Pretty Little Girls Page 4
“Whatever it is—sir, ma’am—” Victoria looked each in the eye in turn as she spoke. “—we can find out about it on our own, but it will be far better for your daughter if you tell us.”
Patricia aimed her steely gaze at her husband. “You tell them.” She straightened her spine and lifted her chin, storming from the kitchen.
Tripp ran his hand through his hair, looking angry and uncomfortable as his wife stomped away.
“Mr. Manning, what is it you need to tell us?” Connelly’s voice was soft and encouraging.
Tripp glared at the detective and agent in turn, as if fine-tuning his hostility gave him the upper hand.
Victoria pressed her fingernails into her palms. Remember, you’re here to get his daughter back.
Tripp looked off to the side, addressing the vent above the stainless cooktop. “She’s talking about extra-marital affairs. And there might have been a few mistakes along the way.”
“What do you mean by mistakes?” Connelly asked.
“A few women claimed I fathered their children.”
Victoria cringed at his callous use of the word mistake. If that’s how he referenced his biological offspring, how did he feel about Emma?
“As you can imagine, Patricia didn’t appreciate the betrayals. They’ve caused quite a strain on our relationship.”
Really? No surprise there, buddy.
“Nor does she appreciate the ongoing cost of paying child support.”
So, they were more than just claims. If I had to say one positive thing about this man, at least he’s paying child support.
“Sir, I appreciate the difficulty this causes you.” Connelly removed a pen and a small pad from his pocket. “I want you to know, we’ll be discreet and do our best not to cause you and your family any embarrassment. Now, if you would, I’ll need their names.”
♦ ♦ ♦
After Connelly checked the monitoring equipment on the Mannings’ home and cell phones, he and Victoria headed uptown to retrieve her rental.
The iron gate opened as they exited the neighborhood. She hadn’t noticed it on the way in, but it slid open like the one at the end of her own driveway.
Has Ned already fed the dogs dinner? Of course he has. He fed them at six like always. Wonder which ones he took on his run.
“We’ve done a lot of work,” Connelly said. “Considering.”
“Considering what?”
“Considering we don’t know if there was any foul play involved. A lot of work for a kid who may be sleeping off a late night-party session with a new boyfriend that mom and dad don’t know about. I’ve seen it before.”
Victoria gave no sign of having heard him. She held her hands tightly together on her lap. When her mother was kidnapped, a detective initially suggested Abigail Heslin might be out for a walk somewhere. As if her mother would ever leave their dogs alone with no one to check on them for an entire day. Then the insinuations abounded. Victoria wasn’t supposed to hear them, but she did. Her mother had left due to an affair with her physician, or her dogs’ trainer—the list went on. All preposterous suggestions without a grain of truth to them, but fodder the media pounced on—until the ransom call finally came through.
However, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, Connelly had a point. If the Mannings didn’t have friends in high places, would Victoria or anyone else be here helping? Is it even necessary for me to be here? With no evidence of a forced abduction and Emma missing barely 24 hours, the wheels were well in motion to find her. In that respect, Emma was a lucky girl.
“You’ve done a good job covering all the bases.”
“Thanks,” Connelly said, lowering his window. “Glad I was able to get a good start because as soon as something else comes up, I’m gonna get pulled. You know how it is. We’re short staffed, overworked, and underpaid. What else is new? I’m glad you’re here for now. So, what would you bet if you had to?”
“Bet on what?”
“Did she get kidnapped or did she run away?” Connelly stretched out his arm and pointed. “See that place on the right? That’s Roosters. Best coconut cake in the world.”
Victoria looked at the restaurant. Coconut cake sounded amazing for some reason. “I’m not a betting woman.”
“Way I see it—” Connelly alternated looking at the road ahead and back at Victoria, “—we’ve got three possibilities.”
“Let’s hear them.”
“If she were kidnapped, one, it could be a random crazy person. Two, it could be for money. Or, three, it could be to hurt her father, or the family. But if I had to bet—because I’ve been known to make a friendly bet or two—based on what I’ve seen of the family—I’d say someone wants to hurt them.”
“It’s also possible she was tricked or lured into something by a secret boyfriend.”
“To be sexually exploited or something? Nah. There are sex trafficking rings in North Carolina, don’t get me wrong, but they target runaways, kids in the foster care system. Doesn’t happen to girls like her—too risky to take her. And, you know—no reason to run away. She’s got everything.”
“Kids don’t run away from homes because they’re poor, they run away because they need to escape something. Rich kids can need to escape, too. We don’t know what her home life is like yet. We don’t know about her self-esteem or her self-image, or her relationship with her parents.” Although I think Murphy would have mentioned something if the family was unusually dysfunctional. Assuming he knew.
Connelly stopped at a light and rubbed his neck. “Right. Maybe no one took her. Maybe she just had enough of those parents and nanny breathing down her neck.”
“Magda seems nice enough,” Victoria said. “The father didn’t want any publicity, which is strange. Usually parents want any help they can get, regardless of how it makes them look.”
“Right.” Connelly grinned, strumming one hand over the steering wheel as they waited for the light to turn green. “Wonder what else Tripp Manning’s background search will turn up.”
