Emma’s eyes stayed downcast and she picked at her pizza, taking toppings off, piling them on a napkin, putting them back on.
Meg reached over and put a hand on Emma’s arm. The girl’s muscles tightened at the contact, but Meg took a chance and left it there. “I know this makes you uncomfortable, but Van is here to help. And he can’t do that until he knows more about you and the others.”
To Meg’s surprise, the girl yanked her arm away and turned on Van Cleave, fire blazing in her eyes and voice. “How can you help? Law enforcement’s useless. They pretend not to see and they never help. Nobody cares about us.”
Meg was about to cut in, in an attempt to smooth over a rocky start, but Van beat her to it. “I can only speak for myself and the agents I know, but you couldn’t be more wrong. Do you know how many kids I’ve pulled off the streets and out of hotel rooms?” He didn’t wait for her to even attempt a guess, but simply barreled on. “Eighty-six. Do you know how many men and boys I’ve taken out of the fields? One hundred and seventy-two. Maybe that’s just a drop in the bucket, but, for me, it’s personal. That’s lives saved. If I wanted to, I could work a nine-to-five job where I push papers. Truthfully, it would make my life a lot easier, and would give me a lot less angst to drag around. But that’s not what I do, it’s not who I am. Instead, each of those people means so much to me that I carry them around in my head.”
“You expect me to believe you? That you rescued that many people?” Scorn laced Emma’s tone.
Meg thought it was the sound of someone who’d been burned by the adults in her life so many times she’d stopped counting.
“If you want proof, I could put you in contact with Vicki Sterling, who at fourteen was addicted to heroin, which is how her pimp kept farming her out to clients through storefront properties. Vicki went through rehab and is now taking classes in social work, so she can work with underage kids who are trying to get out of the sex trade. Or Miguel Perez, only twenty and fresh off the bus, trying to make a life for himself, but who ended up indebted for his travel to Virginia and slaving on a soy farm for pennies a day, most of which he didn’t get to keep. Or how about Ji-Hoon Kim, who only wanted to earn enough money to bring her family over from South Korea, but instead ended up working in an illicit massage parlor.” He paused, letting silence lie heavy for a few seconds. “Do you need more names?” He pulled out his cell phone. “Should I call one of them now so you can find out about me firsthand?”
Emma shook her head, her eyes downcast as her shoulders drooped. “What’s the point? There’s too many of them. You can’t win.” The fight in her dissolved, and now her voice was quiet, laden with the defeat of years of fruitless struggles.
“It seems like it only makes a tiny dent in a huge tangled mess,” Meg said, “but everything helps. Look at Mary. We went after her. Should we not have bothered? Of course we should have, because every life counts. But it’s not a single life. We not only saved Mary; we saved her parents. They’d lost their daughter and were just going through the motions. Now they have their child back.” Emma’s eyes rose to hers and Meg could see she’d scored a point. “Saving a single life has consequences, just like ending a life does. It’s a center point and everything radiates out from it. If you help us get to the center of the ring, we’ll save more than just a single life. So . . . will you help?”
Emma glanced from Meg to Van Cleave and back again. “You’re on this case?”
“Me?” Meg glanced down at Hawk. “We’re FBI, but not in the classic agent sense. We work cases as we’re needed and don’t usually stay on until the end. That’s the job of investigative agents.”
Emma hunched in on herself, curling in as if for self-protection. “Then I’m out.”
“You’re out if Meg and Hawk are off the case?” Van Cleave clarified.
“Yeah.”
“And if I get approval for her to stay on?” Meg’s head whipped toward Van Cleave, but he held up an index finger, staying her protest. “Emma?”
“I’ll stay if she and Hawk stay.”
“Do you need my word on that before we start?”
“Yeah.”
“Done. Meg, a moment outside?”
Meg stood, giving the signal for Hawk to stay with Emma for comfort; she’d be able to keep an eye on him through the window in the door. She followed Van Cleave out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. Then she turned on him. “You can’t promise that,” she hissed in a stage whisper. “My SAC expects me to be back with the search teams tomorrow. Lives could depend on it.”
