She did what she could toward making herself presentable, even digging into her rarely used makeup to cover the worst of the bruising.
Probably, she admitted, not the best idea to go full-contact sparring before a dinner meeting.
But meeting was the key word, she reminded herself.
She dragged on jeans. Since Roarke wore them, they ranked appropriate. And since she had some bruising on the ribs, she used a thin cold pack on them, then chose a loose shirt.
No time for a few passes with a healing wand. Besides, Roarke usually did that for her. Not this time, she thought as she started downstairs. The best they’d manage tonight was—what would he call it? A veneer of civility.
That sounded just like him.
She stepped out onto the patio.
A table set for four with dishes of summer blue held a squat, clear pitcher full of yellow flowers. Napkins with yellow and blue stripes poofed out of pale yellow water glasses. Wineglasses had blue stems, and tea candles snuggled in clear holders.
More flowers spilled and speared from pots arranged on one side of the patio.
A portable bar and Roarke’s big-ass shiny grill stood on the other side. Between them, a small table held a variety of fancy canapés.
It all looked cheerful and festive—exactly the opposite of her current mood.
Roarke poured something frothy and slushy with crushed ice from a pitcher into a birdbath glass.
“Try this.”
She decided she’d welcome anything containing alcohol. One sip gave her tart, cold, and was more than welcome.
“It’s good. It looks nice out here.”
“We should think about having a cookout for friends before we go on vacation.”
Veneer of civility, she thought. He was a master, but she could coat it on, too.
“Okay.”
“Summerset’s seen to the rest of the meal. We have it in the cold or warm compartments of the grill, so we’ve only to set it all out once we’re ready for the meal.”
Though the droid hadn’t delivered any gut punches, her stomach felt knotted up and far from interested in food. But she said, civilly, “Sure.”
“You might want to come up with more than one-word answers or statements when the Miras get here.”
She gave him cool look for cool look. “I will. See? There’s two words already.”
She decided it proved lucky for both of them when Summerset brought the Miras out.
To show her mettle, Eve stepped up first. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”
“More than happy to. Everything’s so pretty!” Mira, pretty herself in a breezy summer dress blooming with little purple flowers, gave Eve a quick hug before turning to Roarke.
“Nothing like a cookout on a summer night.” Dennis Mira wore khakis and a green shirt Eve thought his wife had picked for him, as it matched his wonderful eyes.
His gentle kiss under her aching eye told her the makeup deal hadn’t really worked. His follow-up hug wasn’t quick, and Eve had to stop herself before she burrowed into the comfort of it.
He smelled like orange slices.
“Right this minute I’m envying you all this space. Your gardens!” Mira took the glass from Roarke. “We’d never have the talent or time to maintain it, but I can stand here, admire, and envy. Well, this is delicious,” she added after a sip from her birdbath.
Dennis smiled his dreamy, distracted smile as he accepted his own, but kept an arm around Eve just another moment.
Her stress level plummeted; her stomach unknotted.
The veneer wasn’t as hard to maintain as she’d feared, over frothy drinks on a warm summer evening. She got through what she understood as required small talk.
Flowers, summer plans, Mavis’s new house project.
If she thought about the board and book she’d yet to set up in her home office, she did her best to lock it down.
Then with the grill smoking, and Roarke and Dennis hovering over the steaks, Mira opened the door.
“I’ve read the files. I’m sorry we didn’t have the time or opportunity to consult today. Or I would be if I wasn’t getting a steak dinner out of it.”
“That was mostly on me anyway.”
“No word yet, I assume, on the second missing girl?”
“Nothing. We’ve got the alert out, and we’re plastering up her photo.”
“You’re afraid they caught her—or worse.”
She couldn’t discount it, but … “If it was worse, if they killed her, we’d have found the body. No reason to hide it, or try to, since they left one out in the open.”
“I agree. If she managed to get away, it’s more likely she’d go home than to the police. And it’s very unlikely she’d go home.”
“Some of the blood was hers,” Eve began, then saw Roarke transferring steaks to a platter.
She did her duty, pulled platters and bowls from the compartments. Grilled vegetables, roasted potatoes, slices of tomato and mozzarella, crusty little rolls.
