by CJ Lyons
"You have copies of Ashley's artwork?"
The chair whirred as he toggled a switch to elevate him and extend his arm far enough to snag a handle. A large, shallow drawer popped open between them, revealing a stack of sketches inked with vibrant colors.
"She mailed them to me a few weeks ago. That was the last I heard from her. I figured it was her way of saying good-bye. After she found out the truth." His gaze dropped down to the disappointment his body had become. "I understand. I mean, what girl..."
"You and Ashley met in person?"
"No. We've talked on line for almost a year, also on the phone and texted each other. Then she said she wanted to meet, that she needed my help. I sent her my address, told her I had a disability and couldn't leave the house easily. That's when the pictures came in the mail. I figured she must have come by, seen me, and freaked. I never heard from her again. She wouldn't answer her cell, my emails bounced, nothing."
"This was when?"
"Six weeks ago."
The week before Ashley ran away to her father's house.
"How did she act before then?"
"All summer she's been kind of weird. Making up new characters, then dropping them. She was doing great in the game—on track to win it all real soon. But somehow that freaked her out, like she thought she'd lose me or something. I told her we'd still be friends. But there were others hassling her. See, Shadow World is different than any other game out there. Maestro has his domain set up so that when someone wins the Crown of Symyria the game stops and all the other characters die in a cataclysmic battle."
"But this is all make believe, so why were they so upset?"
His eyes widened as he shook his head at her ignorance. "You don't understand. Some of these guys have been playing SW since it started. To have a girl, just a kid, come along and win it? Not to mention losing characters that they've created and built—some of these characters were selling on eBay for like hundreds of dollars. But as soon as Vixen won the crown, they'd all be dead. Worthless."
"Vixen?"
"Ashley's main character. That top one."
Lucy slid the first sheet of sketch paper from the drawer and held it up. A muscular young woman, brown hair and brown eyes like Ashley's stared back at her. There the resemblance ended.
Vixen's eyes were slanted, exotic looking, blending into swept-back hair and high arched cheekbones, making her look like she was part fox. Her costume continued in the fox motif: fur pelts as bra and skirt, long talon-like nails, a bandolier weapons belt held a snaggle-toothed barbed sword over one shoulder, a curved dagger hung at her hip and she was barefoot. Her expression was one of haughty confidence, bold, daring—a lot like Melissa Yeager's runway photos.
Very different from the self-conscious, eyes averted, Ashley captured in the few family photos Lucy had seen. "Tell me about Vixen."
He rocked his neck from side to side until it cracked. "She was Ashley's favorite SW character, but not mine. You know the stories about boys raised by wolves? Think girl raised by foxes. A loner, cunning, no loyalty. She won by hiding in shadows, deception, taking advantage when others were chivalrous, swooping in for the kill if others hesitated. She stole, broke all the rules of civilized behavior—"
"Did she follow the rules of the game? Or was she cheating?" Lucy could well see the Ashley she was growing to know compelled to win at all costs, but she didn't think the girl would cross the boundaries and break the rules of the domain master.
"Oh no. She never broke any of Maestro's rules. But there are unwritten rules, you know? Lately, she didn't even seem to care about her allies. Only about winning. At any cost." His voice dropped.
"What was the cost, Bobby?"
"After she created Vixen, about five months ago, she killed off her other characters like they were cannon fodder. Good characters—people I considered friends. Then she led Draco to the slaughter."
From the tone of his voice, this fantasy world was more real than the world he found himself imprisoned in. Lucy shuffled the pages of artwork. She held up another sketch, this one of a woman in leggings and a heavy cloak, holding fire in the palm of her hand. "Who's this one?"
"That's Enchantra. She was the last to go. She was a powerful mage, could transform any element into its opposite: water to fire, earth to air, that kind of thing. She used her power to save people from the demons of Ocre. Destroying the demon king was one of the final challenges in the quest for the crown. Draco and Enchantra faced him together, side by side. Together they mortally wounded him. But as he lay dying, Vixen rushed in and beheaded him, dealing him the killing blow. All his power transferred to her."
