“Then let’s roll.”
They approached silently, Luke in his own car and Corchran following behind. He rounded a bend, and Luke’s heart simply froze. “Oh my God,” he whispered. Ambush. Frank Loomis had set Daniel up.
Luke was looking at a concrete bunker, at least a hundred feet long. Behind the bunker he could see the river. In front of the bunker were parked three cars. Two were Dutton squad cars. The third was Daniel’s sedan, its rear crashed up against one of the Dutton squad cars, which was parked across the road, blocking Daniel’s escape.
Both front doors of Daniel’s car stood open and Luke could see Daniel’s driver side window was streaked with blood. Quietly Luke approached, gun drawn, his heart thundering in his ears. He silently motioned Corchran to the passenger side.
Luke silently exhaled the breath he’d held. Daniel’s car was empty. Corchran leaned in the passenger side. “Blood,” he murmured, pointing to the dash. “Not a lot. And hair.” He picked up a few strands from the floorboard. It was long and brown.
“It’s Alex’s,” Luke said quietly, then saw the male body on the ground, about forty feet away. Running, he dropped to one knee next to the body. “It’s Frank Loomis.”
“Dutton’s sheriff.” Corchran looked pained. “He’s involved in all this, too?”
Luke pressed his fingers to Loomis’s throat. “He’s been blocking Daniel’s murder investigation all week. He’s dead. How long before your six guys get here?”
Corchran looked back to the three squad cars pulling around the bend. “Now.”
“Position them around the structure. Weapons on ready and secure cover. I’m going to check for available entrances and exits.” Luke started walking. The bunker was bigger than it looked from the front, an L-shaped offshoot pointing toward the river. There was a window at one end and a door at the other. The small window was too high for even a tall man to see through.
Then he heard the shot from the other side of the wall. He could hear voices, muffled and indistinct. “Corchran,” he hissed into his radio.
“I heard it,” Corchran said. “The second ambulance just pulled up in case we have casualties. I’m coming around the other side.”
Luke heard another shot from inside and started running. He met Corchran at the door. “I’ll take the top, you take the bottom.” He began to move, then jerked back. “Someone’s coming.”
Corchran backed around the corner, waiting. Luke crept away, keeping his eyes on the door. Then it opened and a woman emerged, covered in blood.
Ridgefield, Georgia, Friday, February 2, 4:00 p.m.
“Hurry.” Rocky shoved the last of the girls off the boat. “We don’t have all day.”
She ran her gaze over the five she’d gotten out, assessing their worth. Two were on the scrawny side. One was tall, blond, an athlete. She’d command top price. The other two were reliable performers when they were healthy. If she’d had to pick, at least she’d chosen well. The five girls were kneeling on the ground, pale. One of them had gotten sick all over herself in the hold and the others had turned their faces from her.
That was good. Camaraderie among the assets was bad. They’d had a few girls develop relationships and Rocky had nipped that in the bud. She’d had to sacrifice a top performer to do so, but having Becky beaten to death in view of the others had done the job. Becky had gotten a few of the girls to talk, and talking invariably led to escape planning and that would not be tolerated.
A horse trailer pulled up, white and nondescript, Bobby at the wheel. Rocky braced herself for the storm of temper she knew would erupt once Bobby did a head count.
Bobby got out of the van, eyes narrowed. “I thought you were bringing six. And where are Granville and Mansfield?”
She looked up, meeting Bobby’s cold blue eyes, her heart thundering in her ears. Still, the girls were listening and how she responded would impact how she’d be perceived in the future. Ninety percent of handling these kids was fear and psychological intimidation. They stayed because they were too terrified to leave.
So Rocky held her ground. “Let’s get the cargo loaded and then we’ll talk.”
Bobby stepped back. “Fine. Do it fast.”
Rocky herded the girls into the horse trailer quickly, ensuring their cuffs were fastened to the wall. She slapped a strip of duct tape over their mouths, just in case any of them got the bright idea to yell for help while they were stopped at a traffic light.
Jersey made no eye contact as he stacked the boxes on the hay. When he was finished, he turned to Bobby. “I’ll move whatever else you please. But no more kids.”