“I read the reports coming in. The rescue is a recovery by this point. They need cadaver dogs, not search-and-rescue. And the lives you’d save here could far outnumber any you’d save on the coast.”
“That’s not your call to make.”
“I can make it my call. Do you have any idea what these people go through? How long they last out there under these men? Farmhands are literally worked to death. Kids are hooked on drugs to keep them under the control of their pimps. More of them die from overdoses than ever get out. Immigrants are lured with the hope of a better life and find themselves in a cycle of killing debt, degradation, and abuse. Look, I’m sorry she made a connection with you and your dog, and I know you have specific skills that are better used elsewhere, but do you know how rare she is?”
When Meg simply stared up at him, her anger muted in the face of his passion for his calling, he continued. “Extremely. A kid who is gutsy enough to escape a certain death, not only escape but to save another victim with her? A kid who somehow seems to have avoided the clutches of drug addiction and has a clear head, so she’ll be able to recall people and places? A young woman who has reached the age of majority, so we don’t have walls thrown up by parents or have to trip over CPS to get the job done? One who is most certainly carrying around significant baggage but who has the potential to get out of that life to make something of herself? Yes, she can be of help to us. We, in turn, can give her her life back, as well as those of everyone else we free. Isn’t that worth taking yourself out of your own comfort zone for a while?”
Meg pushed down irritation that he thought she didn’t want to work the case because it made her squeamish. “That’s not it at all. I was Richmond PD; I know about cases like this. My concern is my commitment to my team and our own caseload. Having me is one thing, but it takes Hawk away from the team. And no, before you ask, I can’t hand him off to someone else. We’re a team and one doesn’t go without the other. You get me for this case, you get my dog too.” Meg forced herself to take a breath and to roll some of the tension out of her shoulders. “How about this? I’ll call Craig and see if he agrees to my staying on for a short period of time. If he green-lights it, I’m in for as long as he can manage without me. If not, I’m out and I’ll be sorry that I couldn’t help you.”
“I can call my assistant director to speak on my behalf, if that would help.”
“Let me deal with this first. Craig may need to take it up to Executive Assistant Director Adam Peters for final approval. What?” she asked when Van Cleave winced.
“I hear Peters is a hard-ass.”
“He can be, but he and I have recently come to an understanding. He may be a bigger asset to your cause than you think. I’m going to call now, so give me a few minutes. Go eat pizza and discuss the merits of Snapchat versus In-stagram with her.”
“Snapchat?”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Find something—anything—not case-related to chat about.”
Five minutes later she was back in the room, her cell phone still in her hand. She gave a subtle nod to Van Cleave and then sat back in her chair, picked up her pizza and took a bite, as if she’d never left.
Emma glanced at her cautiously. “Are you and Hawk staying?”
“We are. For as long as you need us.”
Emma’s torso sagged, her hands falling limply into her lap. “Okay.”
Meg reached over and gripped her hand. “You can do thi
s. We’re both here to help and to keep you safe. That’s a promise.”
“Okay, let’s get into it then,” Van Cleave said. “Let start with who ran you. Do you know his name?”
“He called himself John, but I never thought that was his real name. Why would he tell us that?”
“Smart girl. He probably didn’t. No last name given?”
Emma shook her head.
“Did he keep you in a house?”
“Yes. I can take you there.”
Van Cleave froze, his body absolutely still except for the sharpening of his gaze. “You can?”
“If you want. You won’t find anyone there though. We left because of the storm.”
“Even if we can’t find anyone, we’ll find evidence and maybe, just maybe, he’ll come back at some point for his stuff and we’ll nail him. Even if he doesn’t, finding a holding house as opposed to a temporary storefront is a huge break. That gives us a chance to connect other perps with the ring as well as other victims. So, the storm was moving in . . .”
“John didn’t want to leave. He wanted to hole up and wait for it to pass. Safer and easier to lie low that way. A few of the girls were out working already, but there were four of us still there. It got to a point where it wasn’t safe to stay, so he loaded us all into the van. Normally he moved us one at a time to a job by car, but had the van for when there was a ‘party’ requiring more than one of us.” The corners of her lips tipped down. “Or all of us.”