“Everything looks amazing.” Mira lifted her glass of the red wine Roarke poured. “Compliments to the chef.”
“You did the vegetables on the grill?” Dennis asked.
“Those compliments go to Summerset. But I may give that a try next time. We’re going to put together a party, a cookout, hopefully before we leave for Europe.”
“It’s all in the marinade,” Dennis told him.
“Is it now?”
“It’s key.” He sampled some of the grilled zucchini Eve hoped to avoid. “Summerset knows the key.”
More small talk, Eve thought, resigned, and focused on her steak.
“Do you eat out here often in the good weather?” Mira wondered.
“My office, usually.”
“Working dinners.” Mira reached over to pat Dennis’s hand. “We often do the same. If not my work, Dennis’s, or both.”
“We live the lives we live.” Dennis just smiled at her.
“We do and, so, I agree with your conclusions, Eve, that the second girl—Dorian Gregg—did not kill Mina Cabot. Morris’s report, the forensics all lead to those conclusions. Although the evidence isn’t conclusive, and we may find Dorian was and is a willing participant, my profile of her says differently.”
“Why? Here’s where I get hung up on that,” Eve continued before Mira answered. “Even though I lean, and lean hard, away from her willing participation. She came from a crappy apartment in a crappy building in a crappy neighborhood. She has a history of petty theft. Her mother was abusive, and Jesus, her caseworker ranks even worse for me.”
“Yes, and we’ll discuss that and her.”
“So they snatched her, yeah, off the streets most likely. But once she’s in it? French manicures, pretty underwear, good food—and I bet decent living conditions. All she has to do is go along, pay for it by doing some porn—if we’re right on that. Pose for some pictures, maybe end up in some fancy house somewhere.”
Eve shrugged a shoulder. “She’s a kid, what does she know about it? It might look and feel pretty damn good after what she got away from.”
“She had no choice with her mother—and the caseworker failed her, the system gave her no choice. Why would she accept, even with the questionable advantages, having no choice again?”
Mira paused. “And I believe she knows all too much about it, more than a child that age should in a perfect world. More, I’d imagine, than Mina did when she was taken.”
“It had to be a lot riskier to abduct someone like Mina than Dorian. And that tells me they’re not the first, the only.”
“I agree. It all strikes as very organized and sophisticated. The outlay to keep young girls—to feed them, and well, to house them in a way to prevent discovery or escape, the clothing, all the rest. It would be considerable.”
“So the profits have to make it worth the outlay. The porn trade, you can make some serious money—but not enough for this. It has to be trafficking.”
“I agree again. If you consider these girls a product for profit?” Mira shifted to Roarke. “As a businessman, you’d have to invest—time, effort, money—into creating that product.”
“Of course. You’d also create a budget for that investment based on profit projections, otherwise your outlay may—likely will—eat into those profits, even erase them.”
“What if you have a lot of the same product—kind of product?” Eve wondered. “Like a vehicle. A car. You can have different paint jobs, accessories, and all that. They’re all basically the same—built the same, but you can customize them, right? Same basic budget, but you factor in the cost—and profit—on the fancier add-ons. Right?”
Studying her, Roarke sat back with his wine. “You’re meaning a sort of assembly-line operation. A car—a girl. Same basic make. Young, female, human. But your victim was white, the second girl mixed race. Choices for the … consumer.”
“I’m thinking maybe it doesn’t cost twice as much to feed and clothe and house two girls instead of one. Or ten times as much for ten. You’ve already got the housing, so that doesn’t change. Food spreads out. I guess clothes multiply per cost per kid, but—”
“Not necessarily,” Dennis put in. “We sponsor some sports teams, right, Charlie? Grandchildren,” he added with that sweet smile. “If you order two dozen jerseys, they cost less per item than if you order one, or six, for instance.”
“A quart of paint costs more per volume than a gallon,” Roarke said.
“More product, more profit?”
“In theory. But these are children, not cars or widgets.”
“I’m aware,” Eve responded in the same flat tone. “I’m trying to get a handle on a possible business plan.”
“And the human element must be factored in,” Roarke countered. “They’re abducted, so not willing participants. They may not eat what they’re told when they’re told.”
“Take food away for a day or two and most children will eat what you provide.”
