Chapter 11
Suds
“Fucking Oak Island.” As the night grows old, I blow into my hands, wishing I had warmer gloves.
Slate strolls behind me and Sam. With us all standing on the pier, he follows my gaze over the water and points at a few dots of light. “Amityville’s right over there.”
“Figures.” I lower my night vision binoculars and sigh. “Not sure how finding a missing teen turned into a pile of shit. Thanks for having my six. Bill us for everything. Selena’s good for it.”
“No problem. Did the girl say anything new?” He grabs my field glasses and I answer while he raises them and does a three-sixty.
“Apparently, she stole a passport from the madam who drove her to the city. Jason’s trying to identify the woman.”
“What’s your take?” Slate eyes my wife, stomping her feet to stay warm.
When their gazes connect, she blurts out, “I think the Buffalo murder is somehow connected to Selena.”
Slate’s brows raise. “How do you figure that?”
“What if someone is using Chrissy as leverage, to silence her mom?”
“Shit. Get down.” Slate shoves us toward the brush near the house as headlight beams race across the sand.
A vehicle crawls past and as it disappears around the corner, he frowns. “We can’t stay here much longer.”
Sam purses her lips, then slips her arm around my waist. “Maybe, we should talk with Selena. Tell her Chrissy is in danger. Make her open up about what she might’ve heard.”
“It’s worth a try.” I reach in my pocket for the burner and call Wheels. “Hey pal, I need to speak with Ms. Bright.”
“Just a sec.”
“Hello?” At the sound of her sleepy voice, I almost feel guilty until I remember how her daughter’s been treated.
“Ma’am? You need to go to the FBI with whatever you may have overheard. Chrissy’s caught up in the middle of your circus net.”
She hisses and responds like lightning. “You’re wrong. Her running off has nothing to do with me. Ask her if she met any of the other girls.”
I walk inside to where the teen sips from a mug. “Your mom wants to know if you saw any of the other sex workers.”
She frowns and closes her eyes. “Yeah. There were a few at the first party I was at. I tried to talk to them, but they didn’t speak English. I remember they looked way too young. I don’t think I was supposed to see them because Ronnie hustled me away. I never saw them after that day.”
I let her chat with her mom and share a worried glance at Sam, standing in the archway between the kitchen and living room.
Shaking ice from her damp locks, my gal slides by the scarred wooden table, and sets the tea kettle on the burner. “Underage foreign girls. Damn, what next?”
Strolling behind her, I nibble her ear. “Locusts?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” She smirks then turns serious as snippets of conversation come from the girl trying to convince her mom she’s fine.
I scratch my head and frown. “I got to tell you, I’m a mite confused.”
“Me too. We need to talk to this Ronnie, whoever she is.” The determined set of her mouth makes me shudder.
“Sam, sweetheart. We’ve gone above and beyond. We found the girl and we’ve got her mom safe and sound. We’ll share what we’ve learned with the authorities and be done with it.”
“Nope. We need to find out who murdered Akash. We could start by arranging a meetup with the madam. Chrissy could say she’s sorry she ran off and offer to give back the cash.”
“Saaammm…” A spike of pain shoots down my right leg to my pinky toe. Fuck, this is a very bad idea.