Meg winced and couldn’t help but remember what she’d been doing at this age. Finishing high school, planning for college, and deciding what to spend her birthday money on—clothes, shoes, or a new MP3 player.
“How did he get you all in without one of you trying to make a break for it?”
“He took us out one at a time. He kept us locked in one of the upstairs rooms until then. And we knew he was armed. He never failed to show us his gun or his knife and remind us that we were disposable. Like garbage, he always used to say. If he killed one of us, he’d just put us out with the weekly trash. He put us in the van, buckled us in, and bound our wrists so we were trapped in our seat belts. We could hardly get to the van because of how bad the storm was. Never seen wind like that—the rain was blowing sideways. When we were all in the van, he tried to outrun the storm. I could see the crash coming before we even got there . . .” Her eyes went unfocused, hazy with memory.
“At the low-water crossing?”
“Yeah. I could sorta see out the front windshield, but it was hard with the rain. Even with the wipers going full speed, it wasn’t clear. Up ahead, I could just barely see the road kind of disappear. It went wavy, even through all that rain. I realized it was underwater. I screamed at John to stop, that we could turn around and go home, but he said we couldn’t and we had no choice but to go through. He floored it and tried to ram through the flood. But it wasn’t like a deep puddle; there was a current there. It hit the front of the van and spun us. The other girls were screaming and crying. Except for Mary; she was dead quiet. Never made a sound. Then the van rolled and everything was crashing and being thrown around. John opened his window . . . and then he was gone.”
“He got sucked out into the storm, or he jumped?” Meg asked.
Emma shrugged, the carelessness of the action telling Meg more about her opinion of John than words could. “Not sure. I think he jumped. It would be like him to save his own skin and leave us to die alone.”
“But you didn’t die.” Not wanting her to get sucked into bad memories, Meg tugged her along. “You got out. Tell us how you did that.”
“I managed to pull one hand free at some point during the roll, so once we finally came to a stop, I was able to get the other hand loose.” She blinked furiously, as if holding back tears. “I wasn’t fast enough. Celia was in the seat beside me and we ended up hanging in midair, but something had hit her in the head. It grazed me as it went by. Something big and heavy. Maybe the metal toolbox. By the time we stopped rolling, she was already gone. Mary and Leah were on the other side of the van, underwater. I couldn’t get to them both in time.” Her voice broke. “I tried, but I couldn’t do it.”
“You got Mary out.” Van Cleave’s voice was calm, the tone of someone who had soothed the distraught before. “Most people would have just saved themselves.”
Emma sniffed and rubbed the back of her hand over her nose. “We had no one else. We had to stick together.”
“And you did. You got Mary out. And then got her away from the river.”
“That was hard. Her leg was really bad and the storm kept knocking us down. She couldn’t go too far in the end. At least I got her to shelter. I don’t know if she fell asleep or lost consciousness, but she was out for a while. I waited until the storm died down, then I had to go. She knew she was slowing me down and made me leave.”
“That’s what friends do,” Meg said. “She wanted you to make it, so she let you go. And in the end, you both made it.”
“Can you tell us how long you’ve been with John?” Van Cleave asked.
“About three years? I don’t even know what date it is now, but we could track the seasons changing, and we knew when the big holidays happened.”
“We can at least help with that.” Meg told her the current date. “So, how did you hook up with John?”
Emma worried a loose thread on the hem of her scrub top. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and sat back in her chair, silent.
Meg and Van Cleave exchanged glances.
“You’re not in trouble,” Meg clarified. “We’re not trying to find a way to burn you.”
Emma took a long sip from her cup, then set it down, spinning it a few times before she spoke. “I was young, and very stupid. I never would have fallen for it now.”
“Emma . . .” Van Cleave waited until the girl looked up at him. “We’re not judging you. If you think that both of us didn’t do stupid things when we were younger, you’re dead wrong, let me tell you. We all lived, and most certainly learned.”
Emma stared at him skeptically, but remained silent.
“How about I trade my really stupid story for yours?” he offered.
“You’d share that?”
“Sure. Why should you have to feel stupid by yourself?”
