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Milo stepped out of The Pink and scanned the immediate area. Other than the truck parked across the street, he saw nothing to be concerned about. He motioned for Stojanovic to come out. Once his boss was settled in the SUV Milo made one more sweep of the area before entering the vehicle.
Smiling to himself, he pulled out of the club parking lot.
“What’s so humorous?” Stojanovic asked from the passenger seat.
“That Indian cop.”
Stojanovic chuckled. “The politically correct term is Native American.”
Milo snorted.
“What about him?”
“He’s following us.”
“Did you expect that he wouldn’t? He’s looking for his family. Most men would move heaven and hell to protect their offspring.”
Milo didn’t voice his thoughts on his boss’s words. Unlike Iron Hawk, Stojanovic’s behavior was predictably unpredictable.
“Should I lose him?”
“No.” Stojanovic settled deeper into the leather seat and closed his eyes. “Don’t worry about Captain Iron Hawk. I’ll deal with him.”
∞
John pulled the truck out onto wet asphalt, allowing three cars to come between him and the SUV.
He’d made Milo as soon as Stojanovic had introduced himself. With every mention of his henchman’s name, Stojanovic’s eyelids had twitched. Once the older man had glanced involuntarily toward the door. Tying that all together with the description Marti had given him, it didn’t take much deduction on John’s part to figure out the young guy standing guard at the office door was the elusive Milo.
John’s cell vibrated on the passenger seat. Keeping his eyes on the road and the vehicle ahead of him, he brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah.”
“Chief, it’s me.”
“What’s up, Oscar?”
Milo kept the SUV at a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow.
“We just found Lettie Mae Martin’s body.”
John frowned. “Lettie?”
“You know. The one that lived down the cannon road. Always drunk. You had me drive her home one night from the Iron Café.
Images of a tiny woman with gray braids and rounded shoulders popped into his mind.
“What happened?”
“Throat slit.”
John’s heart gave a queer pitch. His eyes sharpened on the vehicle he tailed. The murder had Milo’s signature all over it. “How long has she been dead?”
“The coroner’s not sure. A day or two.”
“Who found her body?”
“Emma.”
“What? How?”
“Emma’s been taking her food every now and then. You know, to make sure she eats. Well, she went out to Lettie’s place, and when she didn’t answer, Emma used a key that Lettie had given her.”
“You drive on the premises?” John asked.
Silence. “Huh, yeah.”
John cursed under his breath. “I guess Emma did too?”
“She didn’t know it was a crime scene.”
John scrubbed his hand over his face. “Has it rained there?”
“Not yet.”
Milo’s vehicle turned right. John sped through the light to make the turn then slowed again, keeping distance between his truck and the SUV.
“Have Ricky from the coroner’s office check out the tire tracks. Tell him to look for ones similar to the big ones out at the trailer.”
“You think it’s the same guy?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Okay, Captain.”
Why would Milo kill Lettie? The woman couldn’t have identified him. Once under the influence, she wouldn’t have recognized her own mother.
“Does she have a car?” John asked.
“Huh, yeah. But it’s a piece of junk.”
“Does it run?”
“Think so.”
“Check it out for prints.”
So Milo had probably been on the reservation at least forty-eight hours ago, probably lying low at the Martin place. And maybe even driving her car so he could keep a low profile. Which meant the surveillance video from the drugstore would be useless.
“Iles working the case?”
“Yeah. He’s been riding my tail about you. Told him I hadn’t heard from you. Guess he didn’t believe me. Told me to tell you that you have until six to get your ass back on the reservation. His words, not mine.”
John grunted. “Tell him I got the message. Keep me posted. Let me know if Ricky thinks the tire tracks are the same.”
“Will do.”
John disconnected. The SUV kept a steady pace, well within the speed limit. Gaze still locked on the vehicle now four car lengths ahead, John called Sommers. “I think I just met Milo.”
“How do you know?” Sommers’ voice on the other ended was muffled. John could hear the ruffling of food wrappers.
“Just a gut feeling.”
