by Peg Herring
“Two, possibly three men in the house, and six girls in the one room.” Robin wasn’t sure how to ask her next question. “Is there a chance one of the men might have a girl, um, with him?”
Jai gave a mirthless chuckle. “Linda says virgins get more money. If one of them did something to us, she’d take off his...man thing, you know?”
That was both creepy and a relief. “One more thing, Jai. Do these men have weapons?”
“Yes.” She sounded surprised. “Luther say everyone in America is, um, strapped.”
It just gets better.
An hour later, Robin left the car on the road and took a diagonal route through the woods south of Linda Billings’ residence. As the fishy smell of the gulf wafted toward her through the trees, Robin tried not to let herself wonder if Jai knew what she was talking about. The house was situated on the Gulf of Mexico, and Em had consulted a Florida atlas in order to describe the terrain. “It’s mostly swamp,” she’d said. “The nearest neighbor is a bird sanctuary, which means only pelicans and cormorants are around to see who comes and goes on the beach at night.”
Billings’ house was long and low, with a crushed-stone drive closed off from the road by a six-foot metal gate. A Florida privet hedge screened the front from view, and trees protected its sides. As Florida homes go, it was neither noticeably large nor particularly fancy, but the advantage to human traffickers was obvious. There wasn’t much chance anyone would accidentally hear or see what went on there.
Robin searched for surveillance cameras near the turnoff. None. Though the gate served as a barrier to vehicles, she easily scaled the crossbars and dropped to the other side. Crouching in the shadows, she wished she’d checked for a gun in Billings’ car. She could have come armed and at least pretending to be dangerous. At the last possible moment she remembered her phone and shut the ringer off. It would be dumb, possibly fatal, to announce her presence by a random call from some telemarketer.
The girls’ room was easy to locate. Nothing but darkness behind the sturdy window grate. At the back of the house, light poured out of several windows. Robin crept to the border of a small swimming pool and peered through a sliding-glass door partially obscured with vertical blinds.
At one end of the room a man sat in a recliner, watching TV and smoking. Beside him on a small table was an oversized bowl of popcorn, a jumbo can of beer, and an overflowing ashtray. He resembled Linda Billings in coloring and facial structure.
Luther.
She saw no sign of anyone else. Maybe I got lucky and the others have the night off.
“Stand up slow and then don’t move a muscle.” A jab at her ribs indicated the speaker had a gun.
Robin froze for a second, unable to obey. When the speaker jabbed her ribs a second time she rose, as ordered. Without being told to, she raised her hands.
“Let’s go inside and see what Luther wants to do about you sneaking around on his patio.”
Her numbed brain functioned enough to make an attempt at an excuse. “I wasn’t sneaking. Sometimes I use the pool when nobody’s here.”
He thought about that. “Where’s your suit?”
She tried for a casual tone. “I don’t wear one.”
“Huh.” He sounded interested but didn’t change his mind. “Let’s go.” Taking a handful of Robin’s hair, he slid the door open and pushed her inside.
***
“I don’t like doing this,” Cam told Hua’s image on the phone.
“What have you done so far?”
“Nothing. Robin said you’d tell me what to do.”
Hua licked his lips. “You have to put Mrs. Billings in the back seat of her car.”
“But she’s dead.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t want to touch a dead person.”
“You don’t want Robin to get into trouble, do you?”
“No.”
“Then we have to get this done.” Hua considered for a moment. “You told me about your dad butchering cows, right? You helped with that.”
“I didn’t like it.”
“But you did it for your family. We are your family now, so we will do this together.”
There was a long pause, but finally Cam said, “Okay.”
“Good. Set the phone down and drag the body into the back seat. Let me know when you’re done.”
Hua heard a car door open and some faraway grunts. When Cam returned he said, “She feels cold. And she’s really heavy.”
“I know. Now you’re going to drive her car to the store where she met Em. Obey all the signs and travel at exactly the speed limit, so you don’t get stopped on the way. Got it?”
