Pretty Little Girls Read online

He reached toward Emma. There was something in his hand.

  She jumped up from the cot and backed into the nearest wall.

  Stupid girl, Sofia thought. He’ll get off on your fear.

  Svet laughed at her attempt to escape him. “If I want you, you can’t hide. You’re trapped. But I’m done with you. For now. Here.” He rattled a container of pills. “Every day, take one.”

  Emma didn’t move.

  Sofia stepped forward. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Make sure. Start today. They’re counted.” Svet handed Sofia the container. “She’s no good if bleeding. No one wants to f—”

  Sofia set the pills down on her cot. “I said I’ll take care of it.” When she spoke again, she made her voice as neutral as possible, hoping Svet would answer without thinking. “Is Sasha coming back?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He sneered and she realized her question had been futile. Svet would never miss an opportunity to be cruel. “Smells like crap in here,” he said before leaving with Anastasia, closing and locking the door behind them.

  “Who is Sasha?” Emma asked.

  “A friend.”

  Emma stared at the bottle in Sofia’s hand. “I’m not taking those.”

  “They won’t hurt you. I’ve been taking them for three years. You can’t get pregnant if you take them and you won’t get your period either.”

  “I’m not taking them.” She shook her head, like that would make a difference.

  “Whatever,” Sofia said. “But I promise you, the harder you make this for yourself, the worse it will be. Just be glad you’re not going with us tonight. We have to work. Not that you could anyway, you look like a wreck.”

  “What kind of work?”

  How dumb is she? “I think you know.”

  “It’s better if I stay in the same place.” Emma’s voice quivered. “The police will find me soon.”

  Sofia snorted. “Don’t hold your breath, sweetheart.” But a tiny spark of hope had been steadily growing inside her since Emma arrived. Maybe the girl’s family lived right in this city. Maybe they really were looking. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Emma’s words came true?

  Chapter Eleven

  In a corner of the Mannings’ freshly-cut back yard, Victoria sat on the edge of a garden chair and called Murphy to give him an update. From the little she knew about Celia Murphy, it was safe to assume she was bugging her husband for news on what Victoria was doing with regard to Emma’s disappearance.

  “Did you find the Mannings’ daughter?” her boss asked.

  “No. Not yet. But we had a breakthrough. Sam found her picture on a website for commercial sex. I’m guessing she was tricked or lured into it. But no proof yet.”

  Murphy groaned. “Damn. Oh, that’s bad. Glad we took this seriously right away and sent you. Any location identifiers in the photo?”

  “Sam is analyzing every pixel to find something, but there’s a solid backdrop behind her, like a giant sheet. There are other girls in the ad. They all look under eighteen. All have the same sheet behind them.”

  “If the photo had been in a hotel room, we could have used the Traffickcam database to find out where it was taken.” Murphy growled into the phone. “I’m thinking of my own kids. Whoever did this . . . I want to tear them to shreds with my own hands.”

  Victoria absentmindedly pulled a leaf from an overhanging branch and smoothed it between her fingers. “But why would they take this girl? She fits into the average age range for sex trafficking, but the usual target would be a runaway, someone in the foster care system, or with a history of abuse. Someone who might not be missed right away.”

  “Agree,” Murphy said. “She doesn’t fit the profile. Maybe this group doesn’t even know who she is, they just randomly snatched her off the street because they saw an opportunity.”

  “If they don’t know who they’re taking, they won’t last long in this business. So, I hope that’s the case.” But I don’t think so. Victoria caught a flash of movement as the patio door opened.

  “Charlotte PD should be more involved now,” Murphy said. “Although they’ve also got the terrorist threat to deal with. We’re sending some people to help with that.”

  Connelly emerged from the shadows and waved. Victoria held up a finger. “I’ll stick around as long as I can be useful here. Unless you need me on another case.”

  “You’re good for now,” Murphy said. “And I appreciate you being there. Just do whatever you can. I know you will. I know how much it means to you, personally, to see a kidnapped victim returned home safely. Just keep me updated.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  She ended her call and met Connelly on the back patio. He crossed and uncrossed his legs as he typed on his phone. She plopped into the chair next to him. “Do you have a daughter, Connelly?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Your face when you saw the website.”

  “Oh.” The corners of his mouth turned up, but there was only sadness in his eyes. “No daughters. But I’ve got nieces around that age, friends with daughters. Seeing those ads hits a little close to home.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m going uptown now. The whole precinct has a briefing on the bomb scares. I’ll call you tonight,” he said. “Let you know where things stand.”

  “Oh. Okay. I might do a little snooping around some of the transit areas. See who might be willing to talk. And since we have the ‘enemy list,’ I can do some research. Make sure we’re considering all angles.”

  “Excellent.” Connelly tapped his toe while he was talking. “In fact—yeah . . . it would be a big help if you could focus on that list, maybe use your intelligence analysts and follow up on any leads. Thank you.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Back in her hotel room, Victoria snapped a photo of each wall in the bedroom to put on the TraffickCam website. The site was created to help pinpoint the location of missing girls. In pay-for-sex advertisements, pimps often posted photographs of their victims in hotel rooms. All it took was one piece of artwork or a pattern on a duvet cover for an investigator to match a hotel room from the website to one in an ad. The more hotel photos on the site, the better the chance of identifying a location.