“Let me see what our intelligence analysts can do to help get us ahead of this. I’m pretty sure one of them can lend me a hand.”
“That sounds good. I’ll work the email server angle for as long as I can. We have a guy who’s a pro with that. And I can get one or two people to help with the tip line once it’s set up. I’ll follow up on any legit leads.”
Victoria hoped their research wouldn’t be necessary, and Emma would come home on her own before the end of the night.
Chapter Six
Emma’s neck jerked to the side and she woke to blackness. Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything, not even shadows, only a uniform darkness. A heavy fog clouded her brain, like she’d been sleeping for days. Her mounting terror forced her alert.
A piece of cloth pulled tightly around her head and brushed her eyelashes. I’m blindfolded!
She tried to scream, but only a muffled grunt escaped her covered mouth. Her hands were held together by metal cuffs. She felt a firm, rigid pressure digging into her skin. Pinching, squeezing, under her knees and back and against her sides—flesh, muscle, and bone.
Someone is carrying me!
Her body jolted with each step.
She heard the soft thud and click of a car door closing, the stranger’s scuffing footsteps, and her own frantic breathing through her nose. The man smelled like cigarettes and cologne. She struggled and her dangling legs hit and dragged against something, scraping her skin through her pants.
Arms like steel gripped her harder. “Stop moving, girl.”
The man’s tone was deep, with a heavy accent. His words were sharp. ‘Stop’ was more like stup. ‘Moving’ was said with a K at the end, like movink. She studied French at school and had visited Germany, Italy, and Japan, but whatever his native language, it didn’t have a familiar ring to it. She only knew it sounded harsh and European. Like German, but not quite.
She tried to squirm out of his arms. He squeezed her tight
, clamping her against his chest. She moaned and was sure he was close to crushing her ribs. Tears soaked her blindfold and streamed out from underneath.
He stopped walking and let go of her shoulder. Metal clanked against metal. A dragging scrape, and then they were inside, the air much warmer. He moved forward again in giant steps, jostling her around like a sack of potatoes as he lurched downward. With no warning, he released his grasp, dropping her onto a hard floor.
Squeezing her arm with a big, meaty hand as she scrambled to her feet, the man yanked her blindfold off. She blinked under the flickering tubes of fluorescent light. He was bigger and scarier than she had imagined, built like a grizzly bear with a buzz cut and the square jaw of a professional fighter. Afraid to take her eyes off him, but needing to see where they were, she quickly took in the large, mostly empty space. Cinderblock walls with no windows. Exposed pipes, ducts, and wires crisscrossed the ceiling. The odor of dust and mildew permeated the air—the way her mountain home smelled when no one had used it in months, except much worse.
Her heart was racing and goosebumps covered her body. How did I get here? What happened to Damian?
With a grunt, her kidnapper grabbed her hands and removed the cuffs. Emma stepped away from him, and this time, he let her. She yanked away strips of tape, pulled tangled strands of hair from her mouth, and screamed, “Help me! Help me!” as long and loud as she could.
No one came. The absurdly strong man only stared at her and laughed, intensifying her fear.
She searched for an escape. Did he kill Damian? Is he going to kill me?
The man lit a cigarette, caught up to Emma with a few long strides, and pushed her toward one wall. She hurried forward to avoid his touch. Her head ached and her stomach was queasy, like she’d just stumbled off a roller coaster. She stroked her wrists, sore and tender from where cuffs had pinched the skin and rubbed the bone.
“Stop.” He tossed a bundle of something at her chest. It fell onto the stained floor.
“Put those on.”
She grimaced at the clothes. A navy, green, and white plaid skirt with a white collared shirt, similar to the uniforms she’d seen catholic elementary school girls wearing at the school near her house.
She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her body. I’m not taking off my clothes. I can’t. I can’t. She looked around for anything that might give her an answer as to what she should do. “Where’s my bag?” Unless she was playing field hockey, she was never more than a few feet away from her phone. She needed it now more than ever.
The man grabbed Emma’s arm and yanked it back so hard it took her breath away. Before she could let out a scream, he slapped her on the side of her face. Emma gasped and staggered backward. In her entire fourteen years of life, no one had ever struck her like that. She’d been knocked around in games, but this was so different. Overwhelmed with fear, shock, and humiliation, she burst into uncontrollable tears.
The man pointed to the clothes and growled. “Put them on.”
With her hand shielding her burning cheek, she stooped to pick up the clothes. “Where do I—”
“Shut up! Put on the clothes!” His gruff, uncaring voice jarred her already heightened senses. He took a drag of his cigarette and stared with a callous, indifferent gaze.
She turned her back and crouched down to change, hiding her body by folding it smaller.
He jerked her around to face him. “Right here. Hurry up.”
Shivering, she peeled off her pants and slid the skirt up over her hips. It barely covered her butt. She could feel the man watching her as she removed her blouse and pulled on the tight shirt. She wiped at her tears and her finger came away covered in runny eye makeup.
Will my parents be able to find me? Do they even know I’ve been taken? Nightmare scenarios raced through her mind—rape, torture, being left to die. Fear hollowed her stomach and trembled violently inside her chest. She bent forward to hug her torso and cover her abdomen.