Lucy remembered the drawing in the back of Ashley's notebook. The one that seemed so powerful yet so sad at the same time. "That's when she betrayed you? You're Draco, right?"
He nodded, his lips curled down as if trying to swallow a bitter pill. "I was Draco. Enchantra was wounded. We could have escaped together. But Vixen killed the king and unleashed his hoards of demons, trapping Enchantra. I tried to save her, but we both were killed."
His voice grew heavy as if he spoke of real people. Lucy looked away while he composed himself and turned to the next drawings. More prototypes of warriors similar to Vixen, but the final one intrigued her. It was a lovely, almost Raphelesque sketch of a woman with wings. "Who's this character?"
"Angel. No weapons except for her mind. She protected the innocent and avenged them by forcing villains to relive their crimes over and over every time they slept. My favorite of all Ashley's characters. I tried to encourage her to develop her, but she dropped her without even trying her in the game. Said she was too lame, too weak. That dreams never solved anything."
Lucy glanced at the date at the bottom. May. The same time Ashley created Vixen and embraced her dark side. The same time Melissa Yeager noticed problems with Ashley. "May. End of the school year, everyone's feeling the pressure. Did you notice any changes in Ashley? Did she confide in you at all?"
His finger twitched the toggle switch, sending the chair back and forth in a rocking motion. Bobby's version of pacing.
"Ashley had it rough last year. She transferred to Gateway from Plum, so she was the new kid. And she kind of had a crush on this older guy. She must have been obvious, 'cause some of the other kids were teasing her. Then the guy's girlfriend and her friends jumped Ashley in the girl's room one day."
"Was she hurt?" Lucy well remembered how vicious junior high girls could be.
"Not physically. Emotionally she was trashed. Then the bullying continued—there were MySpace pages dedicated to outing Ashley as a lesbian, a whole cyber-smear campaign."
"Do you know who was behind it?"
"Ashley had some ideas but she didn't know what to do about it. But I did." His eyes lit up with the gleam of a true champion. "I spend all day with computers, so I'm pretty good with them. I set a trap—set up a voice mailbox and email addy using Ashley's info. When they started spamming it with hate mail, I traced it back. Two girls."
"Think they're involved in Ashley's disappearance?"
A smile quirked at his lips. "I doubt it. They've moved on to high school this year. And I zinged them good. Stole their address books and spammed the hell out of everyone it in—with all the evidence leading back to the girls. They got cyber-slammed by their friends but good."
"So that made Ashley feel better?"
He lowered his gaze, long, blonde eyelashes caressing his cheeks. "I wish. She felt kind of embarrassed by all the attention. I don't think she ever even told her parents about it all. But that's when we started getting more serious—I mean, don't get any ideas, nothing creepy, how could there be?" His gaze swept the length of his motionless body. "Ashley, she's so special, how could a guy not like talking with her? She's bright and funny and talented. If only she weren't so down on herself all the time."
"Did she ever email you any photos?"
"Photos? No. We talked about setting up a web cam but I didn't want her to see—y
ou know. Frank helped me send her a photo of me, only my face. So she wouldn't know the truth. She used it to come up with Draco's look. Mainly we just chatted. Until she sent me her drawings."
As he spoke, he flicked the computer mouse and a tall, handsome boy with blond hair and piercing blue eyes appeared. His hair was long, tangled around his head in spikes ending in flames. His torso was naked except for a sash made of red and gold dragon scales that held a long-sword. His breeches were also made of dragon scales and his dagger was a dragon's claw.
"Nice. She put a lot of time into this."
He blushed again. "Yeah. Told you she had talent. I don't know why she wasted it on Vixen."
"Think maybe that was her way of standing up for herself? Battling the bullies?"
"Maybe. But seems like creeping around in shadows and going off on your own isn't the best way to do things."
"So, did she win? The Shadow World crown?"