“Of course, Jersey,” Bobby said silkily. “I wouldn’t dream of making you feel uncomfortable in any way.” Which Rocky knew meant Bobby would now ask Jersey to move all their human cargo, blackmailing him with what he’d already done.
From the look on his face, Jersey knew it, too. “I mean it, Bobby.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve got granddaughters their age.”
“Then I recommend you keep them out of chat rooms,” Bobby said dryly. “You do of course realize all the other ‘stuff’ you move winds up in kids way younger than these?”
Jersey shook his head. “That’s voluntary. Anybody who pays for smack does it because they want it. This ain’t voluntary.”
Bobby’s smile was sarcastically indulgent. “You have a strange and faulty moral code, Jersey Jameson. You’ll be paid in the usual fashion. Now go.”
Bobby closed the trailer doors and Rocky knew her time was at hand. “Granville and Mansfield are still back there,” she said before Bobby could ask again. She braced herself, closing her eyes. “Along with the bodies of the girls Granville killed.”
There was silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally Rocky opened her eyes and every ounce of her blood went cold. Bobby’s eyes were sharp and furious.
“I told you to make sure nothing remained.” The words were quietly uttered.
“I know, but—”
“But nothing,” Bobby snapped, then walked away, pacing back and forth. “Why did you leave them behind?”
“Granville was still in the bunker and Mansfield had gone in to get him, to help him bring the bodies out. Jersey and I heard shots from the road. We figured it was better not to be caught with live cargo on our hands.”
Bobby stopped pacing and abruptly turned to rake her with an icy glare. “It would have been better to do your job and leave nothing behind. What else?”
Rocky met Bobby’s glare head-on. “On the way here, I was listening to Jersey’s scanner. The police found Frank Loomis’s body outside.”
Bobby’s brows bunched. “Loomis? What the hell was he doing there?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many?”
Rocky shook her head. “How many what?”
Bobby grabbed her, lifting her to her toes. “How many bodies did you leave behind?”
Rocky struggled to stay calm. “Six.”
“Are you sure they’re dead? Did you see their bodies?”
She hadn’t, and she should have. She should have watched Granville kill each one and dump the body in the river. Truth was, Rocky had found she had a weak stomach for murder when the rubber hit the road. But Granville was a sick bastard and if he’d done nothing else, he’d killed them all. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Bobby’s grip loosened and Rocky’s feet hit the ground. “All right.”
She swallowed hard, still feeling the pinch of Bobby’s knuckles against her windpipe. “The girls we left behind can’t be identified. We’re safe, unless Granville or Mansfield decide to talk. That is, if they got caught.”
Bobby let go, pushing her away. “I’ll deal with them.”
Rocky stumbled, quickly catching herself. “But what if they did get caught?”
“I will deal with them. Mansfield’s not the only cop I have on my payroll. What else?”
“I made sure we left no documents. Granville hadn’t shredded them.”
Bobby scowled. “Sonofabitch. I should have killed him years ago.”
“Probably.”
Bobby leaned in close and murmured, “I could kill you now. With my bare hands. I could snap your neck in two. And you’d deserve it. You totally fucked up, Rocky.”
Again Rocky’s blood went cold. “But you won’t.” She forced her voice to be steady.
“And why won’t I?”
“Because without me, you wouldn’t have access to the chat rooms and all the ‘pretties’ we have in the pipeline would be lost. Your supply would dry up faster than spit on a fryin’ pan.” She leaned up on her toes until they were chin to chin. “And that’s bad business. So you won’t kill me.”
Bobby stared at her, then laughed bitterly. “You’re right. And you’re lucky. Right now, I need you more than I hate you. But it’s a real close call, kid. One more fuckup and I’ll take the chat room hit. I can find someone to replace you, and the base business will keep me flush enough to stay afloat until I build a new pipeline. When we get to Ridgefield, you get these girls cleaned up. I have a client coming over tonight. Now get in.” Bobby got behind the wheel, cell phone in hand. “Hey, Chili, it’s me. Gotta a coupla jobs for you, but they have to be done fast. Like, in the next hour.”