“The guy didn’t introduce himself?”
“Would you?” John asked.
“Nope. Guess not. So what are you going to do now?”
“Follow the son of a bitch until he leads me to my daughter and girlfriend.”
“Be careful, John. They may have played nice back at the club, but those two are deadly. Twice a month we pull bodies from Belle Fourche Reservoir we can lay directly at Stojanovic’s door.”
∞
Zora woke to see a young girl’s body being carried out. Her head lolled over the arm of a thickset man and her dark hair trailed on the dirty floor. Something about the way her limbs flopped about told Zora the girl was dead.
Struggling to a sitting position, Zora surveyed the room. Five girls remained—all asleep on the same type of thin mattress that appeared to have been salvaged from a back alley. She scooted until her body pressed against the cold wall.
Her stomach grumbled. She’d been brought in just before dawn. Judging from the narrow window located close to the ceiling, it was dark again. She’d been here at least twelve hours maybe twenty-four—hard to tell. What had happened to Laurie in that time? Did John have a clue where they were?
Questions tumbled around in her brain about what had happened the previous night. Where had Danny been? Why had he left Laurie alone with the man who’d taken them?
The feel of cold fingers slithered along Zora’s spine. Had Danny been in on the kidnapping? Maybe she’d been the intended victim all alone. After all, she’d killed his father. No. That didn’t make sense. Danny would have no way of knowing she’d come after her car.
All this was useless speculation. Danny had done nothing to save her or Laurie. It was up to Zora to save them. If John’s daughter was being treated like the girls in this room, then she might not have very long to live. Zora needed a plan.
At the moment there were five girls left all in varying degrees of poor health. From the faint prayers that rose on the stale air, Zora could hear at least two languages other than English. Where had these girls come from? From the clues their kidnapper had dropped, she, Laura and these five pitiful women were to be sex slaves.
The thought made her skin crawl and her empty stomach cramp. She swallowed down the urge to vomit. She didn’t have time. She needed to think.
Since none of the girls were shackled, drugs were probably being used to control them. She remembered how sleepy and woozy she’d felt earlier in the day. The creep had also given her something at the trailer.
Zora was so hungry she could smell food before the door opened. Two men entered. One pushed a cart loaded with food and a large thermos. The other guy stood guard—weapon drawn.
Everyone got a sandwich and a plastic cup filled with some liquid. Zora waited her turn, watching the girls gobble down the sandwiches like starving dogs.
When the cart stopped at her mattress she tried to catch the guy’s eye. She hoped to appeal to his sense of decency. Conscious of the armed guard at the door, she whispered, “Please help us.”
He didn’t make eye contact. He dropped the sandwich at the edge of her mattress. “Please.” She reached for his arm and in the process knocked over her cup of water.
“Let go of me.” He shook her off and continued down to the next mattress.
The sheer horror of her situation hit her again. She blinked back tears. She wouldn’t cry. She’d find a way out of here. There had to be a way out. As hungry as she’d been a few minutes ago, the desire to eat had vanished.
She leaned against the wall and wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees. She thought about being lost in that cave last year. No one knew she was missing. The thought of dying in the darkness alone had been terrifying. This was different, maybe because of Laurie. Maybe because of all the other lives caught in this web of human suffering.
She sent a silent prayer out to John. He’d come for them. Just as he’d come for her in the cave. He never stopped working on a case, never stopped giving his best. He wouldn’t rest until he found her and Laurie. Knowing that truth made her feel better. She had to keep up her strength, and—and if he didn’t come she needed to be ready with a plan of her own.
She crawled back to the end of her mattress and picked up her sandwich. She bit into the food with a ferocity that bordered on savagery. The meat and bread tasted like heaven. On her third bite her stomach was full enough for her to slow down and look around. The girls were all asleep. All the girls—not just a few. How could they have been groaning and crying fifteen minutes ago and now be peacefully asleep? They’d just eaten their sandwiches, and—
Understanding dawned slowly. She glanced down at her sandwich. “Shit.” She dropped the meat and bread as though she held hot coals, but it was too late. Her limbs already felt lethargic. Already her thoughts had slowed to thick molasses.
