Pretty Little Girls Read online

  Magda answered the door with a sad smile and a nod. She held a rag and spray bottle in one hand.

  “Still cleaning at this hour?”

  “It helps me stay calm. I have to do something. I just feel so . . . “

  “I understand completely.” Without thinking about it, Victoria rested her hand on Magda’s arm.

  The corners of Magda’s mouth lifted as her lips stayed pressed together, hardly a smile, but she appeared grateful for the tiny bit of comfort.

  “Are the Mannings at home?” Victoria surveyed what she could see of the house. As before, everything was immaculate.

  “Mrs. Manning just went upstairs to lie down. She’s . . . she’s not feeling well right now. Mr. Manning is in his office.”

  Magda led Victoria across the house. Through the kitchen doorway, Victoria spotted an almost empty liquor bottle on the counter. Magda followed the agent’s gaze and frowned, but continued on.

  “Agent Heslin is here,” Magda announced at the open door to Tripp’s office.

  Dark circles rimmed his eyes. He stood up quickly and walked out to meet Victoria, eagerly studying her face for news. She kept her expression solemn.

  “You didn’t find her.” His whole face had dropped. “Did you find anything?”

  “Someone had been living inside the building. But whoever was there left before we arrived.”

  His expression contorted with anger. “So, do you even know if Emma was there?”

  “Detective Connelly is still on site working with a forensic team to collect evidence. If your daughter was there, they’ll know very soon. I came to get something they can use for a match. Her hairbrush and toothbrush.”

  “Oh!” Magda exclaimed from nearby. “A few weeks ago, all of the hairbrushes and toothbrushes in our house went missing. Everyone has new ones now.”

  “That’s very strange.” Victoria knitted her brows together.

  “Yes. We didn’t know what to think of it. I mean, how could something like that happen?” Magda asked. “Nothing else was missing. It happened on the same day a company was here cleaning windows. But why would they want those? I called the company and they said it had nothing to do with them.”

  “It was Emma playing some sort of prank.” Tripp said.

  “But she denied it,” Magda responded. “She swore on her life she had nothing to do with it. And she was upset because apparently her hairbrush was special.”

  “Then it was one of her friends.” Tripp dismissed Magda with his cool tone. “We have more important things to think about right now.”

  Magda turned and headed up the main stairway. Tripp followed her for a few strides than stopped, turning to Victoria as he pressed a hand against the banister. “What did you find in the building, exactly?”

  “Hairs and fibers. Some trash that might have prints.” She spared him hearing about the tooth and the blood-stained sheet they’d pulled off the mattress. “Mr. Manning, I have a few more questions for you.”

  “Let’s go into my office,” Tripp said, moving in that direction.

  Magda appeared at the top of the stairs, so Victoria waited for the woman to come down. She handed Victoria a hairbrush and toothbrush inside a plastic storage bag.

  “Thank you.” Victoria placed the bag in her backpack and then followed Tripp’s path.

  Inside his office, he sat behind his desk with his hands steepled in front of him. He watched Victoria enter, but she could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. He didn’t offer her a seat, which was fine with her.

  Above the fireplace, the television played on mute. Emma Manning was one of the news stories, after the bomb threats and the football coverage. The words Suspected Sex Trafficking Ring Abduction scrolled underneath her picture.

  Victoria frowned. How did that happen?

  Tripp followed her gaze to the television. “When my daughter comes back, her life is ruined. What little girl wants everyone to know she was sex trafficked? We don’t even know if that’s the case, but it will forever be the perception.”

  Victoria swallowed around a lump forming in her throat. At least he believes Emma will come home.

  There was no way the media outlets would back down now, not with this story. But the embarrassment it may cause was not Victoria’s primary concern. The heightened coverage would put pressure on the abductors. The chances of them allowing Emma to be found alive and risk her revealing their operation or any of their identities were slim. If this kept up, they would kill her, if they hadn’t already. The girl’s best hope for survival might be that she was already far from Charlotte where the constant media coverage wouldn’t be as much of a threat to whoever had her. But if she’d been taken out of the country, the chances of finding her were slim.

