The refuge/halfway house that Angie Garcia had set up for former victims of trafficking lay on a quiet street in Sun Valley.
For security reasons, there was no sign outside. Nor did the address appear anywhere on the organization’s website. There were no pictures. A street view on Google Maps would only turn up the address, and an image of a nondescript two-story-building that looked like a youth hostel.
The dozen or so girls and women who lived inside were sworn never to reveal the location to anyone, not even a family member or close friend. A breach of the rule led to immediate exclusion.
None of the women who had passed through had ever been excluded. They all knew, often from bitter experience, the consequences of one of their pimps finding out where they were.
Lock had come to the refuge a week before Christmas to review their security. He’d got talking with Angie and she’d mentioned that they also helped families locate trafficked girls and women and always needed additional help.
The more Angie had told him about her story and then the stories of the women she helped, the angrier Lock had become. He’d returned home to the beautiful apartment in the Marina that he shared with his attorney fiancée, Carmen.
It had been Carmen’s suggestion that he do a little pro bono work to keep his mind sharp. Angie’s details had come via one of the investigators that Carmen’s law firm used. He’d agreed to review her security with no idea that it would lead to anything else, never mind tracking down a likely trafficked fourteen-year-old.
Yet here he was.
He watched Angie walk inside and got back in his car. He pulled the tablet computer from the glove compartment and turned it over in his hand, wondering what secrets it contained and whether it would lead him straight to Kristin Miller before anything truly bad happened to her.
One thing he knew from talking to Angie. The time between a girl being handed to a trafficker and being put to work wasn’t long. Sometimes a few days. Sometimes less.
It had seemed almost surreal when she’d told him. She had assured him it was how it worked.
He looked at the time. It was late. He dug out his phone and started to make calls. There had to be at least one tech geek out there who wouldn’t mind making some extra money on Christmas Eve.