His shirt clutched in my tight grip, I shifted to peek around Langston’s ribs to where I heard West’s steps fading.
“You got it with your bum hand?” Langston asked.
“I’ll figure it out. You’ve got Juno; that’s most important.”
My cheeks bunched with a small smile at West’s sweet response. I watched him lean over the side, my heart racing with worry that he would fall overboard. His grunt rang through the night as he hauled something out of the water. “I’m good. Even waterlogged she’s not that heavy.”
“Sh-she?” I stuttered, pushing away from Langston to face where West tugged the limp body of a woman over the side.
Langston grumbled something about me not needing to see this and pulled me back to his chest, but not before I got a good look at the body splayed out on the boat deck. Brow furrowed, I racked my memories. There was something about it, either the face or frame, that felt familiar.
That was crazy, right? How in the world could a dead woman floating in the water, caught up in the middle of some kind of drug deal or whatever was going on, be familiar?
Then it hit me like a punch to the gut. I sucked in a sharp breath and pushed off Langston’s chest to stare up at him.
“I think it’s her,” I whispered.
“Her who?” Langston cupped my face, his worried gaze scanning mine.
“That missing woman from Anchorage, the one on the flyer. It looks like her.”
His features softened. “Juno, the body is soaking wet, and it’s dark out here even with the lights. How?—”
“Holy shit,” West shouted, cutting Langston off. “I think she’s right. The hair.”
I nodded. “She had fire-red dyed hair in the picture. It looks darker wet, but… I mean, what are the odds?”
Langston’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Looks like home will have to wait several hours, Juno,” he said, sounding utterly exhausted.
Hell, we all were. It had already been a long night and just got longer.
Turning to West, he hitched his chin toward the opposite side of the boat. “There should be a tarp tucked in one of those storage holds. Wrap her up in it; it’s our best option to preserve whatever evidence is on her that hasn’t been washed away in the water. And….” He paused, brows pulling in tight as if he was thinking hard. “Fuck.” Langston’s curse rang through the dark night. Turning around, he ripped off his ball cap and threw it down on the ground.
“What?” I asked, hugging myself. A chill had wrapped its icy fingers around me as I came down from the adrenaline high and refused to release its hold.
He turned and stared at me, clearly torn about responding.
“What, Langston? What were you just thinking about?” I asked again, adding force to my tone.
With a resigned sigh, he tipped his face up to the cloudy sky.
“I think I know what’s happening to all the women.”
The flamesin the fireplace flickered, the bright orange and glowing reds pulling me into an almost hypnotic state. The cup of coffee I held between my palms had lost its warmth long ago, but still I clutched the mug like it was a lifeline.
Three days had passed since that horrible night. In stunned and horrified silence, we’d escorted the body to Anchorage and notified the coroner. We also stayed to speak to the FBI agent Hudson wanted us to meet with after we told him about the incident. Almost six hours later, our boat coasted into Anchor Bay, with Langston and West worried and on alert, and me exhausted, traumatized, and terrified.
The crackle of the flames licking across the wood was what I focused on instead of the conversation happening behind thecouch between Langston, West, Hudson, and Oliver. I didn’t want to hear the details of what everyone now suspected was actually happening to the missing women in Anchorage and here.
Human trafficking.
Those two words ran on a loop, ringing in my ears, following me in my sleep since Langston had uttered them that night on the boat. It was terrifying and disgusting, but it made the most sense. It was why we hadn’t found most of the missing women, and why their male hiking partners ended up dead.
I pressed a fist to my stomach as it rolled. It hadn’t been settled since that night, and I wondered if it ever would be. Tears sprang to my eyes, turning the flickering flames watery in my vision as my thoughts once again shifted to those poor women who we’d all assumed were dead. Now we knew they probably weren’t, though they likely wished that they were. I swallowed hard to keep the bile from creeping up my throat.
So much had happened in the last several days, it was almost too much to process. Too much for me, at least. The guys were better at compartmentalizing everything. Amy had been by to check on me, but what was there to say?
“I agree that it seems suspicious,” Oliver whispered as he paced the room, judging by the sound of his voice moving away from behind the couch. “But that woman went missing from Anchorage, not Anchor Bay. We have nothing to tie the cases there to what’s going on here.”