Drugged. There were drugs in the food.
The door to the warehouse opened. She heard voices outside.
Help me. Two people stepped into the room. The images wavered like heat escaping from the asphalt on New York streets during summer.
She tried to raise her arm to attract their attention, but the limb lay rubbery and useless by her side.
The steps grew closer, but it was too late. Her body crumbled onto the mattress, and her eyes drifted closed.
Help me, was her last thought before her mind tumbled into darkness.
∞
John was developing a massive headache. The muscles in his shoulders were as tight as boulders and worry churned in his stomach like acid. He sat in Emma’s truck across from Stojanovic’s forty-story office tower and watched the entrance/exit to the underground parking garage.
John scrolled through his contacts until he came to Andi Callahan’s number.
“It’s John.”
“Hey.”
He could tell from the faraway sound of her voice that she was deep in thought. In the academy, she approached a problem with her full attention and could be blind to any distractions.
“I’m in Rapid City. Things have gone from bad to crazy. My daughter’s been kidnapped.”
“John, I’m so sorry. Are there any leads?”
“None. That’s why I’m calling you. I think her kidnapping is tied to the murder of a Cheyenne Henry, whose body we discovered out at an abandon quarry on the reservation.”
“Connected how?”
“It appears my daughter’s old boyfriend has ties to the Serbian mafia.”
“Wow. Who is the agent working the case with you?”
“Howard Iles.”
“What does he think?”
“He doesn’t. I’m out here on my own, Andi.”
“John.” She dragged his name out like a disappointed teacher.
He ignored the reprimand. “Do you have any leads in the Internet chat room thing?”
“I’m not sure. I spoke with a couple of other agents who’ve been monitoring some of the more popular teen chat rooms. There are a couple of actress and modeling threads—people claiming to have contacts in the top modeling agencies. At this point we don’t know whether this is a lure or if the claim is legit. We’re still checking it out.”
That theory didn’t work for Destiny Little Feather but might have worked for Katie or Cheyenne. But Robbie had said someone had a contact with The Voice. Could this be the same person playing on the girls’ secret desires? Were all these girls lured away by one person over the course of several months? Since Danny knew the area, was he the contact?
“Thanks, Andi. I appreciate you working on—”
The black SUV that Milo had been driving earlier appeared at the exit.
“Got to go, Andi. Call me if anything important comes up. And thanks.”
He disconnected then followed Milo, who was in the vehicle without Stojanovic, back to The Pink.
It was now two o’clock, and a few more cars filled the lot.
A driving bass intensified his headache when he stepped into the club ten minutes after Milo. A bored young woman stared off into space as she gyrated around a pole. Two men sat close to the stage, staring slack-jawed at her performance. A third sat at the bar.
“Milo back there?” John asked the bartender he’d seen earlier. He pointed in the direction of the door that led to the offices. She nodded and went back to mixing drinks.
When he moved into the corridor and closed the door behind him the music dropped to a muffled thud.
“What do you want?” Milo didn’t even lift his head when John entered the office.
“Answers to some questions,” John said, advancing further into the small space.
“I don’t have any answers.”
“You don’t know the questions.”
Milo leaned back in his desk chair and smiled. John wanted to wipe the smirk off the guy’s face with his fist. Instead he tried to stay focused. Losing his cool wouldn’t find his loved ones. “You heard me tell Stojanovic that I’m searching for two missing women?”
“Yeah.” Milo produced a pocket knife from his drawer and began to clean his nails. This guy had a real love affair with knives.
“The FBI is also working the case.”
Milo stopped cleaning his nails and angled a glance up at John. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
John shrugged. “Just thought you should know in case your books aren’t straight.” He glanced around the office. “They’d close this place down while they investigated. In the meantime, you’d be so far under the jail, your mother would forget you were there.”
Milo barked out a laugh. “And you think Stojanovic would let that happen?”