  After uploading the pictures, she logged into the FBI’s proxy server and began researching. Several names from the Mannings’ recent past warranted further investigation. A local investor, a construction company, a rival developer—all had filed claims against Tripp’s business. Next, she made an investigative check list they could use to make sure everything was being done. Had someone looked into the uniform Emma wore in the website picture? What stores sold them? Which school or schools used them? Had they found anything in the analysis of her phone records yet? Did anything come from accessing her emails on the internet provider’s server? Were any of her friends ready to tell a different story now that she hadn’t returned home?

  She sent the list to Connelly since it was his case. She couldn’t forge ahead without knowing who was doing what. There was no sense in duplicating efforts. If the Charlotte police didn’t have the bandwidth to investigate, perhaps Jay Adams could.

  A call to Connelly’s cell resulted in his voicemail greeting. She opted to grab lunch and then drive down to the police headquarters to discuss the list of investigative items in person and make sure Connelly had them covered.

  The uptown streets were busier than yesterday, bustling with people around the stadium. Outdoor stages had been set up for bands. Vendors sold souvenirs. Restaurants and bars advertised game-weekend specials. Mixed in with the crowds were uniformed officers and bomb-sniffing dogs. Charlotte authorities were being thorough with their safety precautions. She hoped it would be enough to keep everyone safe.

  Catching sight of the city’s bus station, she made a split-second decision to stop. She paid to park and walked to the edge of the terminal. She found a spot with a good view of the area, did her best to look like a bored woman waiting for a bus, an
d began observing. Transit terminals were good places to watch for signs of inappropriate relationships between men and girls. A much older man and a strung-out younger woman. Girls who appeared nervous or afraid. Girls with bruising around their necks—some Johns liked to choke girls until they passed out before raping them. If Victoria noticed a girl sending up warning signs, the agent could see who was hanging around the girl, who was watching her from a distance. That would be someone she should talk to, or follow. Someone who might know a thing or two about what happened to Emma. She didn’t expect them to know anything for free, but once Victoria took out a wad of her own personal cash, then they might remember something.

  The station was swarming with people, most of them entering the city for the football game and related events. When a bus pulled away, she was surprised to see someone she recognized through the crowd. Jay Adams. From farther away, the PI cut a trim, athletic figure in his dress shirt and slacks. But the woman he was talking to—younger, a bit rough around the edges, in tight jeans and impractical heels—she didn’t look to be his type.

  Victoria didn’t approach Adams. The woman might have been a paid informant whose trust he had earned. But Victoria was curious. Was Adams doing the same thing she was? If so, she thought he was a damn good PI and the Mannings were lucky to have hired him. Since he was from Charlotte, he might have a better idea of who had information.

  Leaving Adams at the station, she moved on to the police headquarters. The same clerk from yesterday sat behind the front desk. A line of civilians waited. As Victoria approached, a woman in uniform stepped in front of her.

  “Excuse me.” Excitement sparkled in the young officer’s bright eyes. “Are you the FBI agent working with Detective Connelly?”

  “Yes. I’m Victoria Heslin. How did you know that?”

  “I didn’t, but I figured you might be just because well, word got around quick that you’re very pretty. You perfectly fit the description I heard.”

  “Oh.” Victoria laughed. “Someone is quite good with descriptions, then.”

  “Officer Roberta Jefferson.” She smiled. “Do you know if the tip from the boy panned out? The one who saw her at Resling Corporate Park?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

  Roberta’s face dropped. “I was working the tip line last night. A high school kid called in. He was sure he’d seen her. Same hair and outfit. He seemed credible. I was hoping it was legit.” She raised her eyes toward the ceiling. “Then again, he also asked like five times if he could be on the television news, so maybe he just wanted a few minutes of fame. And he admitted hadn’t really seen her face.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about that tip.”

  “Guess it didn’t pan out.” She shrugged. “Shame. It was the best lead we got from the tip line. So far, anyway. Oh, well.”

  The officer walked away.

  “Hold on.” Victoria said. “Do you still have the information from that call?”

  Roberta turned back. “Sure. I can forward you the email I sent Connelly. I’ve got my notes, too, if you want to see them. I’m going back to my desk now. Follow me?”

  “Yes.” Victoria followed the young woman up the stairs, weaving around desks until she stopped at one near the center of the room.

  The officer flipped over a few pages in a notebook and pointed to lines of half-print, half-cursive, parts of it circled with asterisks next to them. “Here’s what he told me. Gave me an address and everything.”

  Victoria leaned forward and ran her finger down the side of the notepad as she read. “These are good notes. You asked a lot of questions.” And the caller had answered each with solid information.

  “Sure. You know . . . just in case we couldn’t get in touch with him again.”

  Victoria took out her phone. “I’m getting directions to the address.” She typed and clicked until the information popped up. “It’s only twenty miles away.”

  “Yeah. Not far at all.”

  “Do you know if Connelly is here?”