Rocky could hear Chili’s rather boisterous protests when Bobby held the cell phone at arm’s length with a wince.
“Look, Chili, if you don’t want the job, that’s fine. I’ll find someone else . . .” Bobby smirked. “I thought so. I need you to torch two houses for me. Usual pay, usual way . . .” Bobby’s smirk flattened. “All right. Double. But I want them both burned to the ground, nothing saved. Nothing should remain.”
Dutton, Friday, February 2, 4:15 p.m.
“Alex.” Luke rushed the door when Alex Fallon stumbled out of the bunker into the sunlight, covered in blood. “She’s hit. Corchran, get the medics.”
Alex pushed Luke’s hands away. “Not me. Daniel’s been hit. He’s critical. He needs to be airlifted to a level one trauma center. I’ll show you where he is.”
Luke caught her arm as she went back through the door. “He’s alive?”
“Barely,” Alex snapped. “We’re wasting time. Come on.”
“I’ll radio Larkin to have the chopper coming for the girl wait for Vartanian,” Corchran said, motioning for the paramedics. “You go.”
Alex was already running back through the bunker. Luke and two paramedics with a squeaky gurney followed. “Bailey escaped,” Alex said when he caught up with her.
“I know,” Luke said. “I found her. She’s alive. In pretty bad shape, but she’s alive.”
“Thank God. Beardsley’s in here, too.”
“Beardsley? You mean the army chaplain?” Captain Beardsley had been missing since Monday—since he’d gone looking for Bailey in her Dutton home.
“Yeah. He’s alive. He may be able to walk out on his own, but he’s bad, too.”
They got to the room at the end of the long hall and Luke stopped dead in his tracks. Two paramedics pushed around him to get to Daniel, who lay in the corner on his side, a makeshift bandage covering his chest, probably Alex’s handiwork. His face was gray. But he was breathing.
That was more than Luke could say for the three dead bodies littering the floor. Deputy Mansfield lay on his back, two shots to his chest. Mack O’Brien was crumpled in a heap, a neat bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. A third man also lay on his back, five gunshots to his chest and one to his hand. His bloody wrists were cuffed behind his back. His face was gone, blown away by a high-caliber weapon.
A fourth man sat against the wall, breathing hard. His face was covered in blood and grime and his eyes were closed. Luke assumed this was the missing army chaplain, although he looked more like Rambo at the moment.
“Holy Mother of God,” Luke breathed, then looked over at the slim woman who was the only participant in the action still standing. “Alex, did you do all this?”
Alex looked around as if seeing the destruction for the first time. “Most of it. Mansfield shot Daniel, then I killed Mansfield. Then Granville came in.” Grimly she looked over at the man with no face. “Dr. Granville was the third rapist.”
“I know,” Luke said. “Bailey told us. So you killed Granville, too?”
“No, I just wounded him. O’Brien killed Granville. It was O’Brien’s revenge.”
Luke nudged O’Brien with his shoe. “And this one?”
“Well, after O’Brien killed Granville, he put his gun to my head. And then Reverend Beardsley took O’Brien’s gun and Daniel made the head shot.” A sudden grin lit up her face. “I think we did good.”
Her silly grin had Luke smiling back, despite the sick clenching of his stomach at the sound of Daniel’s groan as the medics moved him. Daniel was groaning, which meant he was alive. “I think you did good, too. You took care of all the bad guys, kid.”
But the army chaplain shook his head. “You were too late,” Beardsley said wearily.
Alex instantly sobered. “What are you talking about?”
He killed them all, Bailey had said. Dread swept away any momentary satisfaction Luke had felt. “You stay here with Daniel,” he told Alex. “I’ll go see.”
Alex looked over at the medics. “His vitals are steady?”
“Steady, but weak,” one of the men said. “Who sealed this sucking chest wound?”
“I did,” Alex said. “I’m an ER nurse.”
The medic gave her a nod of approval. “Nice job. He’s breathing on his own.”