Roarke nodded at Mira. “True enough,” he said, as he’d known hunger as a child.
“With the victim,” Mira continued, “they had months to control her, to indoctrinate her. Evidence indicates she was killed during an attempted escape, so indoctrination failed. But as there were no indications of restraints or physical punishments, I conclude she was controlled—or careful enough to allow her captors to believe her controlled.”
She held up a hand as Roarke poured more wine into her glass. “Just half, thanks. Now, as to the second girl. Dorian. She may have betrayed Mina, helped stop the escape.”
“Narc on another kid,” Eve added, as she’d thought of it. “Get a reward.”
“Yes. However, Dorian’s personal experience leads toward a distrust of authority, and one very unlikely to report on another child. My opinion is they worked together. While Dorian may have enjoyed the attention, the food, the nicer materials, and so on, freedom is a driving force with her personality. Distrust of authority, and freedom.”
“No freedom when authority’s in control.”
“Not in her experience. I believe she was certainly cagey enough to fully understand her fate if she remained held.”
“She’d be sold,” Eve concluded.
“With no choice in the matter. No ability to refuse the whims and wishes of whoever bought her. And that brings me to the blood, hers on Mina’s clothing. She may have been hurt during the escape, but—”
“Mina wasn’t wearing those pants when she got out.”
“Exactly.” Mira nodded at Eve. “Tending these—in their view—products would also require medical attention. Tests to be certain of the girls’ health, regular tox screenings, I’d think.”
“Blood tests.”
“Most certainly, which would make it a simple matter to plant the blood.”
“After they transferred the body from the kill zone to where she’d be easily found. The kid got away,” Eve murmured. “She got out. Why else try to set her up for the murder? Wouldn’t it diminish her worth as a product to have the cops ID her, search for her? It damages her. I should’ve thought of that. You can’t sell a damaged product for full price. She got out, and that makes her the perfect fall guy.”
Eve closed her eyes a moment. “She doesn’t trust cops, why would she? They’d know that. They might even have a shrink on tap—bet they do. She’s not coming to us. We’re as much the enemy as the people who grabbed her up. She’d already been tossed in juvie once, why risk it again?”
She looked at Mira. “Freedom’s the driver, I get that. She’ll find a hole and hide, or she’ll run. Anything else is a cage, one kind or another.”
“You understand these girls in a way few can, not just from training or a natural insight, but from your own experiences. That makes you uniquely qualified for this case. And makes it very, very difficult for you. Both of you,” Mira qualified. “You can see and feel through them. You may struggle to maintain your objectivity as well as your emotional balance.”
“I have to see and feel through the victim to do my job. It’s how I do my job. Through the killer, too. This isn’t any different.”
If she heard the defensive tone in Eve’s voice—and of course she did—Mira let it pass.
“Your empathy is as key to your process as your instincts and training. But this is different, and it’s deeper. I hope you’ll come to me if you feel the need.”
“I’m fine. I’m good. I can handle it.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
She’d closed her hand around her water glass before Dennis spoke. Now simply sat very still.
“They don’t give a choice. They speak to you, these girls. They all speak to you, every victim you stand over and for. But you hear these girls in your head, your heart. How could you ignore them, pretend not to hear?”
Her chest went tight, and she breathed out. “I can’t.”
“You wouldn’t be who you are if you could, or did. It costs you, of course it does, but turning away would cost so much more.”
He poured more wine into her glass, then a tiny bit more into his own. “Charlotte and I often talk through our day and our worries. Sometimes we have to do that hypothetically, but we have our codes. Don’t we, Charlie?”
“Yes.” She closed a hand over his. “We do.”
“I can’t count the number of times over the years I’ve worried about her. What she does, what she sees. It often hurts her, what she does, what she sees. And so I hurt. You understand.”
“I do, yes,” Roarke said.
“We don’t have a choice, either, do we? We fell in love with strong, courageous women, women dedicated to facing down the monsters in the world, whatever the cost.
“We tell our children monsters aren’t real. But they are. You’ll find this girl, I’m sure of that. And you’ll find the monsters. Roarke and Charlie will help you. You have to let them.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to close off help than to open up to it.”
Now he smiled, and his eyes danced. “I could tell you stories.”
Mira laughed, leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Don’t.”
