“Yeah.” He falls into step and follows me through the door, his movements careful. His face neutral. No smiles in here. No horror. No expression at all, not even when we close the door and discover one of Agosti’s women, early twenties, surely—couldn’t be a day older—with a child in her lap. A fucking child, hardly older than his own daughter. His jaw clenches in my peripherals, unnoticeable to anyone who doesn’t already know him, and his hands clench by his sides. But those are the tellsIsee. The result of more than a decade of friendship and familiarity.
I scan the room and meet each set of eyes. Too many swollen from tears. So many are gaunt from malnutrition. I nod to acknowledge our officer on duty, and then I look to the other two—a translator and an impact specialist. “My name is Detective Archer Malone.” I show them mybadge, inching closer slowly and scanning each of Agosti’s victims carefully. I swallow the dread sitting thick in my throat and take care not to make any sudden movements. Fuck, I don’t want to scare them more than they already are. “This is Detective Charlie Fletcher.” I gesture his way, and then I look to the twenty-something-year-old perched on the end of the bed, cradling an eight-year-old child in her lap. “We met yesterday. Do you remember?”
She has no fuckin’ clue what I’m saying. But she sniffles and swipes a line of snot from beneath her nose. “Yes. Police.”
“I can help you, Detective.” Jelena hovers not so far from the bathroom door, her eyes as gentle as ours, her accent…too fucking familiar.“They’re terrified, but Natalija—” She motions toward the eldest. “She is very brave, Detective. She wants to help.”
“Natalija.” I try her name on my tongue, rolling over the softjas I stroll to the desk built into the corner of the room, the droning of an old, outdated television playing from its bracketed frame on the yellow-stained wall above. Carefully, I grab the chair and turn again, placing it on the old, thin carpet a full ten feet from the bed. But when the little one curls closer to Natalija, whimpering in fear and clutching at Natalija’s shirt, I drag the chair back another foot.
Stay away. Don’t touch us.
I come around and sit in silence, but I catch my name pulsing from the old television speakers, spoken in that bland, monotone reporters sometimes use when they’ve been in the industry a long time and stoppedfeelingyears before.
Curious, I peek over my shoulder and stare right into my own eyes.
“They’ve been watching for a few hours, Detective.” Jelena perches on the edge of the desk, crossing her ankles and resting her hands on her thighs. “I thought it might be distressing to them to see the news and the cases you typically work. But when I attempted to switch it off, they grew upset.”
“Youwantto watch this?” I bring my focus around and look from Natalija to the next oldest, a teen bundled on the bed, her back pressed to the wall, and her arms wrapped around her knees. I swear to Christ, she can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen.
I shift my gaze to the girl beside her—similar age, similar swollen, tear-filled eyes. “We could put cartoons on or something? For the little one.”
Jelena translates my question, her words fast but gentle. Her accent thick, but comforting to those who understand it.
Natalija shakes her head, her voice trembling as she murmurs something I could never understand on my own.
“She says you’re safe.” Jelena places her hands on the lip of the desk and gently taps the underside with the tips of her nails. “She says they know you’re good. They were waiting for you to arrive. For you to help.”
“No pressure.” I glance across at Fletch and chew on my bottom lip just as I chew on my thoughts. Every word I say, every question I ask, has the potential to make this much,muchworse for everyone involved. Exhaling a noisy sigh, I scratch my jaw and bring my eyes back to Natalija. “Uh… okay. Do you know who brought you here?”
Jelena translates, but Natalija’s eyes remain focused on mine. Stronger than anyone her age should have to be. Surer than anyone could reasonably expect of her.
Then she nods. “Anthony Agosti.”
Fuck. Me.
“Do you know where you were being taken? Orwhoyou were being taken to?”
I give Jelena time to ask her question, then for Natalija to answer, her words moving quickly, smoothly, despite the dry rasp hurting her throat.
She stuns me when she attempts to stand, but the little girl screams, clinging tighter and sobbing with a desperation that tears at my stomach and turns Fletch’s temper a thousand degrees hotter.
Natalija drops again, crooning and stroking the girl’s hair. She murmurs something soft and sweet, rocking on the end of the bed, then she delivers instructions to the girl behind her, sharp, commanding words powerful enough to convince her to unravel her terrified grip on her legs and set her feet on the crappy carpet.
“This is Ljubica,” Jelena explains, standing straight and moving away from the desk.
Ljubica rises to her feet, swaying to the side and placing her hand on the wall for stability. One night of safety and food isn’t enough to counteract Agosti’s cruelty, and after weeks of malnutrition, the girl takes a moment to find her balance andblink, blink, blinkher eyes clear. She drags an oversized hoodie down, the hem sitting not so far from her knees, then she swallows and shuffles on aching legs, taking the long way across the room and passing closer to Jelena than she does to me.
Opening the desk drawer with shaking hands, she pulls a thick envelope free and hugs the stack to her chest.
“She says it’s all there,” Jelena explains. “Names. Delivery addresses.Natalija says there was more than one buyer, though not seventeen of them. She says a few of the girls were to stay together.”
“How did you get the envelope?” I terrify Ljubica simply by looking at her, her breath racing and a fearful whimper clawing along her throat. So, I raise my hands.I’m safe.No threat. No fast movements.My heart thrums painfully in my chest, pounding like a drum and slamming against my ribs. Because I already know.
A blind man knows when a killer sits with him at the dinner table.
I meet Ljubica’s eyes as gently as I know how and soften my voice. “Where did you get the envelope? Can you ask them, Jelena?”
“Sh-sh-sh-sh-shh. A-a-a, kotki dwa.” Natalija sings a song, barely loud enough for the littlest one to hear. She hums the lullaby and kisses the littlest girl’s temple. “A-a-a, kotki dwa.”