  “He’s not,” Roberta said. “Wherever he is, if it’s not work-related, I’m sure it has something to do with his mother. I mean . . . I don’t know him all that well, but I’ve heard he just moved his mother to a new facility, it’s like the country club of nursing homes, a really nice place, but she’s having trouble adjusting.”

  Victoria called Connelly and this time he answered.

  “Hi. It’s Victoria. I’m at your headquarters looking for you.”

  “Hey. I was just dealing with some personal business.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “My mother is in an assisted living facility, but she has Alzheimer’s and needs someone with her at all times. A private care-giver.” She could hear the sigh between his words. “The woman who was supposed to show up for a shift change didn’t.”

  “Oh . . . I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve got someone now.”

  “I’m calling because I think we’ve got a good tip.”

  “From the tip line?” Faint, muffled conversation in the background filtered through the phone.

  “Yes. A teen thinks he saw Emma being carried into a building at an empty corporate park. It’s not far from here.”

  “Really? Send me the address. I’ll check it out.”

  “I just sent it. I’m going over there now to take a look.”

  “Can you wait for me?”

  “We should go as soon as possible. The tip came in last night. I’ll head out now and see if there’s anything to it.”

  “Okay. But wait for me when you get there. Don’t go into any buildings alone. You should have back-up, just in case.”

  He had a point. “Meet me there?”

  “Yes. I just need ten minutes to finish something up and I’ll be on my way. Call me when you’re almost there. And wait for me.”

  “Okay.” She was already on her way out the door. “I won’t go in until you get there. Hurry.” She waited to cross the street, then strode across the parking lot and got into her car.

  As she eased into traffic, a familiar surge of adrenaline made her feel even more like the tip was a good one. Without a flashing light, she drove as fast as she dared. As she got farther away from the football stadium and uptown area events, traffic thinned. She arrived forty-five minutes later.

  The large parking lot was empty of vehicles—a perfect place to skateboard, like the tipster said he was doing. Victoria parked toward the back, under the shade of mature trees, allowing her a wide range view. If anyone drove in or out, if anyone left any of the buildings from front doors, she would see them. She shut off the car, but barely had to wait before Connelly arrived. He stopped beside her, rolling down his window, engine running.

  “I flew over here. Glad you waited.”

  Victoria pointed to a two-story, box-like brick structure with large windows. “That’s the building.”

  Connelly studied the area. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s in there. No cars. Let’s park on the other side. Over there.” He pointed. “You have Kevlar and a weapon?”

  “Weapon, but no vest.”

  “I’ve got one for you.” He turned to stare at the building they would enter. After a few seconds he said, “Follow me.”

  Victoria started her car and followed Connelly to the far side of the building. She got out and he tossed her some equipment.

  “I did some research,” she said, strapping on the vest and studying the windows for any sign that someone might be inside. “The building should be deserted. All of the others are. Last tenants left six months ago. A company called Independence Financials.”

  Connelly grunted as he eased his vest over his shoulders.

  “There are entrances on every side of the building,” Victoria said. “We should go in through a back one.”

  They hurried around to the back of the building and stood by a locked door.

  “Here, let me.” Connelly stepped forward, taking a small pou
ch from his pocket. He removed a metal tool no more than three inches long and stuck it in the lock. He hunched over, maneuvered it around in the lock for a few seconds, then looked up. “That was easy.”

  He opened the door, yelled “Police!” and stood aside. Victoria met his eyes, Connelly nodded, and they burst in with their weapons ready.

  Swathes of sunlight beamed through upper windows into an open area. The interior space was empty of everything except office cubicles. Closed doors lined the exterior walls.

  So many places to hide.

  Victoria pointed to Connelly and gestured for him to head to the left while she went in the opposite direction. After he acknowledged her plan with a nod, she crept forward, staying low. Stopping at the first door, she flung it open, moved aside, and peered in.

  Clear.

  On her way to the next room, she kept her eyes peeled for any signs of movement or sound as she checked the space between the rows of cubicles.

  Across the floor, Connelly disappeared into a room, then reappeared. His eyes settled on hers for the briefest instant as he gave her a quick thumbs up.

  Minutes later, they met directly across from their initial point of entry.

  “All clear,” Connelly said.

  Victoria remained alert, listening and scanning. “Let’s check upstairs.”

  They took the concrete stairwell up and emerged on another floor identical to the first. Outside the windows, clouds moved over the sun, plunging the interior into shadows. Connelly went left and Victoria went right.

  They met again where they started. Connelly’s shoulders were relaxed as he slid his gun into his holster. “There’s no one here.”

  “We’re not finished.” Victoria kept her voice low. “There’s a lower level to search. She could be tied up somewhere.”

  They went down two flights of stairs to the lower level. Victoria pulled a heavy metal door partway open with a noisy creak, and stood back, listening. The windowless basement was completely dark. Hearing nothing, she flicked on a row of light switches and headed down.

  The lower level was mostly one large and unfinished space. But there were three doors on the opposite side. With Connelly following behind her, she stayed close to the wall, passing food wrappers, cigarette butts, empty soda cans, and a People magazine. She whispered, “Someone’s been in the basement. There was no trash on the other floors.”