  “What is it you need to ask me?” Tripp said.

  Victoria stepped closer and touched her fingers to the edge of his desk. “How did you find Jay Adams?”

  Tripp picked up a pen and tapped it. “He was recommended by a colleague.”

  “Have you used him before?”

  “Yes.” He cocked his head. “Why are you asking? Are you going to be needing an enemy list from him as well?”

  She steeled herself against his sudden aggression—it’s the situation, don’t hold it against him— by focusing on what she’d come to find out. “We got a good tip, thanks to the media bulletins. But whoever was there appears to have left in a hurry, and might have known we were coming.”

  “So, you think—what?”

  “Could be a coincidence. But in case it’s not, I want to know how they knew. Where is Adams now?”

  Tripp dropped the pen and strummed his fingers. His gaze traveled to a collection of trophies, then back to Victoria. “He doesn’t give me a running play by play of his whereabouts, but I happen to know he had a personal issue to deal with.”

  “What did he need to take care of?” Did it have anything to do with the young man and the hotel?

  “Come back in the morning and you can ask Adams whatever you want to ask him yourself.” Tripp’s eyes dropped to her chest and stayed there.

  Her body stiffened and she clenched her jaw.

  “He’ll be following up on leads for me tomorrow.” He continued to stare, clearly not caring if she caught him ogling or how it made her feel.

  Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “What sort of leads is he following up for you?”

  He turned to the television. A man wearing a Panthers NFL jersey was smiling inside a Chevrolet showroom. “If something comes of them, I’ll share it with you and the detective.”

  Presumably, Tripp was a grieving, heart-sick father. But tolerating his patronizing, sometimes hostile attitude had become too much. He needed a firm reminder that hampering a federal agent’s investigation was against the law. She hardened her expression, about to let him have it. He exhaled loudly and spoke again.

  “Adams was previously hired by my wife to follow me and document affairs I’ve had.”

  Victoria remained quiet, hoping he would continue. Someone working with Connelly had already followed up on the “mistakes” Tripp told them about yesterday. He was paying child support to two different women. In addition to Emma, he had a two-year-old son and a three-year-old daughter.

  “I was careful. Very careful.”

  No idea what that’s supposed to mean. Having affairs and fathering children unintentionally is hardly being ‘careful’. She wasn’t inclined to trust or believe anything he said.

  Tripp leaned back in his chair, staring at his trophy shelf. He lifted his gaze toward the ceiling and swiveled his chair from side to side before he continued in a tone of resignation. “I have Adams tracking down two other women from my past. I’m talking way in the past. Before I met my wife.”

  Victoria processed the information. It didn’t make sense. Were Emma’s parents in denial about her situation? How could they be? Tripp saw the website photo; he watched the television coverage. Why would he think a former lover might be involved? A
nd if he hadn’t met Patricia yet, why did he need to keep the old relationships under wraps?

  She cleared her throat. “I know this is difficult to hear, but at this time, it appears likely your daughter is somehow involved with a sex trafficking or prostitution ring.”

  “I know.”

  She stood stock-still, waiting. There had to be more.

  “I’m sorry.” Tripp stood up. He aimed the remote at the television and shut it off. “It’s very late and believe it or not, I have a call scheduled with a developer. As much as I enjoy your company—” His eyes lingered on her face, making her uncomfortable. “—you and I are going to have to put this talk off until tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t work for me. My priority is finding your daughter, not your work commitments. I need to know why you have Adams checking out these women. And why you didn’t give Detective Connelly and me their names.”

  Tripp glared at her. “The women Adams is looking into. . . I don’t want anyone to know about them. Especially not Patricia.”

  Maybe or maybe not. I would think she would care much less about relationships that occurred before they were married than the ones that happened after.