Emma stared at him, her slack face reflecting pure bafflement. “Has anyone ever told you that you don’t act like a cop?”
“That’s because I’m not a cop. I’m a federal agent on a task force to stop human trafficking.” He aimed an index finger at her. “You’re not my target.” He angled a thumb over his shoulder, pointed toward the door. “They’re out there somewhere.” He paused to take a quick sip of his drink. “I could tell you about the time I faked a rejection letter from an Ivy League school so a girl I had a massive crush on would feel sorry for me and go to the prom with me—”
“You did not,” Meg interrupted.
“I sure did.” He flashed a grin full of teeth. “Worked too.” He raised his left hand, wiggling his fingers to highlight his wedding ring. “Been married to her for nearly thirty years. Granted, she was a little put out when she found out that I’d faked it. Didn’t speak to me for a whole week. Of course, we were about two months away from our wedding day, so she had to seriously consider giving me a second chance. But that was just a stupid prank that led to a good outcome. Let’s take my penchant for 2:00 AM street racing when I was sixteen. Lost control of my car one day, rolled it and nearly killed myself and my best friend. I broke my arm, he ended up in the ICU. In the end, the cops chalked it up to reckless driving and speeding. I did community service for it, and my friend was rewarded with his life. Luckily for me, that record got expunged when I reached the age of majority or I’d never have made it into the air force and then into the FBI. So . . .” He leaned back and propped his arm on the top of the chair beside him. “Did your stupidity nearly kill someone?”
“No.”
“Then you were smarter than me. How did you meet
John?”
Emma locked gazes with him for a moment. It was clear the moment she decided it was safe to tell her story, simply from the way her body relaxed and opened up as her chin rose. “I ran away from home. It wasn’t a good situation and I was sure I’d be safer and happier on the streets. But the streets weren’t safe at all. All my stuff got stolen and I was begging for food or money. Then I got arrested for shoplifting.” She looked up to meet Van Cleave’s eyes. “I was so hungry. I just wanted food. I got away with it twice. Got caught the third time.”
“What happened?” he asked gently.
“I did some time in juvie. Then I was transferred to a private reentry facility. That’s where I met John.”
Meg was familiar with both reentry facilities and the private prison system. She was not a fan of the latter. At all. Powerful, publicly-traded companies building and running private incarceration facilities where profit was the end goal. And profit meant they needed the facilities to be full. Mandatory minimum sentencing was a boon to the private prison system, which happily took the overflow from the state-run systems. They’d also branched out into reentry facilities—places where those who’d served their time went to “learn” how to reenter society as useful and contributing members. Ideally, the facilities would give convicts the best chance at starting a new life, and hopefully never darkening the door of another prison. In concept, these facilities had merit. Where it got sticky was when they were also run by private companies that had a vested interest in increased recidivism, because convicts who fell back on old ways and re-offended would return to prison, once again increasing their profits.
“He was nice to me,” Emma continued. “He was friendly and told me I was pretty, and actually listened when I talked. We were leaving at the same time and he knew I was going back to the streets, so he offered me a room in his house, no strings attached. Winter was coming and it was getting cold, so I took him up on it. At first everything went great. The only thing he did I didn’t like was he kept offering me drugs. Heroin mostly. The reason I left home was because my mom was an addict, and that sure as hell wasn’t something I was going to try after seeing how it ruined her life. Then he asked me to do some favors, dropping some packages off to his ‘buddies.’ I found out later they contained crack and heroin. Sometimes meth. When I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore, he hit me for the first time and told me I didn’t have a choice. I was an accomplice, and the mandatory minimums for drug running when I already had a criminal record would have me behind bars for most of my adult life. He’d hate to have that information slip to the police. Then he used that as leverage for me to start doing sexual ‘favors’ for his friends. At first, just the odd one. Then a few more. Soon it was every night, a different hotel room, a different guy or guys. By that time, he’d moved me into a house with six other girls and I was trapped. I thought . . .” Her hand dropped to her belly. “I thought he’d let me go when I got pregnant. No man would want me with a big belly. Instead, he took that away from me too, before it hurt his business. He took everything away.” She started rocking back and forth in her chair.
Storm Rising Page 13
