"Yes. But she's scared. Traumatized. Be careful how you approach her."
I nod. Follow Doc through the small clinic to a room in the back.
The woman on the examination table is young. Early twenties maybe. Dark hair pulled back from a face marked by bruises. Arms and face showing evidence of recent trauma. Wrists raw from rope burns.
But her eyes are sharp. Alert. Watching the door like she expects someone to come through it with a weapon.
She sees me. Sees the badge on my belt. Relaxes slightly.
"Sheriff," she says. Voice hoarse. "You're Sheriff Blackwater."
"I am. What's your name?"
"Irina. Irina Dmitriev." Russian accent. Faint but present. "I escape. From the camp. In the mountains."
Camp. Not a facility. Not a holding area. A camp.
"How long were they holding you?"
"Six weeks. Maybe more. Hard to know. No windows. Just dark and cold and other women crying."
Other women. Multiple victims.
"How did you escape?"
"One of the guards, he gets drunk. Leaves door unlocked. I run. Walk through snow for hours. Find this town." She looks at me directly. "I know about your wife. Emma Blackwater."
My chest tightens. "What do you know?"
"The men who hold us, they talk. Brag about things they do. One of them, he says he killed a sheriff's wife three years ago. Made it look like accident. Say she ask too many questions.See something she not supposed to see. So they make her disappear."
The room tilts. My vision goes gray at the edges. Harlow's hand touches my arm. Steadying. Grounding.
Emma. My wife. Killed because she saw something she wasn't supposed to see. Because she asked questions about trucks on mining roads.
The same roads we investigated this morning. The same operation we just hit.
"Who?" The word comes out like gravel. "Who killed her?"
Irina's eyes go distant. Remembering. "Big man. Tattoos on arms. Scar on face. He run the camp. The other men, they scared of him. Call him Sergei."
"Sergei." Harlow pulls out her phone. Starts searching databases. "Russian national. Probably ex-military or organized crime."
"He still there," Irina says. "At the camp. With the other women."
Which means if we move fast, we can hit the camp. Take Sergei into custody. Get justice for Emma and rescue whoever else is being held.
"Where?" I ask. "Where's the camp?"
"Mountains. Northeast of mining site. Maybe five miles. There's an old logging road. Abandoned buildings."
Harlow's already pulling up satellite imagery on her phone. Marking locations. "I see it. Cluster of structures. Remote. Perfect for a hidden operation."
"How many guards?" I ask Irina.
"Four. Sometimes five. All armed. All dangerous."
Four or five armed guards versus me and Harlow and whatever backup we can get. Not great odds.
