Cages lined the far wall. Just like in the other house. Only these were smaller and held more girls. Eyes reflecting various emotions, the most prominent ones anger and fear, followed her progress across the floor.
He stopped at one cage. Hesitated, then directed her to the one at the end instead. “You can stay with your friend since you didn’t give me any grief.”
When he opened the door, Rachel’s fear clawed at her. She sucked it down and stepped inside. The door banged shut and she couldn’t help the flinch that shook her. She turned and met her captor’s gaze.
He looked away. “Don’t worry, you won’t be in here long. It’ll be time to load up in a bit.”
“Load up to go where?”
His eyes reconnected with hers. “The auction.”
When the lock clicked, he paused as though wanting to say something else—or waiting for her to respond. After several seconds ticked past, he shrugged and headed back toward the stairs.
Rachel knelt beside a shivering Lindsey. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Her friend’s voice held no life. Just a resigned dullness that shook Rachel to the core, but at least she was speaking.
“Are you okay? Have they hurt you?”
“No and no.”
Rachel slid down the wire wall of the cage to the cement floor. “My dad’s looking for us.”
“What do you mean? Where’d you go? Why are you back? No one else has come back. I didn’t think you were coming back. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I want my mom.” The last word ended on a sob and Rachel wrapped her arms around her friend’s shoulders and pulled her close. Lindsey rested her head against Rachel’s.
“I got away, but they caught me,” she whispered. Why go into the details? Just thinking about her near escape and recapture brought tears to the surface. She should never have followed Carson from the hospital. All of her efforts to help had failed. But that didn’t mean she was giving up. “We’ll find a way to get out, Linds. We will.”
Lindsey’s tears soaked Rachel’s shirt and Rachel couldn’t find it in her to encourage her friend to stop crying, to have hope.
Because she didn’t have it either.
19
SUNDAY EVENING
After a dinner worthy of a gourmet chef, Blake now sat at the kitchen table of Chloe’s parents’ house, clicking through the latest information on Alessandro Russo. The man had grown up on the streets of Atlanta. Had gotten involved with the Leonardo Basico family who, at the time, had been the most feared Sicilian mafia family in the area. At the age of twenty-four, he’d married Veru Gallo, the only child of his boss, and had taken to crime like he’d invented it.
When Leonardo had died, Alessandro had stepped into the leadership role of the family. Since that time, he’d taken his involvement in crime to a new level. Gun running, extortion, murder, gambling, drugs, black market art, black market babies, and human trafficking. Just to name a few. The crime family had expanded from Georgia to South Carolina, North Carolina, and on into Virginia.
Busts had led to the arrest of a number of Alessandro’s minions, those on the lower rungs of the crime ladder. But not once had anyone come close to capturing Alessandro Russo himself.
Blake wanted to be the one to do so.
His phone buzzed.
Frank
Dad’s fading pretty fast. It won’t be long now. You need to come see him soon.
With a sigh, Blake texted back.
He was dead to me long ago. Quit asking me to come. He wouldn’t know me anyway.
But you still know him. I’m not asking for his sake. I’m asking for yours.
Why?
You need to face him and then let him go.
Like you have?
Actually, yes.
Blake stared at the screen, then rubbed his eyes.
I’ll think about it. I have more to worry about than him.
It was a harsh response and he almost apologized for it, but couldn’t force himself to type the words. If his brother felt the need to be with their father in his last days, that was his choice, his decision. Blake felt no such compunction.
Even though a little niggling of something started in the vicinity of his heart. Doing his best to ignore it, he looked up.
Chloe rinsed the next dish while her mother dried. Blake was having a hard time concentrating in the kitchen of the chief of police. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have thought anything about it, but now, the fact that he’d been a bit rude to her during the whole Chloe-might-get-blown-up-by-a-bomb scare, his conscience nagged at him. But since she hadn’t brought it up and had treated him as she always had, Blake kept his mouth shut. The ladies finished and the chief walked out of the kitchen without a word.
Linc entered the kitchen on the phone. “Yeah. Call me with anything else.” He hung up and sat next to Blake.
“News?” Blake asked.
“Yeah. ERT finished processing Ethan Wright’s house. They found something interesting.”
“What’s that?”
“A lot of fake IDs. Including one that belongs to Carson Langston—with Ethan’s picture on it.”
Blake’s eyes widened. “So, Ethan and Carson are one and the same?”
“It appears that way.”
“We need to find him. I want just three minutes alone with him.”
Derek pointed his fork at Blake. “That’s not going to happen.”
Blake raised a brow. “We’ll see about that.”
Derek snorted. He had arrived ten minutes ago and filled his plate. The others were expected to show up any minute.
“They find anything else?” Blake asked.
“Nothing that directly relates to the case, but they’re going through the evidence as we speak. You know, the usual. Phone records, bank accounts, real estate holdings, cell phone bills. So maybe something else will turn up.” Linc stood. “I’m going to fill Mom in.”
He left and Derek sat down across from Blake and proceeded to attack his food as though something weighed heavily on his mind—or it had been awhile since his last meal.
“You okay?” Blake asked him.
“Yes. Just not catching any breaks when it comes to finding Russo or those connected to the trafficking ring. I’m frustrated.”
Blake waved a hand at the laptop. “I know what you mean.”
The man paused midshovel and his eyes met Blake’s. “Yeah, I guess you do. In spades.”
Blake looked away, his throat going tight. Would he ever see Rachel again?
“Any word from Rachel?” Derek asked.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I am too.”
Chief St. John reentered the kitchen and wiped her hands on a towel. “Have you been able to connect Ethan Wright—or Carson Langston or whoever he is—to Alessandro Russo? Seems like if we could track down Russo, who we know is involved in human trafficking, we could locate the victims.”
Like Penny. He could tell her niece was in her thoughts.
“No, ma’am,” Derek said. “And Van Stillman, the man we did manage to connect to him, is so low on the food chain, there’s no hope of him knowing anything. He’s an errand boy. Follows orders without asking questions and takes his pay.” He sighed. “He’s not talking anyway.”
The back door opened and Brady, Ruthie, and Izzy stepped into the kitchen. They told Blake hello and hugged their mother. “Sorry we’re late,” Ruthie said. “We were all at the hospital. I just finished a surgery, Brady was checking on someone who’d done a nosedive off the Gervais Street Bridge, and Izzy was there questioning a victim of something.”
“A mugging,” Izzy said. “She gave us a good description so I think we’ll be able to get the guy sometime soon. I can’t believe we all managed to leave at the same time.”
“Well, grab a plate. There’s plenty. I’ve kept it warm for you.” Eating in shifts was as natural as breathing to this family. Blake had learned to go with it a long time ago. Which was why he had a full belly and Derek was still eating.
“Thank you for the meal, Mrs. St. John.”
She walked over and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re welcome, Blake.”
He cleared his throat. “Um. I’m . . . uh . . . sorry. About being disrespectful earlier today. I didn’t mean . . .”
Everyone in the kitchen went still at his apology and all eyes turned on him and the chief.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It was a tense situation.” Her eyes flicked between Chloe and Blake. “I’m glad to know you have her back.”