“I think Stojanovic would let you take the fall if the FBI closed this place down.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He continued to dig beneath the short nailbed.
“Does Stojanovic supply you with girls?”
Milo glanced up from his grooming and smiled that shit-eating grin. “I supply my own girls.”
I bet you do.
“Where do they come from?”
Milo seemed to debate whether to answer the question then must have come to a decision. “Come in off the street. Got more applications than I know what to do with. Girls from all over the four-state area.”
“What do you do with the girls who don’t make the cut?”
“Every girl makes the cut. If she can wiggle her hips, she’s hired. The patrons aren’t particular. They just want to see flesh. And plenty of it.”
This guy was a cockroach that John wanted to crush beneath his boot. He unfolded his clenched fist and tried to get control of his anger. “Get a lot of Native American girls applying?”
“A few.”
“Any working here now?”
Milo just smiled but didn’t answer.
“Ever heard the name Destiny Little Feather or Katie White Cloud?”
“Can’t say that I have. Indian girls?”
Not trusting himself to speak, John nodded. The off-handed way Milojevic said Indian made John want to jump across the desk and strangle the guy.
“Them the two you mentioned earlier?” Milo inspected his nails.
John’s conversation with Stojanovic seemed a lifetime ago. “No. They were a different two—my daughter and my girlfriend.”
“Sorry for your loss.” The words coming from anyone else would have been a condolence, but from Milo the words were a taunt.
“Do you get any runaways?”
“Is that what those girls are? Runaways?”
“Maybe.”
“Nope.”
“Do you check out the girls applying for jobs?”
“Always. They’re all twenty-one.”
John knew that was a blatant lie. He wondered why the Serb answered his questions. Something in the guy’s arrogance said he thought he was untouchable.
“What do you do with the applications of the girls you don’t hire?”
“I throw them away.”
John doubted it. He’d bet Stojanovic reviewed the applications and took the pick of the girls for his purposes, and if the females currently working the poles were an example, gave The Pink the leftovers.
“Thanks for your help.” John scribbled down his cell number and slid it across the desk toward Milo. “If you think of anything call me.”
The guy grunted.
As John exited the office, he turned in time to see Milo drop his number into the trash.
Out in the main part of the club, a different song pulsed out of the speakers and a different bored girl gyrated to the beat. This one didn’t even keep time to the music. But it didn’t matter to the patrons who had grown from three guys to about ten. The girl’s anatomy was enhanced, and that kept the men entranced.
“Pepsi,” John said to the bartender.
She placed a glass with ice on a napkin in front of him and filled it with liquid from the nozzle.
John sipped his drink and pretended to watch the show. He felt the bartender’s gaze on him. He turned around in time to catch her eye. “Not very good.”
“The drink?” she asked.
John smiled. “Yeah, the Pepsi.”
She shrugged and went back to wiping down the already clean counter.
“You ever up there?” he asked, jerking his head back toward the stage.
She barked out a laugh. “To have those disgusting creeps drool all over me? No thanks.”
“Bartending pay well?”
“Well enough.”
John studied her face with its high cheekbones. Her brunette roots gave testimony against the straw-colored hair. “Ever live on the reservation?”
“Nope. Grew up right here. But my mother was from Little River.”
“So am I.” He studied her. What did she know about the real goings-on around this place?
“Listen, I need—” John stopped when the door to the office opened and Milo strolled out.
“Get back to work,” he barked at the girl.
Her lips tightened, and she shot John an embarrassed glance from beneath her lashes. She walked down to the opposite end of the bar. Slamming small bowls down onto the counter, she began filling them with pretzels.
“Stay and catch the next act. She might be your type,” Milo said, before making his way down to the bartender.
John finished his drink, watching the interaction between Milo and the girl. He barked something at her John couldn’t hear. She cowered. John scribbled his cell number on a napkin, wrapped a five in the folds and placed it down below the counter.
∞
John glanced at the gas gauge. Empty. He drove for a couple of miles before spotting a gas station. At the pump he inserted his debit card. A See the Attendant message flashed on the screen.
