Desperation in Death (In Death #55)(42)

She stepped up, looked into Dorian’s angry eyes.

“Where the hell are you?”



* * *



Dorian woke in a bed, and under the hurt, under the fog, panic cut like blades. They’d found her. They’d taken her back to … She couldn’t remember, not all the way.

But she surfaced swinging, slapping out.

“Easy now, you’re safe now.”

The voice, male, older, quiet, had a steady calm. But her breath kept jumping in and out of her chest.

“You’re hurt, and you’ve got a fever. We’re going to help you.”

She saw the man, the wavy mass of brown hair, the little beard, the blue eyes, calm and quiet like the voice.

“Who are you?” Her voice sounded wrong, all croaky and hoarse.

“We’re friends. Mouser found you, and helped bring you here. It’s a safe place. Your ankle’s not broken, but you have a very bad sprain, and your knee’s banged up. You hit your head, or someone hit it. It’s probably a concussion. Do you understand me?”

“I guess.”

“We have another friend, and he’s a doctor. I sent for him, but if you want, we can get you to the hospital or contact someone. Your mother? Father?”

“No, no, no!”

“All right. We won’t do that. Drink a little water.”

When he held a cup to her lips, she grabbed it, tried to gulp it all at once.

“Not too much too fast. You’ll just sick it up. I’d like Dr. Gee to have a look at you before we give you anything more than the water. Do you want to tell me what happened to you?”

“I don’t … it’s all messed up in my head.”

He nodded as if he understood, and she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen in many in her life. Kindness.

“That’s the concussion,” he told her. “Don’t worry about all of that right now.” He set the water glass aside, then took her hand. “Do you want to tell me your name? It doesn’t have to be your real name if you’re not ready.”

She had a fresh moment of panic when nothing came, then it did, at least that did. Her relief rose so fast she didn’t think of making up a name.

“I’m Dorian.”

He smiled at her. “Hello, Dorian. I’m Sebastian.”



* * *



Nadine Furst powered into the conference room in a sharp blue dress paired with a short white jacket and towering white heels. She carried a bag approximately the size of New Jersey with big blue flowers over a white field.

Her streaky blond hair fell in a new style to swing, ruler straight, at her chin. Cat-green eyes scanned the board before shifting to Eve.

“I filled myself in on the way over. Mina Cabot, age thirteen, missing from a Philly suburb since November. Her body was found yesterday morning in Battery Park, impaled. You’re primary. Early reports suspect a mugging gone wrong.”

She scanned the board again. “Which is bogus or you wouldn’t have tagged me. Who is this?” She gestured toward Dorian. “Who is Dorian Gregg, and why is she on your board?”

Eve walked to the AutoChef, programmed coffee for both of them. “None of this goes on the air yet. I’m turning off the board before I give you the one-on-one.”

“I’ve got that part, Dallas. Give me the rest.”

“What do you know about Chicklets, youth sex trafficking, sex traffic in general, and kiddie porn?”

“For one thing, if you ever watched Now, you’d know we devoted an entire show to the bust a couple months ago. Importing women from overseas, locking them into the sex trade, selling them. Chicklets are generally between eleven and fourteen. Too old for the Kiddie circuit, too young for the adult. A prime spot for certain types of predators.

“Why do you think this is that?”

“Two twelve-year-old girls—twelve when Mina was taken, and when we project Dorian was—were abducted. Devon, Pennsylvania, and somewhere, we believe, between Freehold, New Jersey, and New York for Dorian.”

“Beautiful girls,” Nadine commented. “Strikingly pretty girls. Was Mina raped?”

“No, she died a virgin. One in very good health, who’d recently used high-end hair products and was wearing a custom-tailored white shirt, her old school uniform pants, and silk underwear that retails at a couple grand.”

Nadine opened her mouth, and Eve pointed to the conference table. “Don’t ask, and I’ll tell.”

She ran it through with the respect and trust that had built through friendship. She ran it through, Eve realized, almost as she would for another cop.

“An organization,” Nadine commented. “What you see as a structured and sophisticated, even practiced one. Do you think it focuses on girls in this basic age range?”

“Can’t say, can’t know. But it’s a hard swallow for me to believe these were the only two.

“Selling in bulk, either auctions or choosing and grooming a girl for a specific client or client type. You have the setup, the structure, the staff, the facility, and some of that is steady outlay. Additional girls only cost to feed and clothe, essentially.”

Nadine sat back, held her coffee mug in both hands. “Jesus, Dallas, if you’re right, and they have scouts in other areas, it could draw girls in nationwide, even import them from overseas. Or have other locations like the one here in New York.”