Now, running on very little sleep, I stare at mybedroom wall in my apartment. I’m doing my best to ignore the crying baby next door and focus on the task at hand. I have Andre’s picture now, and it dangles from the wall next to Nix’s blank page. Connected to Andre’s picture are sticky notes of everything the envelope contained. Everything attached to that name.
His job occupation states that he’s a consultant at a local matchmaking business, and I snort loudly as I read it for the hundredth time. It’s the perfect cover for sex trafficking.
Matchmaking.Yeah… For dead people.
When I looked up that business and found their website, there was no full address listed. It was a dead end, and that’s probably because it doesn’t actually exist.
The next note says that he owns a storage shipping container at one of the ports. With a little research a few minutes ago, I discovered that it’s still sitting there. I have every intention of searching inside it because it’s really the only way to ship people from another country to ours. The business that he and Nix are in has to have deep pockets to convince boats to ship actual people. Or, they could have friends in really high places. That wouldn’t surprise me either.
As I stand here, I tap the pen in my hand against the other. I should check it out now. I told Miles that I’d wait for him, but honestly, what if there’s something in there now that won’t be later tonight? After all, nighttime is the best time to move things. In the cover of darkness, Andre could move a lot of people. My chances are better to find evidence in the daytime and, with any luck, find the people he stole.
God, Miles is going to kill me, but I stir to action anyway. I order a cab on the phone Miles gave me as I slide on my shoes in an unbalanced sort of sway, nearlyknocking Nathan’s belongings to the floor when I grapple for the counter.
It’s now or never. I’ll deal with Miles later, and hopefully, I’ll have something to hand over.
I didn’t have to wait long for the cab to arrive, and thankfully, he didn’t ask any questions when he pulled up to the port. Nor did anyone ask questions as I waded through the rows and rows of shipping containers, checking the numbers for Andre’s.
Gravel crunches under my feet, too loud to my ears even though it’s broad daylight. There are only shadows of the containers to hide me, and lord help me if I round a corner and bump into the man himself. I’ll be absolutely screwed.
A sinking feeling settles in my gut as I trudge along the path. This might not have been my brightest idea, and as dried-up leaves swirl around my ankles, I have half a mind to turn around and truly wait for Miles.
But then, as I read the next number on the side of a shipping container, I stop dead in my tracks.
“Fuck,” I whisper because I found it. It truly is here, and if I turn back now . . .
I rotate full circle to see if anyone is around. There’s not a soul to be found, even though I can hear people talking over moving water off in the distance. With a shaky breath, I put my ear up to the cold metal and listen for several seconds, but all I can hear is my own rapid heartbeat from the adrenaline of it all.
The horrible feeling in my gut intensifies as I pull away and make a move toward the corner of the container. My steps are slow and hesitant. And that damn gravel! It announces every single one I take like the crunch of impending doom.
I reach the corner and peek around it, just to makesure I truly am alone out here. When I find no one, I round it and stand before the container’s door.
And it’s fucking cracked open.
I scowl at that and look around once more before grabbing the door and swinging it open. The sun banishes half of the shadows within, and I immediately cover my nose at the stench that wafts out.
“Feces,” I say into my palm. It’s the unmistakable smell of shit and piss.
I step inside, careful to avoid the piles and puddles that belong to the offending smell. Obviously, there’s no one here. With the sun, the shadows aren’t as dark, and I can see all the way back. Whoever was here is gone by now, taken out and shipped off to another destination to keep them prisoner, but I have zero doubts now that Andre is in charge of the sex trafficking.
I’m so mad that I nearly see red. He stole people. He’s selling them for horrendous things. These poor people; they’re here solely for someone’s sick and twisted fetish.
“You can’t kill him,” I growl. I can’t because, even though this is enough to arrest Andre Seager, I know he couldn’t have done this alone. I’d bet my life on the fact that he isn’t smart enough to organize something this huge, to have workers in other countries even. No. Someone else is – someone in charge of both halves of this business that’s getting larger by the second. If I bring in Andre now, I’ll never find out who it is, and this business will just get moved to another place, possibly another country.
Does Nix know about this? He has to. It’s probably why Andre was at my interview, to see if I’d better serve his purpose than Nix’s because Andre’s side of the business sure as shit brings in more money than porn.
I release a shaky breath into my hand. No, Nix knows all about this. What kind of man does that make him?
My mind doesn’t even want to contemplate what that makes him, how he lets this happen, how he probably has a finger on the pulse of it. My heart won’t allow it. Why? Because the fucking organ already has a thing for him.
I rake a hand through my hair, knowing I’m in absolute deep shit if I still find Nix attractive after this revelation. Again, I wonder what kind of person this makes me, pining after a man so dark. Wanting to kiss him. Wanting to see him naked and raw.
He once asked me to find out who I really am, and I’m slowly peeling away those layers. I don’t know if I like what I see.
Fully done with the shipping container and needing a fresh breath of air, I turn and make my way out, but as I do, a glint on the floor catches my eye. I pause in my step and carefully bend to the tiny object. Pinching it off the floor, I bring it to my face for better examination.
It’s a tiny red ruby. It’s so small that it had to have come from a piece of jewelry.
I nearly tip over into a pile of shit when the phone Miles gave me rings in my jacket pocket. Cursing under my breath, I palm the tiny stone and quickly exit the shipping container. I gulp in fresh air and reach into my pocket, pulling out the phone.