His shoulder twitched in that heart-breaking almost-shrug. "Dunno. After Draco was killed, I was locked out of the game. Maestro wouldn't let me back into the site. A few days later was the last I heard from her. That's when we talked about meeting in person, when she said she needed my help. But she never said with what."
Lucy considered this. "If I put you in touch with my tech guys, would you let them access your email exchanges with Ashley?"
"Sure, anything to help." He rolled the chair back from the desk, met her gaze with a sorrowful expression. "Guess I let her down. I should have been a better friend, should have been there for her."
This boy had done more than either of Ashley's parents, that was for certain. Lucy laid her hand over his. "I think you were her best friend, Bobby. Her champion."
His hand jerked below hers, sending the chair rumbling backwards. "Fat lot of good I was. Please find her, help her. You can do that, can't you?"
"I'm trying my best."
Chapter 16
Saturday 6:38 pm
The Pittsburgh federal building was a concrete and glass stump of a cube located just east of the Steelers training facilities on Carson Street. Burroughs had never been inside before, feds usually kept to themselves.
One more thing that set Guardino apart, he thought as she chauffeured him through security and got him a visitor's pass. He had to leave his weapon in a lock box, but that was to be expected.
They took the elevator up to the second floor. Bleached oak doors, all closed, lined the hallway. Most of the doors were labeled as Joint Counter-Terrorism Task Force. There were no names of the individuals who worked behind the blank doors, as if they were interchangeable cogs in Homeland Security's vast machine.
Guardino led him to the far end of the floor to a closed door that read: Sexual Assault Felony Enforcement, High Technology Computer Crimes Task Force, Innocent Images National Initiative, and Operation Predator.
"What are you guys, the red haired stepkids?" he asked as she swiped a key card to unlock it.
She shrugged. "They like the press we generate and give me the people I need to get the job done, so I can't complain."
They stepped into an antechamber with a secretary's desk, vacant given that it was Saturday. Behind the desk was a list of all the agencies working the multi-jurisdictional task forces under Guardino's command. Talk about your over achieving. There were at least two dozen. No wonder Guardino was so good at marshaling the troops and multi-tasking.
She opened another secure door and they were standing in a short hallway. Hand-lettered signs pointed in one direction for Innocent Images Initiative, another for Operation Predator. The door before them also had a hand-made sign but this one was cross-stitched and framed. In delicate, old-fashioned style letters it proclaimed:
Abandon hope all ye mofucking perverts.
Below the statement was an embroidered cheerful yellow smiley face.
"One of my guys is Army Reserves. He brought that back from Iraq, said cross-stitching made the down time go faster."
Burroughs chuckled at the dark humor. To the side of the door, someone had stolen a caution sign and plastered across it: Warning, illegal activities in progress. Enter at your own risk.
Burroughs arched an eyebrow at her. "Take it this place isn't included in the nickel tour."
She laughed, a low, rumbling throaty sound that shook her entire body like she really meant it. God, did she have any idea how sexy it was to find a woman who knew how to really laugh instead of merely twitter or giggle as if laughing were against the law?
"No one except us comes back here. Not if they can help it." She unlocked the door and they entered a large open room that took up the rear corner of the building. Tinted windows lined two sides, a glass walled office sat in one corner, and the rest of the area was filled with workstations and more computers than he'd ever seen outside of the time he and Kim had taken the boys to Florida and they'd toured Cape Canaveral's Mission Control.
"Wow. You could run the country from here."
"Not quite. Most of these machines aren't hooked into any government network. We only use them for dirty work—going on-line."
"Playing games with the bad guys. How many active cases do you have going at a time?"
They stepped into the glass-walled office. It wasn't large, but it felt spacious. Probably because she had her desk jammed back in the corner, leaving room to move freely around a small conference table and chairs.
"SAFE has 127, I'm developing several dozen more with Innocent Images—when we're ready to issue warrants, the SAFE squad will handle those as well as any from Operation Predator that turn federal. We've a few multi-jurisdictional task forces running, including some international ones."