Inside the station, he handed the female clerk his card.
She swiped it twice. “Sorry, sir. Card’s been declined.” She passed it back. John stared at the bit of plastic as though it could tell him his financial history. There should be at least a few hundred in the account. Frowning, he took the card and placed it back into his wallet. He had about fifteen dollars in cash. He handed ten to the attendant. He wouldn’t get very far on four or five gallons of gas.
Once he’d pumped he pulled the truck over to the end of the lot and placed a call to his bank. He waited for a good ten minutes, being passed from person to person.
“Mr. Iron Hawk, this is Reginald Powell, the bank manager. What can we do for you?”
Bank manager? Why did his small account require the attention of the manager? John explained the situation, gave Powell the pertinent identifying information for the account and waited for the guy to tell him there’d been some mistake.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Iron Hawk, your account has been frozen.”
At first John wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Frozen?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?” Even as he asked the question, his brain was thinking and disposing of possible scenarios.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the reason. All I can tell you is the account is frozen.”
“What about my credit card?”
“That too, sir.”
What the fuck?
John disconnected without saying good bye. He tapped and flipped the debit card on his thigh. He didn’t owe child support. He had no garnishments against him, and he didn’t owe the IRS. He stopped flipping the card. The IRS. A Federal agency.
Goddammit.
He speed-dialed a number.
“Good to hear from you.”
“Iles, why’d you freeze my banking account?”
“You did that yourself, John.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the quarter of a million dollars sitting in your checking account.”
A tan SUV pulled up to a pump, the doors opened and kids poured out like rats leaping from a sinking ship. A quarter of a million dollars?
“Is this some stunt you’re playing to get me back on the reservation and off this case?” John asked.
“We wouldn’t waste the taxpayer’s money. I issued a be on the lookout on you about thirty minutes ago for questioning in the murder of Danny Matisse.”
“I didn’t—”
“This money that mysteriously appeared in your account looks suspiciously like a pay-off.”
The headache John had had all morning suddenly took on the proportions of a herd of buffalo thundering across the plain. In order for Iles to freeze his account, a judge would have had to sign off on some type of warrant. What evidence had Iles manufactured against him?
“You know I had nothing to do with that boy’s death.”
“Do I? I have several eyewitnesses who heard you threaten Matisse less than twenty-four hours before his death. You have a history with him. Things could have gotten out of hand.”
“And I slit his throat?” John stopped speaking, letting that vision sink into the FBI agent’s head. “That takes a cold-blooded killer, which I’m not.”
“Come in and we’ll talk about this.”
John knew if he went back to the reservation he’d lose precious hours, even days, in the search for Laurie and Zora. “We have missing women out there, Iles. Why are you wasting time on some racked up charges? Your priorities are twisted.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Iles said. “Once the trail led off the reservation it became exclusively an FBI investigation.”
“Then investigate. I’ll even give you a clue. Start looking at a Serb by the name of Ratimir Stojanovic.” John disconnected.
Iles had no way of knowing what vehicle John was driving, so Emma’s truck was not a problem. The problem was he had no money for gas.
But since he’d put the last of his money in the gas tank, he needed a vehicle with a full tank of gas.
∞
Laurie had been dozing when the bedroom door opened. She squinted against the harsh light from the hall. Silhouetted against the light was the lady from earlier in the day, the one who’d brought her and Destiny food.
“Time to get up, ladies.” The woman clapped her hands together.
Time to get up? Laurie glanced at the barred windows. Curtains had been drawn across the panes, making the room dark. What time was it?
The overhead light popped on. The saccharine sweet voice belonged to Freddy Krueger’s mother. The woman was downright scary. She flipped the blanket off Laurie’s body, all the time smiling like a damn Halloween mask.
“Get dressed. Both of you. Make yourself presentable.” She tossed lacy garments at each of them.
“Where are we?” Laurie asked. “What do you want with us? You can’t hold us against our will.”
Freddy Krueger’s mother ignored her questions. “Do you want me to send for Milo?”
