They? Chloe wondered. She didn’t include herself in the group? Was there some psychological reason for that? Denial? Her way of processing and coping?
Beth finally looked up and met Chloe’s gaze. “I know about human trafficking. I’ve heard the warnings, I’ve seen the ads on television.” A harsh laugh escaped her. “But . . .”
“Yeah.” Nothing could prepare someone for what she’d just gone through. Chloe swallowed against the nausea that threatened. “Did they drug you? Get you hooked?” Beth showed no signs of it, but some traffickers were known to get their victims addicted to drugs to keep them in line. And coming back for more.
“No, not me. They threatened to. Said if we gave them any trouble, they’d shoot us up. Carson carried a syringe full of heroin and he flashed it a lot. Almost no one gave them any trouble except one girl. Katherine. She fought back.” She swallowed. “Actually, I think she just mentally snapped or something. She was completely hysterical and screaming at the top of her lungs.”
“What happened?”
“They stuck a needle in her arm and she passed out. When she woke up, they did it again. And again. It was definitely heroin.”
“She was a lesson to the rest of you.”
“A very effective one. Pretty soon, she was begging them for it.” Beth’s eyes flooded with tears again and she sniffed. “No one else misbehaved. Including me.” The girl dabbed her eyes and drew in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “I didn’t fight. I just did what they said.”
Now, she was including herself. There was something odd about the phrasing of her story, but Chloe couldn’t put her finger on it.
“You did the right thing.”
Beth shrugged.
“They wanted you—the girls—clean,” Chloe murmured.
“They said their buyers were picky.”
Picky. That was one way to put it, she supposed.
Another wave of nausea swept over Chloe and she shut her eyes for a moment. Keep your emotions out of it, remember?
The nurse came in and Beth fell silent. Once she checked Beth’s blood sugar with the new PDM, she gave Beth supplies to change her pod, tossed the old one, and turned to leave.
“Could I have an extra one?” Beth asked.
The nurse raised a brow. “Why?”
“I just . . . I don’t know. I just want one. Please? I ran out one time and it’s not an experience I care to repeat. Now, I always carry a spare. Or two.”
Chloe met the nurse’s eyes and nodded, doing her best to encourage the woman to agree. Compassion darkened her gaze. “Sure. I’ll get the doctor to order you an extra one.” She winked. “Or two.”
Beth relaxed a fraction. “Thanks.”
Once the nurse was gone, Beth turned back to Chloe. “They had cameras everywhere and they were always listening. At least it seemed that way. We managed a few whispers here and there, but conversations didn’t happen often.”
“Was Katherine in the truck with you? Is she here at the hospital?”
“No. They kept her with Lindsey and some others back at the house. I don’t know why. I think it was because there wasn’t enough room in the truck—or they were saving them for the next auction.”
Chloe touched her hand. “You’re very brave.”
She grimaced. “No, I’m very scared. And I want to know about Skye. Why won’t anyone come tell me anything?” Agitated, she started to pace the small area.
“Want me to see what I can find out?”
Beth’s eyes met hers. Gratitude filled them. “Thanks. That would be great.”
Chloe stepped out of the room and found Eve at the nurses’ station. “Eve, could we get an update on the girl who came in with the pneumothorax and high fever? Her first name is Skye. That’s all I know.”
“I can’t tell you much, you know that.”
Chloe sighed. “These girls came in together. Rescued from a human trafficking ring. She’s desperate to know about her friend.”
Eve flinched. “Poor thing. All right.” She consulted her computer. “I’ll just say that she’s out of surgery and in recovery.”
“So, she’ll be all right?”
“Looks like it.”
“I’ll pass this bit of encouragement on. Thanks.” She ducked back into the room to find Beth pacing from one end to the other. “It looks like Skye’s going to be all right.”
The girl’s shoulders dropped, her relief palpable. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Chloe held out her phone. “Now, call your dad, okay?”
Beth didn’t respond.
“Beth?”
She looked up. “She trusted me,” she said. “The only time she didn’t cry was when I was holding her hand. For some reason she thought I could keep her safe.”
Unsure that Beth realized she was speaking the words out loud, Chloe grasped her fingers and gave them a light squeeze. “And you did.”
A shudder ripped through the teen and her eyes focused back on Chloe, who held the phone out once more. “Not really.” But she took the phone and dialed a number. Hesitated. Then hung up. “No. I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t want me—” her chin quivered and she bit her lip—“and I don’t want him. And if I call him, I might get him killed.” She gave a shaky laugh. “I don’t know why I even care, but I do.”
Blake was at his desk at home staring at the screen on his phone when the call came in for the second time. It was the same number that had called thirty seconds earlier, rang once, then disconnected. He’d just gotten the trace equipment set up and was about to dial the number back when it rang again.
He answered the call then hit the button for the trace. “Hello?”
“Hi, who is this?”
“This is Blake MacCallum. Who’s this?”
“Blake? This is Chloe.”
“Chloe?” Linc’s sister? “Why are you calling?”