Across the room, the door clanged open. A man with a confident gait walked down the stairs and approached them. He had slightly hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. His clothing, a silver-gray suit above expensive leather shoes, made the most of his trim frame. He dressed like he could be one of her father’s business associates.
Thank God! Someone to help me!
“I’ve been kidnapped,” Emma cried, rushing toward him. “Help me!” She’d only gone a few steps when her kidnapper grabbed her arm and jerked her back.
The man in the suit threw his hands up in an exaggerated fashion. “What? Kidnapped? Are you sure?” He lowered his hands and smirked.
Emma’s heart sunk. Fresh tears streamed.
He turned to her captor. “What did you do with Sasha?” He and the muscle-bound brute shared the same accent, but his voice was smoother, more sophisticated.
“I left her in Virginia. In the woods.” Her kidnapper was taller and heavier, but the way he dipped his head and waited for a response showed the newcomer was in charge.
“Virginia?” He glared at the big man. “Why?”
“Had to go there for something. Thought it would be a good place.”
“It might be as good a place as any.” The older man cocked his head in a crazy, leering way reminding Emma of an evil Willy Wonka. “Or it might not. Let’s hope it was.” In frightening silence, he continued to stare. Then he turned to Emma, looking her over with a deep frown. Her throat constricted with fear. He moved closer until he stood only inches away. His dark, gleaming eyes held no hint of compassion. “What have we here? This one looks well cared for, yes?”
“She does.”
“She reminds me of someone, but I’m not sure who.” The older man cupped his hand around her chin and turned her head from side to side.
Emma cringed and pulled way.
He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, sending sharp pain from her scalp down to her toes. “Looks like someone needs to learn how to behave. I’ll touch you whenever and wherever I want to touch you.”
Emma gasped.
“Let me go,” she cried. “Please let me go!”
He kept on pulling. The pain was blinding. Either her hair would rip out or her neck would snap. Just when she thought she would pass out, he stopped pulling and ran his fingers through her hair.
“Why are you doing this?” Emma cried.
He stared at her. “Because this is what I do.”
“Just call my dad,” she pleaded. “He’ll pay you whatever you want to get me back safe.”
“Will he now? You’re sure about that? I don’t think so, little girl.” His smirk returned, creepier than his scowl.
“He will. My parents are rich and will do anything to get me back. I promise.”
Anger flashed in the older man’s eyes. “Where did she come from?”
The hulking man shrugged. “Ask Damian.”
The man in charge pointed at Emma. “You work for me now and you can call me Stephen. You do what I say, when I say it. That means, I say it, you do it.” He enunciated the last sentence slowly. “I say it, you do it. I say it, you do it.” He spoke quickly, jumbling the words together and Emma was certain the man was insane. “Simple enough, right? But . . . but, I know you’re wondering now—how could you not? You’re wondering what happens if I say it and you don’t do it?” He smiled. “What happens then? Answer me.”
She stared back at him, her teeth chattering from fear.
“Answer me!”
Emma cringed. “I—I don’t know,” she said, her voice breaking.
His smile disappeared. “And I assure you, my dear, you do not want to find out.” He stepped away from her. “Does she, Svet?”
“No,” Svet grunted.
“She’s not quite party girl material, but not submissive enough to be a motel girl. Not yet. We can change that. Clean up her face and take pictures. I’ll put them on the website. But we’re not going to sell her to anyone yet, understood?”
“Yeah.”
“If she’s a mistake, I’ll handle it. Also, I dropped her phone and laptop in a dumpster.”
“Good. I’m going to hot yoga. Take care of her.” Stephen broke into a song. Emma recognized the tune, but some of the words were different and horrifying. “Welcome to my house. You don’t get to go out.” Singing, he spun around and walked away.
Emma’s mouth quivered.
Svet squeezed Emma’s arm and pulled her forward.
“Please let me go. Please. Just call my dad, he’ll give you whatever you want.”
He dragged Emma toward another door. He shoved her inside the room and pushed her down on a mattress. “Have you ever been with a man before?” His tone was low and raspy, menacing, as he unbuckled his belt.
“Wh—what?” Her voice broke, her lips trembling along with her chattering teeth. She struggled with all her might to free herself from his grip. But she had no chance.
From the top of the stairs, Stephen belted out a song like a malevolent lunatic in an insane asylum. “Sometimes your world changes, right before your eyes! You never really know what’s gonna happen!”
♦ ♦ ♦
Sofia turned the page in her book, trying to stay focused on the fictional lives it contained inside. In the windowless basement, there was rarely any indication that the outside world existed. No mingling of voices, no whoosh of passing trucks or honking of cars, just the occasional hum and rattle of the exposed pipes. Until now.
Someone’s high-pitched screaming and begging filtered through the adjacent wall.
A new girl. Lungs like a wailing siren. Definitely American.
The American girls had a harder time accepting their miserable fate. And they always paid for it. Sofia daydreamed about being brave, talking back to Stephen, refusing Svet’s commands—but bravery resulted in beatings or worse. She wanted to be alive when the tables turned.