"Shit, how do you keep all that in your head?"
"I don't. Told you, I have good people working for me. I just set them loose and try to stay out of their way. Hardest part is we have almost two hundred cases pending trial—I'm dreading juggling the schedule once we get court dates."
"Two hundred? But you've only been here three months."
She leaned against her desk, which matched the rest of the decor: bleached wood, very modern. Except for the small tropical jungle she had growing along the sunny side. Not your grandmother's shriveled African violets, Guardino had cascading vines with delicate white and purple flowers that smelled better than any perfume, several orchids, and a few dessert-like plants with weird-shaped flowers.
"Blame Taylor," she said. "His first case, he infiltrated a big web-ring, was able to nail one hundred thirty-one targets. Of course, word has spread, so we're not likely to get that lucky again anytime soon."
He looked around. The obligate flag and portraits of the president and the FBI director lined one corner, other than that there was no vanity wall—unless you counted the photo of Guardino with a man and a girl white-water rafting through rapids. That photo along with one of the three of them, smiling and dressed up for a Christmas card, were the only personal items on her desk.
"You got lucky reeling in those three Canadians," he reminded her. "Are a lot of your suspects international?" It'd be nice to think that all the perverts had been chased north across the border and far away from his kids, but he knew that was a pipe dream.
"You'd be surprised. Last year, while I was still in DC, we closed down a major sex trade-drug operation that was centered here in Pittsburgh."
That brought him up short. "You're kidding. Human trafficking here? C'mon, this is Pittsburgh."
"We worked with DEA, ICE, and Interpol, tracing Ecstasy from the Netherlands to Marseilles where some of it was used to purchase women from Belarus and the Ukraine. Then the drugs and women were shipped to the port of Savannah, the drugs distributed all over the eastern seaboard, while the women were sent here."
He sat on the corner of her desk, taking care not to upset the plants. "How come I didn't ever hear anything about this?"
"The women were kept in a production studio two blocks away from Pittsburgh Police Bureau Headquarters on the North Side. The
y were being used for internet porn—the highest bidder could script whatever he wanted done to them and view it on his computer." She opened up a filing cabinet and handed him a folder filled with photos. "That's just a taste of what some of them suffered at the request of the site's patrons."
He flipped the file open and almost gagged on the bacon-cheeseburger he'd had earlier. He swallowed hard and slapped the file back onto her desk.
She took it, held it gently as if it were something precious. "Off duty officers were guarding the production studio and the women, and we found several prominent police administrators involved. So we went in quietly, grabbed everything and made our arrests. A few people we turned, are using them to work our way back to the guys running the show."
Burroughs digested that. There had been several surprise retirements last year, but scuttlebutt had attributed them to pressure from the union and a change in the political climate. "Why didn't you guys make this public? It would have been a major media event."
"I prefer to work behind the scenes. John Greally, my SAC agrees. And with the involvement of the police department, it didn't seem in the public's best interest to undermine their confidence. DEA has some guys undercover, infiltrating the Netherlands drug ring, so they didn't want to draw any attention either. The ICE guys wanted to grab the headlines, but since they screwed up, they kept quiet."
"Customs screwed up? How?"
"We had eleven girls in that facility. My agents secured it, began evidence recovery and handed the girls over to Customs. By the time they made it to the detention facility, there were only ten girls. One of them, Vera Tzasiris was missing."
"So they lost one. After what they'd been through, can you blame her for not trusting the authorities, taking off if she had a chance? What happened to the other girls?"
"After they testify, they'll be offered asylum here. Until then they remain in detention."
He shook his head. "Seems kind of unfair. Locking them up, I mean."
"Better than what they could expect if we hadn't gotten them out of there." She removed one small photograph before returning the file to its locked drawer. "Still, I feel bad about the missing girl, Vera. I took her statement myself before we turned her over to ICE. I promised her that she was out of danger, the worse was over. It'd be nice to find her someday. Make sure she was all right."
