Madden winced. “I hate that you already know that, because it means you’re ahead of me.”
“I’m not. I’m just coming at it from a different angle.”
She shook her head. “Priya doesn’t fit the pattern.”
“No.”
“She was noticed,” Madden said. “She had people looking for her immediately. She had resources. Family. A paper trail.”
“And that makes her noisy,” I said.
Her jaw clenched. “Which means if she was taken intentionally, she’d be a terrible choice.”
“But if she was taken by mistake,” I finished, “that changes the math.”
She met my eyes. “It changes everything.”
I leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. Controlled fury buzzed under my skin, waiting. “You believe there are others.” She’d already implied as much when she’d put in the FOIA request.
She didn’t hesitate. “I think there have to be.”
That settled in my bones.
Madden shredded another pastry. “Rosa wouldn’t have been reported missing. Neither would the hotel worker. Or the house cleaner. Or any of the women she mentioned. They disappear, and the story fills itself in. They went home. They left town. They made choices.”
“And nobody looks past that,” I said.
“Because looking costs something,” she replied. “And the people who would have to pay don’t think it’s worth it.”
She took a shaky breath. “If Priya was the oops… then she’s only visible because someone fucked up.”
I nodded slowly. “Which means whoever did this isn’t operating on impulse.”
“No, they’re operating on risk assessment.”
I studied her face—the way her eyes had gone distant, analytical, sharp-edged with fear she wasn’t acknowledging out loud.
“You’re thinking trafficking,” I said.
Her gaze snapped back to mine. “Yeah. I am.”
The word hung between us, ugly and heavy.
She began ticking points off on her fingers. “No body. No evidence of escalation. No ransom. No public spectacle. If they’d needed to get rid of her, she would’ve turned up. Somewhere.”
“That’s what’s bothering you,” I said.
“Yes.”
I leaned back, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong.”
She winced. “That’s not comforting.”
“It’s honest. And honesty’s all I’ve got right now.”
She stared down at her coffee. “I haven’t heard back about those FOIA requests. It didn’t occur to me to ask about unidentified remains. I should follow up with that.”
“You can,” I said. “But you’re probably not going to like what you get.”
