“Then sell her. Whatever. I don’t care. But unless MacCallum follows orders, he’ll never see her again.”
“He’s not going to see her again anyway,” the second voice said softly. “And he knows it. I don’t see him killing the judge. We’re going to have to come up with another plan.”
“He’s a father. Fathers do desperate things for their kids.”
“Hmm. Guess we’ll see.”
She almost laughed. Like her dad would kill someone for her. Especially someone he was protecting.
But he had tried to come to her rescue. The thought resonated and her heart swelled.
Maybe he did care. A little anyway.
Shivers wracked her and she let her eyes open into slits. The room spun and she swallowed the hit of nausea. She remembered the feeling and knew to just stay still until it passed.
When she could open her eyes without wanting to heave, she did so. Slowly. Making sure no one was watching. The voices had stopped. A foot nudged her back and she slammed her eyes shut again. “This one’s going to sleep a little longer, I guess. I’m going to grab some food. I’ll be back to check on her before too long. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“She’s not going anywhere.”
“And check her sugar again. It was too high earlier.”
“The drug probably affects it. She’ll be fine.”
“I said check it.”
“I will.” Footsteps faded. And a hand touched her cheek. “Yeah,” the voice whispered. “So pretty.” Fingers trailed over her cheekbone to her collarbone and slipped under the edge of her shirt.
Rachel held herself rigid, forcing herself not to respond, to keep her breathing even. Just like when she used to avoid her mother and her incessant harping.
A chuckle. “You know, you don’t fool me. I know you’re awake.” His breath whispered across her cheek. She didn’t move. “If I thought you wouldn’t cause me no end of trouble, I’d be tempted to fork over the money and take you for myself. Unfortunately, I have other issues that demand my attention for now.” A pause and Rachel knew her heartbeat was visible in her throat. But still, she lay otherwise motionless, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her terror. “All right, then. I see how you want to play it. And if I didn’t have a problem to take care of, I’d call you on your little bluff. But I must go handle a rather explosive situation. Wish me luck.” His lips pressed ever so softly against her temple. “Until we meet again.”
And then he was walking away and Rachel’s breath left her in a whoosh that turned into a sob.
Tears leaked onto the mattress as her prayers for rescue whispered toward the heavens.
17
SUNDAY
Chloe let Hank take the lead on their route around the perimeter of the judge’s property. The Worthingtons had a beautiful estate, well maintained, and mostly green even in the middle of November. At least the rain had stopped. Hank trotted along beside her, his manner alert, but not alarmed.
So far, so good.
She made her way back to the house, unlocked the kitchen door, and slipped inside.
Files spread from one end of the massive twelve-person table to the other, spilling over onto the floor and the large island.
Blake, Linc, and the judge sat at the far end of the table discussing the three girls found in the house. “You have an update?” she asked Linc.
“Yeah. First, the three women who were knocked out at the store are awake and talking. Two, Deb and another, said the guy walked into the store with a gun. He pointed it at Deb and held a finger to his lips. So she didn’t make a sound. The other woman didn’t either. The third woman with the broken nose said she heard the whole thing go down, but was too scared to look.”
“So, she’s not really going to be any help, is she?” Chloe asked.
“No. Unfortunately. The guy walked in with a mask on. No one even got a look at his face.”
Chloe rubbed her eyes and nodded. “What about the girls at the house?”
“The one who didn’t make it is Katherine Moore. The other two—Nancy Littlejohn and Rhys Bolton—they’re in ICU. They’re clinging to life right now, but it’s not looking good for either of them. Nancy’s mother is with her and Rhys’s grandparents flew in to stay with her. Rhys lives with her dad and he’s out of the country on business.”
“Out of the country? When your kid is missing?” Chloe asked.
“She’s been missing for six weeks. The man had to keep his job in order to keep funding the search.”
“Right,” Chloe said. “Of course.” She knew better than to judge too quickly. “Where’s her mother?”
“Dead.”
She winced.
“Also, another body was found in a back room.”
“What? Who? We searched that place and it was clear.”
“He was wrapped in plastic and buried under a pile of mattresses. His prints came back belonging to a guy by the name of Manuel Garcia. Long rap sheet. Was busted for human trafficking four years ago. Did two years and got out on parole for good behavior. Looks like he made someone mad, though. He was beat to a pulp.”
“Manuel?” Chloe said. “Could be the one who pushed Skye down the stairs and kicked her. Rachel called him Manny. She said it made one of the other guys mad.”
“Mad enough to kill him.”
The judge slapped the table. “Those poor girls. It’s not right.”
“No,” Blake said, “it’s not.” He sighed. “Are you sure you don’t have any idea who could have it in for you like this?”
“No idea,” the man said. He gestured to the stack of files. “The answer could be here, but it’s impossible to pick one or the other out of the choices. These are all cases that I’ve passed sentencing on that have dealt with human trafficking.”
Chloe counted twenty files. She picked up the nearest one. “I can’t believe there’s not more than this.”
“Exactly. Why do you think I’ve been fighting so hard on this? Last year there were about fifty cases that came through the courts in South Carolina. Fifty. Nationwide there were about seventy-five hundred.” He swept a hand at the small pile of files. “There should be hundreds of cases coming through my court, but because most of the victims are afraid to come forward for various reasons, this is what happens. And then when there is a case, the sentences are so minor that the traffickers don’t really fear getting caught. I always give the maximum I can give, but I’m only one judge in a sea of them. We need to be consistent. We have to make it so that getting caught is not worth the risk. Right now, it is.”
Blake ran a hand over his face. “I had no idea.”
The judge shook his head. “It’s not your area. No need for you to keep up with the statistics. But I’ve made this my passion.”
“What got you so fired up about this particular issue?” Linc asked.
The man froze, his eyes narrowing and focusing on something over Chloe’s shoulder.
“Tell them, honey.”
Chloe turned to find the judge’s wife, Lucy, standing at the entrance to the kitchen.
“I . . .” His mouth worked. “No. It’s not important.”
“So, it’s personal?” Chloe asked.
“Yes.”
“Then it might be important,” Linc said.
“It’s not.” He brushed past his wife without looking at her as he left the room.
“What is it?” Linc asked. “Anything you tell us, any small detail might help us find who’s doing this.”
“It’s not my story to tell, it’s his. And I was hoping he would share it with you.”
“Do you think knowing his story would make a difference in finding the person who wants him dead?”
“It’s . . . possible.” A frown. “But not likely.”
“Then you need to tell us,” Blake said. “Because whoever has my daughter wants your husband dead.”
She blinked. “Someone has your daughter?”
“Yes. The same person who’s making the threats against the judge. If he doesn’t die, my daughter does. And we’re running out of time.” He explained the situation in more detail with a final plea. “Please . . . help us.”