They had strawberry shortcake with fresh whipped cream and coffee, then at Mira’s request took a walk around the gardens.
Roarke guided them through the grove of fruit trees to the pond.
“Now I have serious envy.” Mira sighed. “What a beautiful spot.”
“I could dream away a day right there on that bench.”
“You’re welcome to,” Roarke told Dennis. “Any time at all.”
Following the path lights, they walked back to the house. At the door, Mira kissed Roarke’s cheek. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner.” Then Eve’s. “I’ll write up the conclusions and profiles.”
“I appreciate it.”
When Dennis hugged her, she spoke quietly in his ear. “Thanks for what you said before.”
He simply drew back, pressed a light kiss to the bruising under her eye. “Next time, duck.”
“Got it.”
When Roarke closed the door, Eve stood where she was a moment. “It was a good idea to have them over like this. Thanks for taking care of it.”
“It was nothing. No trouble at all.”
“I still have to … I haven’t set up my board, started my book here.”
“Then we’d best go up. I can set up your board if you like while you do the rest. You can adjust it as needed,” he added when she didn’t respond.
“That’d be great.”
When she stepped into the office, she glanced toward the sleep chair, but Galahad wasn’t sprawled over it.
“He’s likely with Summerset, as we deserted him for the evening.”
“Right. I have to generate the photos and data for the board.”
“I can do it on the auxiliary.”
Of course he could, she thought, and went to her command center, opened operations. And programmed a pot of coffee.
For a time they worked in silence. Such silence, she thought, and keenly missed the cat’s presence.
Roarke broke it as he arranged her board. “This Pru Truman, the Child Services caseworker. We didn’t get around to her at dinner.”
“Peabody’s report—copied to her supervisor—is there, too. Who also got a call from me. Stupid, careless, lazy bitch.”
The outrage ripped back, tearing her out of her chair to pace.
“It’s all the kid’s fault, as she sees it. So much the kid’s fault she doesn’t do a goddamn thing when the neighbors tell her the mother smacks the kid around. Or check the mother’s bullshit about home- schooling. Or do the least amount of work and demand to see and speak to the kid directly. Which she couldn’t have done because the kid took off last summer. And the pathetic excuse for a mother’s been collecting her professional parent stipend all along.”
“Where is she now, the mother?”
“Well, she didn’t make bail so she’s in a cage in Freehold, New Jersey, and facing fraud charges. Had illegals in the apartment—and the caseworker fuck never screened for them.”
“And where is she now, this caseworker fuck?”
“I can tell you where she won’t be tomorrow. She won’t be sitting at her desk collecting a paycheck for doing fuck-all. She ought to be in the cell next to the mother. I get the don’t-tell-me-how-to-do-my-job, and the watch-your-language, and the you-don’t-understand bullshit from her.”
Roarke just stood and watched her pace. “And she walked away on her own power? I suppose the sparring droid made a reasonable substitute.”
“Almost. I don’t know where to start with Dorian. We don’t know if she came to New York on her own, got grabbed up here last week, last month. If she got snatched a block from that crap apartment the night she took off. Anytime, anywhere between. Because nobody gave enough of a damn to look for her.”
Eve’s breath shuddered out. “Nobody cared.”
“Now someone does. You’ll find her.”
“She could be dead.”
“You don’t think so.” He crossed to her now, laid his hands on her shoulders. “Trust your instincts. I do.”
“It hurts.”
“I know.” He drew her in, held her close as she wrapped her arms tight around him. “I know. Just as I know Dennis was right.”
“Don’t say you’re sorry.”
His lips curved against her hair. “That wasn’t top of my head.”
She sighed, then rested her head on his shoulder. “Can we both be right?”
“I think we are, this time in any case. Both right, both wrong. That makes it a wash, doesn’t it?”
“It hurts you, too. I can’t even wish it didn’t or it would mean you didn’t love me the way you do. And then I feel stupid and selfish, and—”
He cut her off, kissed her, soft and slow. “I didn’t fall in love with a stupid, selfish woman. It’s insulting to imply otherwise. Shutting me out would be stupid and selfish, but you’re not going to do that.”
“I’m not, even though it’ll be hard on you.” She stepped back but took his hands. “You didn’t like it when I talked about these girls as products. Like cars.”