“I have a teenager here. I told her to call her dad and she dialed this number, then hung up. I dialed it back and you answered.”
His heart skipped a beat. “Rachel? Is it Rachel?”
How could it be? Had they let her go? Had she escaped?
“Is your name Rachel?” he heard her asking.
“Put her on the phone,” Blake said.
Sounds of the phone transfer, then Rachel’s voice reached him. “Hey.”
“Rachel, are you all right? Who had you? Where were you?” A pause. Anxiety twisted tighter in his belly. “Rachel? Where are you? Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you right this second.”
“I’m . . . I . . . I’m going to hurl.”
“Rachel, wait,” Chloe called.
“I’m going to the bathroom!” His daughter’s voice faded and he pictured her heading for the door.
“Blake?” Chloe’s soft voice came through the line.
“Yeah.”
“She went to the bathroom.”
“I heard.” But it was Rachel. Sounding completely normal. Acting completely normal in her desperate desire to avoid conversation with him. Even in this circumstance. But, somehow, she’d escaped her captors. Thank you, God. “Where are you, Chloe?”
“We’re at Providence Health. I thought she looked familiar, but then thought it was just the shirt?”
“The shirt?”
“Never mind that for now. She’s not cooperating, Blake. She gave me a fake name. I don’t know what’s going on with her.”
Her confusion echoed in his head. He closed his eyes. “It’s okay. Our relationship is complicated. Tell me the truth, is she okay? Why the hospital?”
“Physically, she appears to be fine.”
Physically. That sounded a bit ominous. “But she’s at the hospital. Why? Is it her blood sugar?”
“No, her blood sugars are slightly high, but nothing to cause any alarm. It’s a long story. We’ll explain when you get here.”
He was already opening the door to his truck. “I’m on the way.�
��
“We’re in the ER, room 2.”
5
Rachel washed her hands and splashed water on her face. Patting it dry with a paper towel, she noticed the fine tremor that ran through her fingers. Her dad was coming. No, not her dad. Blake. He’d fix everything. They may not get along, but he was a problem solver. He would help her, right?
But no, why would he? After all, he didn’t want her. And honestly, who could blame him?
But he’d sounded so worried on the phone. Like he really cared.
But she knew he didn’t.
Tears pricked behind her lids once again as the volley of doubts waged war within her. What would it take to make him love her?
He admired strength. She’d tried to be strong.
He admired integrity. She’d tried to act in such a way that would make him see she had that.
He respected authority. She did well in school and had never had the first behavior issue.
“Why?” she whispered to the face in the mirror.
Obviously. Because he’d never wanted her.
Only now he was stuck with her because her mother was dead. She tossed the paper towel in the trash and drew in a steadying breath.
She could do this. She had to get Lindsey help.
And her father had the resources to do that. He might not want her, but he was a cop. He would help. Period.
Decision made, she opened the door to step back out.
“Are you sure?”
She froze.
She knew that voice. It belonged to Carson.
But no, it couldn’t be him. Could it?
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he said. “I’m heading home, but I’ll check in with you soon. I have your number.”
She stared. It was definitely him. And he was grinning down at the nurse, who looked like she might melt all over the floor at his feet. He flashed twin dimples and the nurse simpered.
Rachel closed the door just enough to see out and held still, motionless, breathless, her palm slick on the doorknob. Should she scream? Bring attention to him? Would they lock her up if she shouted her accusations? He’d deny it, come up with some excuse, say she was crazy and had him confused with someone else.
But she wasn’t. It was him.
And he was leaving.
She opened the door farther and started to call out, then stopped. If you get away. If you call anyone. If you bring attention to yourself in any way while we’re en route to the destination, I’ll kill everyone you love. And I’ll make you watch.
Rachel shuddered and snapped her mouth shut. He’d kill Lindsey if she said anything. They might lock him up to question him, but he’d get a phone call. And that call would bring death to people she loved.
Starting with Lindsey.
His footsteps carried him toward the exit. I’m heading home.
Did he mean he was going back to the house where Lindsey was? Or to his actual home? But she’d heard his voice at all hours of the day and night. Maybe he lived at the house.
Rachel had no idea where she’d been held captive, she just knew that it was a house—and dark. Even if she talked to the investigators or her father, she couldn’t give them the first clue as to the location of the place.
But this guy could. He was almost at the door that would take him out of the Emergency Department.
She swung the door open, deciding to go get Chloe, but paused . . . I’ll kill everyone you love. And I’ll make you watch. She stood in the doorway, wrestling with the decision.
“Are you all right?”
It was the nurse Carson had been talking to at the nurses’ station.
Rachel licked her lips. “Yes. No. Tell them—”
“Eve?” Another nurse leaned out of a nearby room. “Need you in here STAT!”
Eve took off, and Rachel swallowed, never taking her eyes from Carson’s retreating figure.
. . . I’ll kill everyone you love. And I’ll make you watch. If she went to get help, he’d get away.
And if he got away, Lindsey might never be found.
She couldn’t chance it.