“I always do that.”
“Good.”
“Can we leave the phone on so you can talk to me?”
“Sure.” Hua hoped Cam’s phone was fully charged.
As he drove, Cam reported everything he noticed along the way. At another time it might have been interesting, but since Hua was anxious to get their task done, the play-by-play was a little discomfiting.
“That guy’s got a ’55 T-bird for sale. The wire wheels look okay, but the tires are shot. Top’s in pretty bad shape too. Body needs work.”
Driving on he said, “It smells really nice down here, Hua, did you know that? I think it might be orange blossoms, but whatever it is, it’s nice. I like flowers.”
“Really.” Cam seemed to have forgotten he had a dead body in the back seat.
A minute later he said, “Hey, they’ve got the new Captain America movie. I really want to see that. I wonder if they’ll have a matinee tomorrow.”
“I doubt you’ll be in Florida tomorrow,” Hua said. “You’ll be coming home as soon as this is done.”
When Cam reached the parking lot Hua said, “Find a spot with no video cameras and park there.”
Cam didn’t speak for a while, but finally he said, “I found a panel truck with a spot beside it.”
“Good. Wait until it is clear then drag Linda out of the back seat and drop her by the driver’s door.”
“Drop her?”
“So it looks like she collapsed.” When he didn’t answer Hua added, “It won’t hurt her, Cameron. She’s dead.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Is anyone around?”
“There’s a woman with two little kids. They shouldn’t be out this late, and besides, it just started to rain.”
“Good. Rain will wash away evidence the body was moved.”
A few seconds later Cam said, “Okay. Nobody’s here.”
“All right. As quickly as you can, get her out, drop the keys beside her—are you wearing your gloves?”
“Yeah. Robin said to.”
“Okay. Leave the driver’s door open, but close the back door. It has to look like she came there to shop and died suddenly.” Hua tried to sound encouraging. “When you’re done, walk away. Toss the gloves into the nearest waste container.”
“How do I get back to the van?”
“It’s safest if you walk, but you said it’s raining. I can bring up the bus schedule.”
“I kind of like walking in the rain,” Cam said. “Can you stay on the phone, so we can talk?”
“Once you get rid of that corpse, Cameron, we’ll talk as long as your battery lasts.”
***
When Robin half-fell into Billings’ beach house, the man in the chair looked up in surprise. A painful tug on her hair stopped her just inside the door, and she turned to see her captor. Almost as big as Cam, he was much less attractive, both in appearance and expression. It was easy to imagine his photo on a TV screen with the caption: Can you help police locate this man?
The TV watcher spoke in a voice that matched his wimpy looks. “What you got there, Dave?”
“I was heading out to secure the boat and saw her peeking in the window.’”
“Huh.” Luther turned in the chair to examine Robin. “What are you doing here?”
She tried the pool s
tory, adding details she hoped made it more believable. When she finished he merely repeated the question. “What are you doing here?”
Concluding her energy was better spent thinking of a way to escape, Robin went silent. If Dave loosened his hold on her hair, if Luther looked away for a split second—
But they were used to handling captives. Dave’s grip remained firm, and Luther’s eyes never left her face.
Despite the uselessness of regret, she spent a few seconds there. Though Mink had repeatedly advised they have a Plan B, she hadn’t predicted something as weird as Billings’ death. Now her desire to rescue the captives had resulted in an action that was well-intentioned but ill-conceived. And she would pay for it.
Should have called the police, even the fire department. The girls would be rescued, and I might have lived through the night.
“What do we do with her?”
Luther’s pale blue gaze rested on Robin. “Are you alone?”
“No. I called the police, and they’re on their way. They’ll find the girls—” She glanced down the hallway, realizing too late she’d revealed too much.
Your need to explain just clinched your death sentence.
A twitch showed in Luther’s cheek. “Get her phone and ID.”
