Rachel sat on the floor of the van and held Lindsey’s cold hand in her own. They’d had their trial run of dress and makeup and practicing poses until Rachel wanted to puke. But she went along with it without protest, unlike one of the other girls who refused to cooperate. Rachel hadn’t seen her since, but her screams would echo in Rachel’s dreams for the rest of her life. She swallowed against the ever-present lump in her throat and shuddered, then looked around one more time, still not completely convinced they couldn’t somehow escape.
The rear windows of the van had been blacked out, leaving the back dark and stuffy. She and the other girls were packed into the space, sitting on foam padding that covered the floor.
First, seventeen girls. Now twelve. Originally, she’d thought they’d only sent the seventeen in the trailer because they didn’t have room for the others, but now, she wondered if they had originally only sent part of their “inventory” on purpose, thinking that if some were found or escaped, it wouldn’t disrupt their “business” because they had more to replace them. Sick, sick, sick.
Shuddering, she saw that someone had rigged a spring rod and curtain so no one in the back could see the driver or the passenger. But the little camera in the back corner near the double doors said those in the front could see the girls.
Tears dripped and she swiped them away with a sharp flick. This was so wrong. No one should be allowed to do this to another person. And where was God in all of this anyway, that’s what she wanted to know. Didn’t he care? Or was this her punishment for being such a horrible daughter? God, if you’re there, I’m really sorry about everything. I don’t want to be angry anymore. And I don’t want to be afraid either. Please help me. Help all of us.
“Yeah, I know. We’ll be there in about an hour,” the driver said. Rachel tuned in to the words that came from behind the curtain. “I know, man. You got the other girls?”
He must be on the phone.
“Tell him about the extra one we’ve got.” The person in the passenger seat spoke for the first time. Not a voice she’d heard before. She let her gaze slide to the woman who lay unconscious near the back doors.
After loading the other girls, they’d added her. The extra one the passenger had referred to. Chloe St. John, the officer who’d been so kind to Rachel in the hospital. Hope had immediately blossomed when she’d realized who it was. They’d duct-taped her hands together, but otherwise she was free to move about.
If only she would wake up.
Inch by subtle inch, Rachel slid her foot across the van floor until it rested against Chloe’s shoulder. Keeping her eyes on her hands as though subdued and without fight, she pressed with her foot. Once. Twice.
Chloe didn’t move. How much of the drug had they sprayed her with? As best as she could calculate, they’d been moving for about an hour. She waited another thirty minutes and thought she saw Chloe’s eyes begin to flutter. Rachel pressed the woman’s shoulder again and she finally stirred. Then lifted her head. Blurry eyes locked on Rachel’s and slowly cleared. Rachel knew the moment reality hit Chloe by the way she drew in a deep breath and stiffened. Rachel didn’t look away until Chloe understood she wanted to tell her something. The woman dipped her head slightly.
Rachel slid her eyes to the camera in the corner.
Chloe’s eyes narrowed and she rolled her head slightly, then back to Rachel. She gave another small nod.
She understood. Rachel sighed and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes to relieve the pressure of the tears that wanted to fall. When she let her hands fall away, Chloe lay still, her eyes closed. What was she doing? Going back to sleep? Rachel knew she probably felt nauseated and was trying to keep her stomach where it belonged so she left her alone. The feeling would pass in about thirty minutes. About the time they should be arriving to their destination.
Rachel leaned back, tried to ignore the headache building behind her eyes, and began to pray once more.
22
Blake slammed a fist onto his desk. “Yes!”
A coworker looked up, caught a glimpse of the satisfied look on Blake’s face, and shot him a thumbs up. “I know where you are now, you scumbag, and I’m going to get you.”
Linc entered Blake’s office with his own triumphant smile. “We got something off the GPS from the eighteen-wheeler involved in the crash on the bridge.”
“And I know where Russo is.”
“Where?”
“Charleston.”
Linc’s brows rose. “Well, well. Do you believe in coincidences?”
“Not really. Why?” Blake pushed aside the sandwich he’d forgotten to eat and waited as Linc cleaned off a chair to sit down. “And why’d it take so long to get the addresses off the GPS?”
“A bullet hit it. They basically had to rebuild it and hope for the best.”
“And?”
“There were four addresses in there. One was the Chapin address that we already know is a dead end. Two are in Charleston and one is the museum–slash–art gallery place you and Chloe visited.”
“Which seems to indicate that Wright drove the truck once upon a time.”
“Could be. But why would he need the GPS? He knows where the place is.”
“True. Could have been someone else.”
“How long have the addresses been in the system?”
“Annie said they couldn’t tell. She was just glad to get them for me.”
“Right.” Blake rubbed his eyes, his excitement growing. It felt like they were getting somewhere, and that if that was the case, it meant he was closer to finding Rachel. “All right, so we need someone in Charleston to check out these locations. Find out what they are. Businesses? Residences?”
Linc shot him a tense smile. “Annie’s already on that. One is an export business. A warehouse full of cars waiting their turn to get shipped out of South Carolina.”
“Cars, huh?”
“Looks legit too.”
Blake frowned. “A lot of things can look legit without being so. What reason would human traffickers have in visiting a car export business?”
“Haven’t figured that out yet. Want to take a chopper to Charleston? We’ve got agents on the ground there, of course, but this is my case. I want to be there so I’ve got the chopper lined up and waiting.”
“Absolutely. I was just going to let my boss know I’m heading that way.”
Linc stood. “Works for me.”
Blake grabbed his phone. “I need to let Jo know too. She can cover for me where it’s needed.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Still sore, but you know Jo. Nothing keeps her down for long. She’s still at home, but wants to be kept in the loop.”
“Of course.”
“And Chloe. She’ll want to go.”
“Call her.”
Once they were settled in Linc’s SUV en route to meet the helicopter, Blake called Chloe. When her voicemail picked up, he frowned. “Linc’s got a lead,” he said after the tone. “Heading to Charleston and wanted to pick you up. Call me.” He hung up. “Should we just go on?”
“Yeah, she must still be busy at the museum. We’ll fill her in later.”
Blake didn’t like it, but agreed they didn’t need to delay.
The chopper was warmed up and waiting when they pulled into a parking spot near the landing pad. The pilot waved them over and they ran for it. Only once seated with belts buckled and headgear pulled over their ears did Blake draw in a deep breath. His phone buzzed.
Frank
Please, Blake.
His brother. Once again pleading with Blake to visit their father. Blake sighed and dropped his head back against the headrest. The chopper took off and he shoved his phone into the clip on his belt. Would Frank hate him forever if he didn’t at least put in an appearance before his old man’s death? His younger brother meant everything to him, next to Rachel. Blake had taken more than one beating for him as a teen. If he could do that, why was it so hard to join him and support him while their father lay dying?
He didn’t have an answer to the question. It just was.
Shooting a text to Chloe provided the distraction he needed.
Where are you? Still at the museum?
The helicopter ride passed quickly. Blake pulled his phone off his clip and checked for messages. Still no response from Chloe. “Chloe’s still not answering,” he said.
Linc frowned. “That’s kind of odd. She always answers even when she’s on a case. It’s imperative that she keep her phone close by.”
“No kidding. Which is why I’m concerned. I know she was at the museum. Maybe she got a call.”