"Tell me everything you know about these guys. Maybe we can put our information together to find her."
Cade tossed the bag of chips on the counter, then wiped his hands on his pants before grabbing a Coke from the fridge.
"Do you want one?" he asked, oblivious to the fact that Tristan was about to vibrate out of his skin.
"No. Thanks. Are you gonna tell me what you know or not?" Tristan realized he sounded unfairly belligerent, but he didn't care. He brimmed with impatience, needing to make some progress toward finding Natalie.
"Yeah, Jesus. Give me a chance. It's going to take a while, so have a seat."
"I don't want to."
Cade glared at him, eyes so dark and ominous that Tristan reconsidered his answer. A dangerous and inexplicable shiver of excitement zipped up his spine as he fought the urge to do whatever the other man said, but then Cade looked away, and the tension drained from Tristan's body.
He vowed not to examine his reaction too closely.
"Annabeth noticed that more girls than expected go missing in the city and neighboring counties."
"How did she figure that out?"
"Fuck if I know. I didn't graduate from high school. Some math shit."
Tristan made a face but clamped his mouth shut, and Cade continued. "She figured someone was taking them. Most are homeless girls or runaways, but some have families, like your sister. She combed the dark web, searched for patterns and communications, and found the Broker."
"Who's the Broker?"
"She identified him as Wilson. Every month or so, the Broker receives large money transfers that Annabeth thinks are payments for girls. But Wilson only handled the finances; Annabeth couldn't find evidence linking him to transportation or contact with the missing girls. So she figured Wilson had partners. With more digging on the dark web, she found the guy who transports the product …"
Tristan's disgust must have been evident because Cade paused and said, "Sorry. That's what they call the girls."
He pressed his lips together to keep from raging and nodded for Cade to continue.
"So Annabeth discovered the guy they call the Handler. She hasn't found his real name, but she's sure he's local. We've had eyes on Wilson for a couple weeks, but he never met the Handler in person. Annabeth thinks, based on the number of girls missing from the area and the timing and amounts of the transactions, that these assholes are holding dozens of abducted girls at any point. They rotate the stock at regular intervals."
Flinching, Tristan gulped down the bile in his throat.
Stock.
To these bastards, his sister was merchandise, a product to buy and sell.
Fighting the urge to throw up or burst into tears, he clenched his hands in his lap and gritted out a question. "What else do you know? Or suspect?"
"We're pretty sure they're holding them at several locations within sixty or so miles from the city. We're focused on finding the Handler, figuring it's our best bet to find the girls."
Tristan forced himself to engage his brain, to do something useful besides seethe against this horrific situation. "Maybe the laptop can give us a clue as to who the Handler is, or maybe where the girls are held."
"That's the hope."
"But it's encrypted," Tristan muttered with frustration.
"Annabeth can access it. It will just take time."
Tristan rose to his feet and growled, "My sister doesn't have time! She's just a kid. She's alone and afraid, and they're using herfor … selling her for …" he choked on the words and couldn't continue.
Sympathy flashed in Cade's eyes, and it made him feel less crazy, less unhinged.
"I'm sorry. We're doing all we can, I promise."
Tristan sucked in shallow breaths, trying to calm his thrashing heart. After a moment of heavy silence, Cade said, "Maybe you know something we don’t. Do you have any other info beyond what you told me?"
