Forgiving Paris: A Novel(17)

Two things hounded him as he continued on to Belize City. The heartbroken lined face of Ike Armstrong. And the intensity of the man’s conviction. Old Ike really thought Agnes Potter and Paul David James had something to do with the disappearance of his family. And he truly believed the three might somehow still be alive. With every mile, Jack’s belief in the man grew until he had a hunch about Ike Armstrong.

A hunch that just maybe the man was right.





CHAPTER SIX


The Lord detests those whose hearts are perverse.

—Proverbs 11:20



Noon was showtime at the Palace, and Eliza hated it. If a customer didn’t already have a girl picked out, he could show up midday and choose his entertainment in person. The girls would take their places in the living room, the younger teens lined up on the two sofas, older girls in the chairs.

Eliza sat at the head of the room. No one ever bought Eliza, but today was different. Today she would meet her groom. Eliza held her breath for half a minute. If she didn’t think the guards would catch her, she would’ve run away from this place years ago. The problem was the things her captors threatened if ever she went against her father. Things that were vile and unthinkable.

And they did not include death.

Death would be easy. Eliza had often longed for death—in the sea currents or on land, the method didn’t matter. Death would mean she wouldn’t have to spend her days waiting to be married off. She wouldn’t live another night in the Palace, hearing the muffled cries of the girls down the hall.

But death had eluded her for the past ten years.

At this point Eliza had no choice but to sit in her velvet chair, untainted captive that she was. But she didn’t have to smile. No one asked that of her. That job belonged to the younger girls.

Five minutes before noon, two housemaids entered the room—the way they did every day at this time. They moved among the girls, fixing hair and applying blush to the cheeks of the youngest. The older girls did their own makeup. Better than letting anyone touch them before nightfall, they had told Eliza.

The housemaids were older and indifferent. This was their living. When the customers arrived, they went home. Clocked out like this was some sort of twisted hotel. As if sex slavery was just one more aspect of the tourism industry in Belize. When the clock chimed noon, the women left. Lunch break. No big deal. No efforts to save the imprisoned girls.

Eliza exhaled. If the housemaids felt bad for their part in perpetuating Anders’s trafficking ring, they didn’t show it.

A minute later the doors opened, as predictable as the ocean waves. This part of the horror belonged to her father alone. Showtime, he called it. And every day Eliza had to be here to reassure the girls, to watch over them. To make them feel safe.

When she was little, Eliza had actually looked forward to this hour each day. Seeing the other girls, talking with them. They were like big sisters to her back then. Her father would enter the room and walk down the line of girls. Then he would stop and pat her head. Like she was the most special. His princess.

Eliza studied the girls on the two sofas. That was how they felt, now. They looked up to her and the older teens. Eliza could see it in their eyes. Whatever unspeakable things had been done to them the night before, all seemed well now.

The older girls would keep them safe.

After the beating when she turned fourteen, Alexa had told Eliza that her eyes had been opened to the demon her father was. Now when he smiled, chills ran down Eliza’s spine and it took everything in her not to run.

“There you are, darlings.” Her father waltzed into the room. He dressed in flamboyant costumes and strange suits. Like he’d lost his mind—which of course he had. Today’s ridiculous costume was blue flouncy pants and an old English button-up blouse, high ruffled collar and all. His pointy leather shoes clicked on the tiled floor.

He looked more like a court jester than the prince he believed himself to be.

The younger girls sat straighter on the two sofas. They liked Anders McMillan, same as Eliza had when she was younger. Eliza could see that in their eyes, too. Run, she wanted to scream at them. Before the awaken ing happened. Come with me! Let’s get out of here. Eliza closed her eyes and tried to breathe again. She couldn’t help the girls now. It was her fault they were here.

First in the room with Anders was the redhead Eliza had seen on the beach a few days ago. He followed Anders down the row of dolled-up teens. “Maybe someone younger tonight.” He looked over his shoulder and winked at Eliza. “Since I can’t have the princess.”

Eliza’s father’s eyes turned dark. He stopped and gave the redheaded man a shove. “That’s my daughter. Don’t look at her!” Another shove and the man stepped back. He was trembling. At the door, two guards moved closer, waiting for Eliza’s father’s command. Instead her father glared at the customer. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes.” The redhead didn’t dare glance at Eliza again. He made his choice from the younger teen girls and one of the guards escorted him out of the room.

One at a time the men filed in and chose their entertainment for the night. The men left, the evening housemaids took the girls back to their rooms and only Eliza and her father remained. She started to leave, but he held up his hand. “Not yet.” He motioned to the guard still at the door. “Now. Bring him in now.”