Alex’s nod was unsteady. “Good. Let’s go,” she said to Luke. “I need to know.”
Luke supposed she would. Her stepsister, Bailey, had been held in this place for a week and though everyone had told her that Bailey was a junkie who had probably just disappeared, Alex had never given up hope.
Beardsley pushed himself against the wall until he stood. “Then come with me.” He pulled on the first door to their left. It was unlocked, but not empty.
Luke drew a breath, dread becoming horror. A young girl lay on a thin cot, her arm chained to the wall. She was gaunt, her bones clearly visible. Her eyes were wide open and there was a small round hole in her forehead. She looked about fifteen.
He killed them all.
Luke slowly walked to the cot. Dear God, was all he could think. Then the shock of recognition punched his gut. I know her. Dammit, he’d seen this girl before. Pictures scrolled through his mind, vile, obscene pictures that he could never forget. Faces he could never forget.
This face, he knew. Angel. Her abusers, the subhumans who’d paraded her across their Web site, who’d committed acts so depraved . . . They’d called her Angel.
Bile rose in his throat as he stood, staring down at her. Angel was dead. Emaciated, tortured. You were too late. The shock began to fade as the fury that simmered inside him boiled over and he clenched his fists, trying to keep it inside. Controlled. He couldn’t let the fury keep him from doing his job.
To protect and serve, his mind mocked.
But you didn’t protect her. You failed. You were too late.
Alex dropped to her knees next to the cot, pressing her fingers to the girl’s thin neck. “She’s dead. Maybe an hour ago.”
“They’re all dead,” Beardsley said harshly. “Every one that was left behind.”
“How many?” Luke asked, his voice hard. “How many are dead?”
“Bailey and I were locked up at the other end,” Beardsley said. “I couldn’t see anything. But I counted seven shots.”
Seven shots. The girl Susannah had saved had been shot twice, once in the side. The other bullet had grazed her head. So five other shots. Five dead. Dear God.
“What is this place?” Alex whispered.
“Human trafficking,” Luke said succinctly and Alex stared at him, open-mouthed.
“You mean all these girls . . . ? But why kill them? Why?”
“They didn’t have time to get them all out,” Beardsley said
tonelessly. “They didn’t want the ones left behind to talk.”
“Who’s responsible for this?” Alex hissed.
“The man you called Granville.” Beardsley leaned against the wall and closed his eyes and Luke noticed the dark stain on his shirt. It was spreading.
“You got shot, too,” Alex said. “For God’s sake sit down.” She pushed him down and knelt next to him, peeling his shirt away from the wound.
Luke flagged one of the paramedics, a serious-faced kid whose badge said Eric Clark. “Captain Beardsley was hit. We need another gurney.” He visually assessed Daniel from the doorway. His friend was still deathly pale, his chest barely moving. But it was moving. “How is he?”
“As stable as we can get him in here,” Clark replied.
“Then radio for another crew,” Luke said, “and come with me. We have one dead teenager. There may be four more.” Rapidly Luke and the young medic checked every small cell. There were an even dozen, each dark, dirty. Fetid. Each had a filthy, rancid mattress on a rusted cot frame. The one right next to the office was empty, but a sweep of Luke’s flashlight revealed a trail of blood leading from the door. The steady drips of blood continued down the hall. “This is the one that escaped,” he said. “Next cell.”
The next cell held another body, as emaciated as Angel. Luke heard Eric Clark suck in a horrified breath. “Oh my God.” Clark started to rush in, but Luke held him back.
“Careful. For now just see if she’s alive, but don’t touch anything else.”
Clark tried to find a pulse. “She’s dead. What the hell happened here?”
Luke didn’t answer, methodically leading Clark from cell to cell. Out of twelve cells they had five dead. The other seven were empty, but a few of the mattresses were damp, the smell of bodily fluids still heavy in the unventilated room. These rooms had been recently occupied. Now they were not. One cell had belonged to the girl Susannah had saved. That meant up to six had been taken. Six.
There were no leads, no way of knowing how many or who the girls were. No descriptions. Nothing, except the girl Susannah had saved. She might be their only hope.