Dave’s hands searched her roughly, lingering briefly on her breasts before moving on to the pocket where the phone rested. She shivered in fear and disgust. “No ID. Just this.” He tossed it to Luther, who checked the log. “Well, will you look at that? You didn’t call the cops after all.” He frowned. “How did you find us?”
“My friends know where I am. You’re going to be arrested.”
“If you had friends, they’d be here with you.”
She’d played it all wrong. Em would have played dumb; Robin had been dumb.
After staring at her for a few seconds, Luther made his decision. “Take her out to the end of the dock and drown her.”
Perfectly at ease with the command, Dave grabbed Robin by the neck. “No marks if you can help it,” Luther warned. “It should look like suicide.”
“Gotcha.”
Robin started fighting then, but she didn’t stand a chance. Dave simply put one hand over her mouth, the other around her waist, picked her up, and backed out the sliding door. She caught at the frame but only managed to scrape several layers of skin off her hands as he pulled her through with a strong jerk. Behind them Luther returned his attention to the TV. The last she saw of him, he was reaching for his beer.
Dave made his way clumsily over the sand, avoiding Robin’s flailing hands and staggering a little as she threw herself from side to side.
Why did I come here alone? Why wasn’t I more careful? Why did I ever think I was in any way qualified to take on professional criminals?
Don’t count your mistakes. Think!
There was nothing she could do. In minutes she’d be drowned in the waters of the gulf. When her body floated to shore, Cam, Hua, and Em would know she hadn’t committed suicide, but who would they tell? How would they explain their presence in Florida without admitting their own crimes? Worst of all, Luther and Dave would disappear once they realized Linda wasn’t coming home, leaving six more corpses behind.
Suddenly Dave lurched to one side. At first she thought he’d stepped into a hole, but it was more than that. Something—make that someone—had hit him with the force of a football tackle. He fell hard onto the sand, almost squashing Robin beneath him. A second impact forced him to release his hold, and she rolled out of his grasp and pushed herself to her feet. What had just happened?
Grunts of exertion sounded, and she realized that Dave was wrestling with another man. Robin took a step toward the writhing figures, but it was too dark to see more than shadows. The newcomer was doing his best to keep the big man from getting to his feet.
Should she join the fight or seize the opportunity to escape? As she hesitated, the smaller man gasped out a command. “Robin—get help!”
Though her mind grappled with the impossibility of it, she recognized the voice: Tom Wyman.
“Go!” he urged, but the sound changed as a blow turned it to a grunt of pain.
However much she’d have liked to do as Wyman ordered, Robin saw no way to comply. Luther had taken her phone, and they were too far away from other residences to get help in time.
She was the only help Wyman was going to get.
Dave outweighed the detective by at least forty pounds. He had two hands, and he was without doubt the more ruthless of the two. It was up to her to help Wyman. She stepped forward and kicked at Dave’s ribs, but her soft leather flats were useless as weapons. She needed a club.
On both sides of them, the high-tide line that deposited seaweed and shells stretched dark on the sand. Robin ran along it a few feet, looking for a rock or a sturdy piece of wood. Behind her the dull thud of a fist connecting with flesh sounded, and Wyman groaned in pain.
Faster!
Her toe hit something hard and she picked it up. It was a cowrie shell, too small and fragile to do her any good. A moment later her foot found something larger. Moving aside the soggy, slimy seaweed, she felt a fist-sized clump of coral. It was as good a weapon as she was likely to get. Behind her Wyman’s breath came in gasps. Dave muttered a curse that signaled imminent victory.
Holding the coral in her fist, she hurried back. Dave had gained the upper hand and rolled over, straddling Wyman and pinning him to the ground. As he raised his fist to deliver a crushing final blow, Robin whacked him just above the ear, throwing her weight into it as if it were a tennis stroke. Dave roared in pain, his body teetered, and his hands fell to his side. She raised her makeshift weapon again, but he fell to the sand before she could deliver a second strike.