“I didn’t, no, even understanding you looked at them through the eyes of the monsters. That’s a good word for them.”
“It’s the business—the profit angle. It doesn’t feel personal, like someone taking girls for personal reasons, personal perversions, right? Mina was still a virgin. Sure there are other things somebody could do, but no signs of physical abuse, restraints, drugs in her system. And they kept her polished up.”
“Polished up?”
“Manicure, pedicure, skin care, the expensive silk underwear, good nutrition. Harvo said her shirt was tailored to fit—and no label. I mean never a label, okay? What does that say? The shirt.”
“That it was made for her, and they have a source.”
“Right, and that costs, doesn’t it? It’s not—what do you call it?”
“Prêt-à-porter. Ready-to-wear,” he elaborated. “Off-the-rack.”
“Yeah, that. Why do that, go to that expense? Nothing elaborate, either, just a white, short-sleeved shirt. But what if it’s something like Mr. Mira said—you order a dozen, it’s less per? They had Mina for months, potentially had Dorian for months. If there are more? Plain, well-made white shirts.”
“Like a uniform.”
“Like a uniform. You go into the military, what do they do? Put you in uniform. You’re not an individual, you dress alike. School uniforms, team uniforms, cop uniforms. It’s part of the training, right? It’s part of being trained to eat when you’re told, sleep when you’re told, follow orders.
“She had good muscle tone,” Eve continued, pacing again. “She got exercise. Yeah, maybe she did that on her own to keep in shape, stay strong, but if you’re grooming a girl for sale, you don’t want pudge, right? You want in shape. She used some product in her hair, too. They had to buy it for her, or provide it.”
She turned back to Roarke. “When you go to market a product or sell it, you want it to shine, right?”
“You do, of course.”
“Do you know anything about this kind of business?”
“I’ve stayed well away from anything of the sort, always.”
“I know that, but you might know somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody.”
“I can promise you, if I’d heard a whisper of such a thing, I’d have told you. But…” He walked over, poured himself coffee. “We have the shelter, the school. I can also promise anyone who works there would do the same, and report it to me if not to you straight off. But I’ll ask.”
“I don’t think this is a new operation. Whether it’s a couple girls at a time, or a lot of them, it’s not a damn start-up. Mira said sophisticated, and that feels right. The kid might’ve gotten out because she was damn smart, or because they got a little careless.”
“Why not both?”
“Yeah, why not? When you’ve run a business smooth for a while, you might get a little careless. Then you get somebody pretty damn smart who figures out how to take advantage of that. She got out.”
Eve went back to the coffee herself, and with it turned to study Mina’s ID shot. “She got outside, in the rain. The shirt’s trashed, but the pants. Probably cost a bundle, and maybe you’re frugal there. More likely you put her own back on her so it looks more like she’s been on the street. She’s way too clean for that, way too clean and polished up, but you do what you can.”
She walked to the board, tapped one of the crime-scene stills. “Take her shoes. Take everything, but you put her own necklace back on her. Break the chain like somebody tried to grab it, then just had to run. Use some of Dorian’s blood. It’s not a bad setup.”
“They’d have moved the body well away from wherever she escaped, wherever she died.”
“Yeah, a good distance. The murder weapon’s real wood—Peabody said maybe an old stud somebody ripped out. You wouldn’t find that on the ground in the park.”
Now she slid her hands into her pockets, rocked back and forth on her heels. “High-end suburb of Philadelphia, and the wrong side of Freehold, New Jersey. Maybe Dorian headed toward Philadelphia, got grabbed there. But why would she?”
“No connections for her there?”
“No connections anywhere. She got busted a couple times for theft. If you were a kid running off from a lousy situation and liked to steal, why not head to New York? It’s closer, full of tourists, plenty of places for a street kid to hide out.”
She started wandering again. “Easier to snatch a street kid, less risk, and less likely anybody’s looking too hard for her anyway. Maybe she got snatched in New Jersey, maybe she did head to Philly. Or maybe she made it to New York.”
She turned back to Roarke. “For me, that makes it only one out of three the same person grabbed both of them.”
“Scouts.”