  “The possibility exists that at least one of these women thinks she was pregnant with my child. If she does think that, I’m sure she’s wrong.”

  Ah . . . he just doesn’t want to pay child support to a third and fourth woman. “And why are you so sure they’re wrong? Why do these women need to stay hidden?”

  “Because they were prostitutes. Can you understand why that might not be well received?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  After replaying the conversation with Tripp Manning in her mind, Victoria had to focus on calming down. She dealt with plenty of criminals and disturbing people in her line of work, but Tripp rubbed her the wrong way. When he stared unapologetically at her breasts, it was all she could do not to tell him off. She had to remember to be professional, regardless. Not only was she representing the FBI, but she was also doing a favor for her boss. Still, for now, she wanted any thoughts of Tripp Manning and his seemingly endless string of affairs out of her head. She left the gated neighborhood, waving a combination of goodbye and thank you to the guard. Finally, she had time to call Ned without the possibility of being interrupted. Speaking to Ned was exactly what she needed to clear her mind.

  “Hi. I’m so glad you answered,” she said, turning onto a road lined with beautiful Crape Myrtle and Magnolia trees.

  “Then I’m glad I did, too. You missing me? Or just your dogs?”

  “I’m missing all of you.” She hoped her sincerity came through loud and clear. “The day has flown. I haven’t eaten anything since I grabbed a sandwich at lunch.”

  “Myrtle is already pacing in the kitchen to let me know it’s time for their bedtime treats. These dogs sure know their routine. Hey, girl—”

  Huh?

  “Myrtle—it’s Victoria on the phone.”

  Oh. He’s talking to one of the dogs like she understands. She smiled. Just like I do.

  “I’m putting you on speaker,” he said.

  “What about you? What did you do for dinner? There’s no food at my house, is there? I would have stocked up for you if I hadn’t had to leave with just a minute’s notice. Please go ahead and order whatever you need with my card.”

  “You forgot to cancel the Farm Fresh delivery, so I ate that. As my appetizer.”

  “That’s okay. I wouldn’t have cancelled anyway. They need the business. Definitely eat it while I’m gone. I don’t want it to go to waste.” She sighed, loud enough that Ned heard her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just—I wish I was officially in charge here. If this were my case, we’d be making so much more progress.”

  A dog barked on Ned’s end. “Can you take it over?”

  The single bark was followed by an escalating chorus.

  “No. I’m just supposed to be helping, sort of like a consult. But I don’t know for sure if things are getting done.” She slowed down and switched lanes to get around a group of bicyclists. “I guess I’m assuming they aren’t because I’m not in the loop and the guy in charge isn’t quite as intense as I’m used to.”

  “He’s not taking the case seriously?”

  “He’s not doing anything wrong—maybe I’m just not impressed with his management skills. He’s more suited to be a travel agent than a hard-core detective.” So much for not talking about the case. “And on top of that, the family hired a PI and I’ve got a terrible feeling about him right now. More than a feeling.”

  “Why?”

  “Right from our first meeting he had me wondering. For a PI, he was well-groomed and very expensively dressed. A dichotomy of sorts.”

  “Someone could say that about you.”

  She huffed. “I suppose they could. I wanted to know what he was working on for the parents, so I followed him.”

  “You tailed the guy?”

  “I did. I trust my intuition, not to mention my training. Now I have to figure out if what I saw is what I think it is. And if it’s what I think it is, it’s a big deal and I can’t confront him until I have more evidence. Anyway, enough about me. Tell me something good. What are you going to do tomorrow? Big run day? Or big swim day?”

  “Neither. I’m taking the day off. I hate to admit it, but I’m a little sore.”

  “Sore. How come?”

  “I had a half-tri today, remember—”

  She gasped. “Oh, my God! Ned! I’m so sorry! I’m the worst, worst, worst—” She was about to say girlfriend but stopped herself. Worst would suffice. She’d been self-absorbed, which wasn’t like her, and was the opposite of the person she wanted to be.