Wyman immediately pushed himself free and rose to his knees. “Here,” he panted, pulling a zip tie from his jeans pocket. “Fasten his hands behind him before he gets his wits back.”
Dave was already stirring, but with only a little fumbling Robin wrapped the tie around his wrists and pulled it tight. Wyman put a second tie around the man’s feet, though how he accomplished the task with one hand, she couldn’t imagine.
When Dave was immobilized Wyman said, “We need to keep him quiet.”
As if to demonstrate that need, Dave began making gibberish sounds. It wasn’t loud, but he had not gone conveniently silent, the way bad guys do in the movies once the good guys defeat them. Pulling off her stretchy headband Robin asked, “Will this work?”
“We’ll make it work.” Wyman sat down on the sand and pulled off a shoe and sock. “Sorry, buddy.” He stuffed the sock into Dave’s mouth and put the elastic band around his head to hold it in place.
As Wyman pulled his shoe back on Robin said, “He was going to drown me.”
“I figured,” Wyman said. “It’s a good thing Em called me, huh?”
Chapter Twenty-two
Though Robin’s mind boiled with questions, there was no time to ask them. Wyman dragged Dave to an overturned rowboat and rolled him under it. “Now he can’t scuttle along the beach and escape.” Muted thumps from the boat indicated Dave’s unhappiness with his makeshift prison.
Wyman staggered back to where Robin stood, his breathing still labored from the fight. Even in the dim moonlight, she could see his lip was bleeding. “Thanks for the rescue,” he said.
“Likewise.”
Gesturing at the house he asked, “What have we got in there?”
“Six victims of human trafficking. The woman in charge of selling them—well, she isn’t coming back. Once the others realize that, they’ll kill all six girls and take off.”
“Who’s guarding them?”
“I only saw one guy.”
“We need to call the police.”
She surveyed the remote location. “Luther will kill them before help can get here.”
Wyman’s silhouette showed against the white sand, and she saw him nod. “Okay. You and I take him out now and let the cops do cle
anup afterward.”
Across the beach, the sound of a sliding-glass door grating along its sandy track caught their attention. Ducking to a crouch, Wyman and Robin watched as Luther peered into the dark. “Dave?” he called softly. “Dave?” When there was no response but wind and water, Luther’s body tensed. Sliding the door closed, he clicked the lock into place.
“He’s going to do it.” Robin was up and heading for the door before Wyman could respond. When she reached the patio he was beside her, his presence reassuring even though she had no idea what they should do. Skirting the pool, she put her eye to the gap between the blinds. Luther sat at a computer, and his hands moved quickly over the keyboard.
“Destroying evidence,” Robin whispered. “The girls will be next.”
Wyman took hold of her arm and put his mouth close to her ear. “Go around to the front. Ring the bell, knock, make a lot of noise, and then hide. I’ll go in this way and get them out.”
She didn’t stop to ask how he’d get in, but hurried away, avoiding lawn chairs and shrubbery with no grace at all. As soon as she was separated from Wyman, Robin felt oddly alone and isolated.
The door at the front of the house was wide and well-lit, with glowing sidelights that allowed those inside to see who waited on the porch. Since her presence hadn’t scared Luther earlier, Robin doubted it would now. He knew she was unarmed, and he thought she was alone. He had to be convinced reinforcements had arrived.
With that in mind, she filled the pockets of her jeans with a half-dozen of the decorative stones that edged the driveway. Stuffing them in her pockets, she rang the doorbell for as long as she dared, pounded on the door a few times with her fist, and retreated behind a magnolia bush.
Luther came to the door and looked cautiously out the sidelight, his expression concerned. He held a gun in one hand.
Rising from the shadows, Robin launched the first of her missiles, which bounced harmlessly off the door. Luther stepped back, but when he saw the stone on the porch, he seemed more irritated than afraid. She threw a second rock, this time with better luck. It broke a sidelight panel with a sharp ping and fell onto the tiles inside. This time Luther glared out at the apparently empty yard.
