screamed at him that he could take me instead of the money she owed. That I was worth more.” Becca hiccupped. “He hit her again until she lay bleeding in a corner and Baby Jax was crying in his crib. Then he turned around, picked me up and took me with him.” Those blue eyes rose to meet his again as she curled in a ball in his lap. “Part of me thought living with him might be better than being with her, but I didn’t want to leave Baby Jax. I wasn’t sure Momma would remember to look after him.” Tears filled her eyes and she sobbed. “Momma knew what they’d do to me when he took me away and she just let him.”
He closed his eyes and rocked her until she stopped crying. Half an hour later Agent Curtis came quietly into the room and Lucas was still holding Becca in his arms. She’d fallen asleep and he didn’t have the heart to wake her to ask her more questions. He gave the agent a nod, then eased Becca onto the bed but she still didn’t awaken.
Curtis must have seen the anguish on his face. He shook his head and walked away when she asked if everything was okay. It wasn’t okay. He wasn’t sure it would ever be okay again.
Chapter Seven
Ashley eyed the street where the brothel had once taken up valuable real estate in Boston’s busy Chinatown. The smell of charred rubble lingered in the cold February air. Members of Boston PD’s Crime Scene Unit and agents from the Bureau’s Evidence Response Teams continued to scour the ruins, but this was strictly a recovery operation now. There had been no signs of life since the bomb went off.
There was surprisingly little structural damage to the surrounding area. Whoever laid the explosive charges had known what they were doing. The brothel had imploded, blowing out windows in some of the neighboring buildings, but leaving most of them intact. Whoever had planted them had military training, or were demolition experts.
“They haven’t found anything useful except for a stash of condoms, contraceptive pills and a couple more bodies.” Mallory walked quickly toward Ashley. The blast area was largely hidden from public view by massive tarps, cordoned off by crime scene tape and guarded by patrol officers. Air traffic was banned, but that hadn’t stopped the media begging or buying their way into various viewpoints from nearby high-rises. Two media vans lingered nearby, but most of the press were currently camped out down at the container port, covering the search for the fugitives. “ERT agents sent the pills to the lab for analysis. Maybe we can get a lead on the manufacturer.”
Ashley nodded.
Strictly speaking, she and Mallory weren’t field agents, but this situation called for an all-hands-on-deck approach. Their boss, ASAC Lincoln Frazer, had given his permission for them to see if there were any surveillance cameras that hadn’t already been accessed for evidence. His was the only authority she needed.
Ashley looked across the street. A corner shop, a tobacconist, and a takeaway pizzeria had clear lines of sight to where the front door of the brothel had been. Their plate glass windows had shattered and were boarded up, but all three businesses were open and glaziers were busy installing a new shop front in the pizza place.
Mallory followed her gaze. “Spot anything?”
She shook her head.
“Pity we don’t have a bank or gas station,” Mallory muttered. “Then we’d definitely have surveillance.”
“Maybe that’s one of the reasons they chose this location,” Ashley said quietly.
How careful were these people? How experienced?
It bothered her.
They entered the shop on the corner to the innocent tinkle of a bell. It was one of those places where a person could barely fit down the aisle, shelves running floor to ceiling, crammed with everything from wine to mouse traps. Cheap cards and crimson hearts proclaimed Valentine’s Day was fast approaching.
Ashley loathed Valentine’s Day. It was fake and artificial, and about as close to true love as she’d ever get. It was also her birthday. A double whammy of reminders as to her loneliness and isolation.
She looked around. There were no obvious cameras, but there was a sign on the door warning people they were being monitored.
The man behind the counter saw her coming and eyed her warily. He looked about forty with Mediterranean coloring and thick black hair. She flashed her badge. The eyebrows rose.
She pointed to the sign on the door. “Do you have any surveillance cameras on the property?”
He shook his head. “It’s just for show. Stops kids from being stupid.”
“You don’t have any genuine antitheft devices?” Ashley didn’t hide her skepticism.
He puffed out his meaty chest and crossed his arms somewhere in the middle. “I got a baseball bat under the counter, but we don’t get no real trouble around here.”
“Except for child abduction, sex trafficking, rape, and mass murder?” Ashley flashed him a plastic smile.
“Hey, I had no idea what was going on over there.”
“How long they been there?”
He shrugged.
“You’re telling me a man like you doesn’t keep an eye on what’s happening in his own neighborhood?”
He pulled a face, but clearly wasn’t going to answer.
“You never wondered about the endless stream of male visitors going down there?”
“In case you didn’t notice, the view ain’t great out my window.” He eyed her stonily, about as friendly as an injured bear.
Right now the view was blocked entirely by the plywood covering up the empty frames so it was hard to judge what the guy could normally see. An aisle had been cleared to remove the broken glass, and undamaged goods were stacked against the opposite shelf making the narrow space positively serpentine.
“The men from the brothel never approached or threatened you?” Mallory came up beside Ashley, threw a couple of candy bars on the counter and handed over a twenty.
“Threatened me?” He looked insulted. “Those little sli—” He shot a look at Ashley and reined in whatever he’d been going to say. Because she needed a reminder her skin wasn’t the same soft peach as Mallory�
��s. He pursed his lips and dropped Mallory’s change into her palm one coin at a time. “Nope.”
“You seriously didn’t know what was going on over there?” Ashley was bad cop for this interview, but that didn’t bother her. It didn’t take an expert in human behavior to know the guy wasn’t telling them everything. After four years in the FBI she was used to people lying to her. It seemed to be an occupational hazard.
His mouth tightened, and some of the bluster went out of him. He leaned forward, and she figured he was about to come as clean as a used tissue. “Look, I practice the three wise monkey approach to doing business. I don’t ask questions. I don’t rat. Maybe I figured it wasn’t your average rooming house, but I never dreamed they’d have kids locked up like that. I mean, I got kids—girls. They ever touched my girls I’d have ripped them apart with my bare hands.” His nostrils flared.
But not other people’s daughters.
“Think you could identify the people who ran the place if you saw them again?”
There was a malevolent glint in his eyes when he answered her this time. “Not sure I could tell one chink from another. They all look the same to me.”
The edge of Ashley’s smile grew sharp at the deliberate use of the derogatory term. “Hmm, I’ve heard that people with small brains often struggle with visual perception.”
His expression soured further.
How to make friends and influence people, Ashley.
Mallory handed him her card. “If you remember anything that could help us catch these guys and help keep the neighborhood safe for your children, please let us know.”
“Sure, doll face.” He tapped the card on the counter. “You’ll be the first to know.”
They walked out of the store, and Mallory handed Ashley a Mars Bar. “We intimidated the shit outta that guy.”
Ashley took the candy bar and lost some of her anger. “We sure did, doll face.”
“That’s Special Agent Doll Face to you.” They both sniggered and chomped their chocolate as they eyed the tobacconist store.
“Think this will go any better?” Mallory asked around a mouthful of chocolate.
Cold Secrets (Cold Justice Book 7) Page 9