She pointed at him. “Exactly. Assembly line, you said before. You have to keep the products rolling on that line. I’ve got nothing on another kid—male or female, wide age range—missing from Devon, Pennsylvania.”
Following her logic, he went back to studying the board.
“You wouldn’t want to dip in that pool too often. It’s far too small.”
“And you know why you dip in that pool in the first place? Street kids aren’t generally all that healthy, they may have addictions by the time you get to them. They’re unlikely to be virgins. You want prime product, you have to hunt for them where they’re more plentiful.”
After dragging her hands through her hair, Eve blew out a breath. “I have a detective who deals with this sort of thing. McNab knows her. I’m going to pull her in for a consult tomorrow.”
She looked back at him. “How would you put together a business plan for all this?”
“Well, Christ Jesus.” He dropped into the chair at her auxiliary station. “All right then. You’d need a location, a place to keep the girls. Even if you started small, one, maybe two, you’d need a secure place.”
“It’s not going to be a house, not a private residence. Mina wasn’t kept in a basement like Mary Kate Covino was. She was too healthy, too clean. No restraints. You’re keeping them for months. Privacy and security, absolutely.”
“A retrofitted warehouse, perhaps, or if you’ve the wherewithal, an apartment building or the like.”
“All those windows in an apartment or office building.” It just didn’t gel for her. “It’s hard to keep all those windows secure.”
“True enough, but with that wherewithal, it could be done. You’d need a way to prepare food, and I’d want that on-site, so some staff—not only to prepare food, but to shop for what’s needed to prepare it. So kitchen facilities and staff. A way to find, take, transport the girls. Guards, of course, once you’ve done that. You talked of grooming, so you need those products and someone to apply them, or teach the girls how to do so. You’d want some medical staff.”
“Medical staff. Right. You’d have to check them out. Keep them healthy.”
“Someone to clean,” Roarke added. “You’d certainly need at least one disciplinarian.”
“Because no way a kid’s going to do everything you say right off.”
“Someone in charge of acquiring or manufacturing clothing, laundering,” Roarke continued, building the business in his mind. “And marketing. Photographs and vids, certainly to attract potential clients, so a professional there would be best if you want to showcase your product well. An IT man or team to set up and maintain the online areas. Office workers—you need records, after all. Banking—you need a way to invest your profits and enjoy them. It’s a considerable outlay, Eve, even for two or three girls at a time.”
“It’s going to be more. Say eight to ten. You make some bucks off the porn, but the major profit’s in sales. Sell one girl for five, six million, what do you do?”
“Put the bulk of it back into the business. You have salaries to pay. Mortgage or rent, food, and so on.”
“Keep one girl for six months, it costs—just say—half a million. Keep eight, it doesn’t cost eight times that. Like the car, right?”
He could follow her line of thought easily, as it simply made good business sense.
“Some of the expenses and outlay remain steady. The mortgage or rent wouldn’t change. If you’re heating or cooling the building, that wouldn’t change appreciably.”
“So, sell a couple of girls every few months—bumping that some with the porn—you’re going to see an annual profit. Millions in profit if you do it right.”
“You’re talking about a network, highly organized, with potentially dozens of people involved in the day-to-day.”
“Yeah, and maybe it’s a lot smaller than that. But you’d still need the elements you said. You’d need all that. French manicures, grilled fish and brown rice with veg. Her dinner,” she explained. “She stuck her fingers down her throat to boot some of it up.”
“Is that how she got out?”
“I’m betting it is. Who’s going to think some girl puking up her dinner’s going to run? Smart. Maybe she and Dorian pulled that together. I’ll find out when I find her.”
“Which you won’t tonight. I think you should call it. You’re tired and you’re hurting. Physically,” he continued. “Not just the eye, the jaw, but you’ve started favoring your side. I expect your ribs took a pounding.”
“I’ve got an ice pack on them. Well, it’s not cold anymore, but I put one on it.” She lifted her shoulders. “I needed to feel it.”
“I know. And in your place, I’d have needed the same. I’m not sure what that says about either of us. But you could use a round with the healing wand.”
“Yeah, well, I’m definitely feeling it. I was a little pissed you didn’t offer when I came up from the gym so I could tell you to bite me.”
“I was much too pissed myself to give you the satisfaction.”
He held out his hand; she put hers in it.