  Ned laughed. “Hey, it’s no big deal. It was just a local one. If I was doing the Ironman and you forgot—well, then I might be pissed. But this wasn’t anything big. I still managed to take Eddie and Izzy for a walk after.”

  “No. I feel terrible. Going on and on about myself.”

  “Look, my days are excellent. I wake up and I have complete control over my time. I get to make a big difference for people who otherwise couldn’t afford pet care at the clinic. But it’s safe to say your days are probably more interesting. I’m all for our conversations tipping towards whatever is more interesting.”

  “I promise that very little of what I do is interesting or glamorous. Please, tell me about your race.” Victoria was still disappointed with herself for forgetting. “How did you do? Beat your time?”

  “I did. The weather was perfect. I used a new bike and new shoes, always a risky move, but nothing went wrong. And I had a nice surprise at the end. Somehow—I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about this—my number raised five thousand bucks for the Compassion Clinic. Not too shabby. That pays for a lot of vet care.”

  So glad I filled out the donation forms for his clinic before I left, or I might have forgotten those as well! I’ve got to get better at this girlfriend thing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After the party, Sofia was hungry and exhausted, her insides raw and stinging. She didn’t know what time it was, but some of their parties lasted from late at night until just before sunup, and it was all she could to do to keep her eyes open. More than anything, she wanted to shower—and hoped she might get a chance before Svet locked them in the basement room again. Next to her in the van, Anastasia slumped against the seat, rubbing her hand gently over a blossoming bruise on her arm.

  Svet turned into a neighborhood with large homes. The yards were expertly lit with spotlights and floodlights. He slowed in front of a stately, stone covered house. In Ukraine, it would have been a small-scale palace, but lots of their American customers lived in similar-sized homes. On both sides of the driveway, hundreds of purple and lavender clumps—they didn’t look like flowers through Sofia’s eyes but had to be—appeared in the headlight beams. This wasn’t what she expected at the end of a long night. Sh
e nudged Anastasia and whispered, “Do you recognize this place?”

  “Um . . . no . . . we are never here before.”

  Svet stopped in the driveway, but kept the engine running. He grabbed his phone, punched at the screen, and waited. “Here. Open garage door.”

  Oh, no. Not another party. Just when she believed they’d survived another night; they were expected to work again. Dreams of taking a shower were forgotten. She’d be eternally grateful if only she and Anastasia could return to their basement room and be left alone.

  A few seconds later, one of the four garage doors slid up.

  Inside, Stephen’s BMW was parked in one of the spaces. Behind it, the girls’ suitcases lay toppled on the concrete floor.

  Svet parked and exited the van. “Get out. Grab your stuff and bring it inside.” He left them alone and disappeared through a door leading from the garage to the house.

  “Where are we?” Anastasia asked, rolling her suitcase forward.

  “No idea.” Sofia kept her eyes on the entrance to the house. She didn’t like the uncertainty. This wasn’t how they did business. Svet never walked in before them and left them alone. Perhaps it wasn’t another party. But then what were they doing in this nice home? And why was Stephen there, too?

  She quickly unzipped her bag. Her stuff was tossed and tangled inside, mixed with Anastasia’s. She moved some clothes aside and found their DVD player and exercise discs at the bottom. The book she’d been reading wasn’t in there, but she hadn’t liked it anyway. Sex wasn’t something she wanted to think about if she didn’t have to. She zipped her bag up and hurried into the house after Svet and Anastasia. The unexpected change in their routine had left her wide awake again.

  Inside, they left their suitcases by the front door and followed the sound of Svet’s voice across the house and into the backyard. Stephen stood on the patio talking to Svet, chain smoking like he did whenever he was angry. Beyond him, a pool with a cascading waterfall had been built with the same stones that formed some of the home’s exterior walls. Tiny white lights were strung around the patio and yard.