Milo. The psychopath who’d slit Danny’s throat. He’d poked his head in their bedroom this afternoon, grinning like a damn hyena and licking his lips like he’d seen a tasty meal.
She scrambled off the bed. “Get up,” she hissed at Destiny.
They dressed quickly in lingerie held together by two strings. The saving grace was an equally lacy wrap that Laurie clenched around her body.
“Come with me.” The woman marched out of the bedroom. Destiny looked at Laurie, the girl’s eyes wide in her round face. She looked as scared as Laurie felt.
Laurie hadn’t been out of this room since she’d arrived. She didn’t know where she was or even if she was in South Dakota. When she tried to walk, her legs crumbled. Destiny caught her before she face-planted onto the gray industrial carpet.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Destiny whispered. “I got a bad feeling about this.”
Laurie could only stare at the girl. Duh. Was she stupid? They weren’t here for a vacation.
They must have taken too long, because Milo appeared in the door. In two strides, he lifted Laurie up in his bulging arms and was almost jogging with her down the hall.
“Put me down.” She tried to be commanding, but her voice wavered.
He didn’t look at her or slow his pace. The hall opened out into a room with high ceilings and plants everywhere—a conservatory. Laurie had seen a movie with a room like this.
There was another person in the room besides Mrs. Krueger. An old man. One older than her father but with short white hair and a dark suit.
Milo set her on her feet and went back down the hall probably in search of Destiny. The girl stumbled into the room a few seconds later with Milo behind her.
“Milo, see about the other girls.”
With a nod, the psychopath disappeared through another door. The white-haired man rose from a fan-backed chair and strolled over to Laurie and Destiny. He inspected Destiny first. His lips tightened, and then he moved on Laurie. Her heart was beating so hard against her ribs she knew he could hear it.
He seemed to take inventory of every one of her features. “Lose the robe.”
“What?” Instead of obeying his command, Laurie clenched the wrap tighter around her body. If she removed this bit of cloth she’d be practically naked.
She was saved by the arrival of three young girls who shuffled in like robots.
The man tossed Mrs. Krueger a glance.
She said, “It was necessary.”
What was necessary?
She didn’t have time to think about what was necessary, because White Hair’s attention was back on her. He ripped the wrap from her body. “Hey!” She made a grab for the lacy robe, but he was faster. He tossed the garment over his shoulder.
Goosebumps popped out on her exposed skin. A thong covered the patch of hair between her legs and a flimsy bra, which showed the impressions of her nipples, completed the outfit.
Without taking his eyes off her, White Hair asked, “Is she a virgin?”
No one spoke. Laurie almost laughed, glad her father couldn’t hear the answer. Tears pricked her eyes. She wished he was here. Her father wouldn’t let this man look at her as though she were a piece of meat.
“No, Mr. Stojanovic,” Mrs. Krueger said. “She is not a virgin.”
Anger flared briefly in his dark blue eyes. The lines around his mouth deepened. “Too bad. She would have fetched a small fortune. Now”—he flicked one of her nipples with his thick fingers—“not so much.”
Laurie could barely catch her breath. They were going to sell her? She glanced around wildly as though there was someone she could appeal to. Someone who would protect her. Someone who’d stop this crazy madman. But no one paid her any attention. Their attention was on the girl to her left.
The girl’s chest barely moved. Her head drooped. Mr. Stojanovic tipped the girl’s chin up, and he stared into her face. “You’ve given her too much.”
“I—”
He interrupted Mrs. Krueger. “The drug requires a delicate touch.” His voice was quiet, but something underneath his tone made Laurie not want to meet his gaze.
“By tomorrow morning, I want them manageable but not comatose. They ship out then.”
“Ship out?” The words came out as a whisper, but Mr. Stojanovic heard them.
He smiled. The movement of his lips didn’t make her feel warm and fuzzy. “To Eastern Europe. I have a buyer there.” He ran a finger down the side of her face. “He’ll love you, even though you’re soiled.”
Destiny let out a cry.
Laurie couldn’t say a word. Her breath and brain were frozen in horror.
