She had to run down the driveway to get back to the street and her car. She thought she’d make it, but the front door opened and the man ran after her. He was a teenager, she realized as he tackled her.
He slapped her and pinned her arms down. He might look young but he was as strong as a grown man.
Siobhan fought back and kicked him in the balls. He howled in pain. She scrambled up and started running again, but slower—her ankle was sore, maybe sprained, maybe just bruised, but she jogged as fast as she could.
A police car came around the corner and Siobhan immediately thought that Father Sebastian had called them, worried after her call to him. She ran up to the vehicle. “Officer!”
The deputy stopped his car and opened the door, car running. The teenager approached.
“Officer, there’s a woman being held against her will in that house!” Siobhan said.
“Deputy Jackson,” the teenager said, “this woman broke into my house.”
“What’s your name?” the cop asked her.
“Siobhan Walsh.”
“You don’t live in this neighborhood.”
“No, I’m visiting a friend, and I saw a woman crying in the window. She’s chained to a bed.”
“How do you know that?”
“Deputy,” Siobhan said, her worry returning. Father told you he didn’t trust the police. “I know what I saw.”
“Deputy Jackson, I don’t know what she’s talking about,” the teen said. “My sister is upstairs. The house was locked, and I heard something and saw this woman running out the back. I don’t know how she got in. She must have broken in. I’ve never seen her before.”
“Ms. Walsh, please put your hands on the car.”
This was all wrong. Dammit!
But she complied. The deputy had a gun; she did not.
“We had a call about someone lurking in the neighborhood,” Jackson said. He frisked her, patting her breasts heavily. She wanted to hit him and fisted her hands, but resisted the urge to lash out.
He chuckled in her ear. “You like that, don’t you?” he said and pinched her nipple.
“Touch me again and I will file a report against you.”
He laughed out loud this time. “What’s this?” He pulled her lock pick from her pocket. “I’m inclined to believe young Pete here.” He took her wallet from her back pocket and flipped through it. “Siobhan Walsh from Chantilly, Virginia. You’re a long way from Virginia, missy.”
She didn’t speak. She already knew what was going to happen, and was so glad she had locked her camera in her trunk.
He continued to flip through her wallet. Found some money, her credit card, her press credentials. He frowned. “Who do you work for?”
“I’m a freelance photographer.”
“Where’s your camera?”
“I didn’t bring it with me.”
“Stay here. If you move, I will arrest you.”
He moved away—along with the teenager. They walked far enough off that Siobhan couldn’t hear what they were saying, then Deputy Jackson got on his cell phone.
This was all wrong. Damn her red hair, she hadn’t kept a low profile since she’d arrived. She’d been at Mass this morning when Father talked about the infant left at his door. Any number of people could have seen her; someone would eventually connect her with Father Sebastian. She itched to call him and tell him to be careful, but the deputy had taken her phone as well as her car keys.
What had she been thinking? Of course, Kane Rogan would have said she wasn’t thinking, but what was she supposed to do, turn her back on someone who needed help? It wasn’t in her nature.
A pregnant woman … and a baby carried by a young girl … what was going on? Most of the time when a girl in the sex trade got pregnant, they forced her to have an abortion.
Siobhan’s stomach fell. What if these girls weren’t forced to have abortions, because the babies were being sold? She didn’t know much—okay, she knew next to nothing—about illegal adoptions, only that they existed.
But even that didn’t make sense to her—there was money in illegal adoptions, but there was more money in human trafficking and the sex trade, with less risk.
Still … something was different about that house and these people. The location? Maybe … this wasn’t an ideal place to house girls working in the business, voluntarily or not. It was in the middle of nowhere. A way station of sorts? Maybe … but why here where they’d stand out? Why not in downtown Laredo or a big city where they could blend in? Why in the middle of a poor, rural Texas community?
Jackson was talking to someone … and he kept glancing over at her. They wouldn’t kill her, would they? She didn’t think so … more likely they’d tell her to get out of town.
The conversation went on for several minutes, making her even more nervous. Finally, he hung up and walked over to her. “Ms. Walsh, you’re under arrest for breaking and entering.”
“I didn’t!” Yes, she was lying, but they couldn’t prove anything. Even the kid hadn’t seen her in the house. Well … he did see her leaving. “I heard someone crying and I thought they were hurt. The door was open.”