Rachel slipped out of the restroom and let the door shut behind her. With a quick glance around her, she ducked her head and hurried in the direction Carson had gone, stopping only when she saw the insulin pods on the cart next to room 4, labeled with her name. Another quick glance around showed no one watching. Hand hovering over the pods, she hesitated. What good were the pods without her PDM. But next to the pods was an insulin pen. With that, she could at least give herself more insulin. She grabbed it and shoved it into her back pocket, then hurried after Carson, bursting through the outer door into the hall.
A spurt of panic shot through her when she didn’t see him, but in another ten steps, she caught a glimpse of him in the revolving door that would take him out of the hospital.
Goosebumps pebbled her skin at the blast of chilly air he let in. Then he was outside and she had no more time to worry about her physical discomfort and no way to leave a note or signal someone. She hurried after him.
Just ahead, he pulled keys from his pocket and she thought it odd that he never looked back over his shoulder, never acted suspicious in any way.
He was totally unconcerned about being caught. It never crossed his mind that he would be stopped.
Heat crept up into her neck, then her cheeks, and her fingers curled into fists. Oh, he’d be caught all right. If it was the last thing she did, she’d make sure he was caught. Or dead. But how?
Rachel waited until he vanished inside the parking garage before picking up her pace. As she strained to go fast enough to keep him in sight, but slow enough not to call attention to herself, she faltered. What was she doing?
She couldn’t follow him, she didn’t have a car. But she might be able to get the license plate of whatever car he got into.
Yes. Then she’d turn it over to Chloe and she could send a team in to rescue Lindsey.
A plan firmly in mind, she stayed on his tail, trying to blend in and look as though she knew where she was going. If he looked back, he’d see her.
Just the thought turned her stomach. No, she didn’t want to do this. She was just a seventeen-year-old kid. Even if she got the plate, there was no guarantee they would be able to trace it. These guys stole cars all the time. Or at least the plates off cars.
She stopped walking and turned to run back toward the safety of the hospital. People passed her, walking around her while giving her irritated looks for her abrupt halt in the middle of the walkway.
And then Lindsey’s terrified face and pitiful cries echoed through her mind. No, she couldn’t leave her friend.
But what else could she do?
Keep going, get the plate. It was the only thing she could do. She did another one-eighty and hurried toward the garage.
As she crossed the street, her heart thundered in her chest. Should she stop someone? Tell them to call her father? No, that would take too long as well. Ignoring the pounding, she stepped into the cool interior of the parking garage and stopped. Listened. Looked toward the elevator.
She caught a glimpse of him just as he stepped into the stairwell. Rachel pressed a hand to her stomach as though that would help settle it, then hurried to follow. At the door, she paused, giving him time to climb, not wanting him to hear her footfalls. She counted to five, then opened the door and started up. His footsteps on the next level echoed back to her. And the sound of a door opening.
So, he was parked on level 2.
Rachel continued up the stairs to the landing and opened level 2’s door with caution. Part of her expected him to yank it open and snatch her. She shuddered at the mental image even as she scanned the area. A car alarm chirped.
Three people passed her from the stairwell and she ignored them, her eyes landing on the person she sought. He stopped at a red Suburban. Not too old, not too new, it blended with every other vehicle in the garage.
A sedan pulled to a stop and the driver called t
o Carson, who walked over to him.
It was now or never.
Rachel darted to the back of the SUV and noted the license plate.
Or the lack thereof.
Panic sliced through her.
The plate had been coated with mud and all she could make out were the first two letters. GN.
What now? Slipping forward, with one eye on the men, she swiped a hand across the mud.
It wouldn’t budge. What?
Chills danced down her arms once again. Paint. Great.
The two men continued their conversation and she thought she heard the word “auction.” Shivering, she debated. Then with her heart in her throat, she climbed in the open rear window.
The odor of paint hit her hard. That must have been why he had his window open in the middle of November. She hunched down amongst all the equipment. Paints and art supplies littered the back while a rack of paintings and empty frames took up most of the rest of the space. One large tarp lay crumpled to the side. She pulled it over her and prayed he wouldn’t need anything out of the back before she could escape.
Chloe stood still, phone in her hand, as she tried to wrap her mind around the fact that the girl with Penny’s shirt was Rachel MacCallum, Blake’s daughter.
Blake. She’d had a crush on him since she was twelve and had started noticing cute guys. She’d thought Blake was the cutest.
He and Linc were the same age, three years older than she, and had gone through high school together. And then Blake’s girlfriend, Aimee, had gotten pregnant with Rachel. He’d immediately married her at the age of seventeen, and that had been the end of Chloe’s childish dreams of happily ever after with him.
Fortunately, Rachel’s maternal grandparents had been loaded and they’d had nannies and babysitters so Blake and Aimee could finish college.
Blake and Linc had both majored in criminal justice, just at different schools. In spite of the marriage, in spite of the child, Blake had still found his way to the St. John table at least once a week. Sometimes he brought Rachel and sometimes he came alone. As far as Chloe could remember, Aimee had never come.
Called to Protect Page 5
