Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(64)

“Thank you.” Hannah stared at the ice bobbing in her glass. “Lee used to call me every weekend. Sometimes when my phone rings on a Sunday, I still expect it to be him.”

Chet nodded. “And when it isn’t him, it’s like being kicked in the nuts all over again. Metaphorically speaking.”

Hannah laughed. “Yes, I suppose that’s a pretty good analogy.”

“Well, thanks for watching Brody’s back.”

She thought back to Brody’s convenience-store shooting. “I’m glad I was there. I wish someone had been there for him in Boston.”

“He told you about the shooting?” Chet’s eyebrow lifted. “That’s not something he ever talks about, not with anyone.”

“He didn’t dwell on it,” Hannah said. Neither her brother nor her father ever wanted to talk about their experiences in combat.

Chet clasped his hands, leaned forward, and rested his forearms on his thighs. “I bet he didn’t mention the commendation he received?”

“No.” But that didn’t surprise her.

“Well, he did. He saved three people.”

“But at a huge cost to himself.”

“Yeah.” Chet stared at his joined hands for a few seconds. “So thanks for helping him out. I’m really glad he didn’t have to shoot anyone because I was an idiot.” His change in tone suggested he knew how Brody felt, and that he was done talking about it. “Besides, you can’t imagine how much paperwork a shooting requires.”

“So how do we start looking for the girl in Vegas?” she asked.

Chet turned back to his desk. “Normally, when looking for a missing teen, the go-to source is the friends. We can’t do that. We also don’t have cell phone, ATM, or credit card records to check. The Vegas PD is trying to match the prints. They’ll start local and expand their search as they go along. But I learned a couple of things from my own experience. Within forty-eight hours, someone is going to try to lure a runaway into prostitution. Once a pimp gets ahold of a kid, it’s very hard for the kid to get away—dangerous even.”

Had he tracked his daughter that far?

“I know you’re wondering about Teresa. Yes, I believed she was being trafficked. She was likely also using drugs. While she didn’t like the side effects of her prescribed medicine, she did try to escape her symptoms with recreational drugs and alcohol.” His fingers curled into fists. “I guess I provided the perfect example.”

“So where does that leave us?” Hannah put him back on track. There was no use beating himself up for a past he couldn’t change.

“If your teen is being trafficked, she might not be from Nevada. She could be from any state. Did she have an accent? Is there a possibility that she’s from another country? Traffickers bring girls from Mexico or other foreign countries. Sometimes the girl’s parents pay these guys, thinking their daughters will get a better life in America. Then when the girls are brought over, the traffickers tell them they have a debt to work off. Families are threatened. Girls who are here illegally won’t go to the police. They’re forced into prostitution to pay off a never-ending debt. Girls are also shipped around from state to state. It’s harder for families to track a girl if she’s frequently moved.”

Hannah searched her memory. “I didn’t hear a foreign accent or any indication that English wasn’t her primary language.”

“OK, then we’ll focus on states in the continental US.”

“This sounds like a very organized activity.”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no.” Chet scrolled to a website and paused on a phone number. “Girls get trafficked by their boyfriends, by kidnappers. Or they’re already turning tricks to put a roof over their head or buy a meal, and a pimp gets his hooks into them. And some girls are sole proprietors. Maybe she’s hungry or has kids to feed and no marketable skills. If she only has one thing to sell, and she’s desperate enough . . .”

Hannah supposed hungry children were motivation to do just about anything to feed them.

“Now. We’re going to play a game. I’m going to ask you a lot of questions. The cop in Vegas probably asked you most of them. Just do your best to answer.” He put two sheets of paper in front of her. On the top of one he wrote Sure. The other paper he headed with the title Maybe. “If you’re one hundred percent positive of your answer, write it here. Be quick. Let’s see if your subconscious is holding any information hostage. If it’s more of an impression, write it here. When we’re done, I’ll put it all together and start making calls.”

“OK.”

His questions came rapid-fire. “Did she have a regional accent? Exactly how did she phrase that?”

When Chet’s interrogation was finished, Hannah looked down at the paper. She’d remembered a few more details, but her head ached from the strain.

“Go on downstairs and take a break while I put this all together and make a few calls.”

Hannah went down to the kitchen for more water. She took a Tylenol from her purse and swallowed it. Needing a distraction to take her mind off the never-ending replay of Jewel’s abduction, she switched on the television, turned the volume on low, and sat on the couch. A blue scroll on the television caught her attention.