“Girls, all right?”
“For himself?”
Platt shook his head. “Orders would come in.”
“And how would the girls get to him?”
“Some kind of…ne-ne-network he set up,” he said, his strength diminishing. “I don’t…know the details.”
Another lie. “And your job?”
“I just…I just helped him get them in and out.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes,” he pleaded, as if doing only that wasn’t already reprehensible.
“And when they were in their cells?”
“What? I never, um, dealt with them in their cells.”
Quinn was tempted to shoot him again, but knew that would put an end to their talk.
“How did the orders come in? By body type or…?”
“Yeah. Type. Skin color. Weight. Eyes. That kind of thing.”
“Always that way? Never by, say, name?”
“Name? Um, um, no.”
“I’m really tired of being lied to, Roger.”
“I’m not ly—”
Quinn shoved his gun against the man’s wounded shoulder. “Sometimes there were women requested specifically by name, weren’t there?”
Platt cried out.
Quinn pressed again. “Answer the question.”
“Yes! Every once in a while, he would get a name.”
Quinn pulled his gun back. “Did these requests come from the same clients who wanted the other girls?”
“No. Someone different.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know who! I swear.”
“Who?”
“Different times, different people.”
“What about the last time?”
Platt stared at him but said nothing.
“Danielle Chad. She was one of the special requests, wasn’t she?”
“I’ve never…heard that name—”
“Don’t. She was a request?”
Another swallow, this one followed by a weak yes.
“By who?”
Platt clenched his teeth as another wave of pain washed over him.
“You know who, don’t you?”
A small nod. “Sam…sometimes refers to her as…as The Wolf. That’s all I know.”
The name meant nothing to Quinn.
“How long did Edmondson have the girl?”
“We picked her up three…wait, no, four days ago.”
“From whom?”
Platt didn’t know the contact’s name, and could only tell Quinn where the pickup had occurred.
“When were you supposed to give her to this Wolf?”
“We hadn’t set a drop-off yet.”
Quinn ground his weapon into the wound again. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not! Sam hadn’t told The Wolf we had the girl yet.”
“Why not?”
“He, um, he wanted to get something from her first.”
“What?”
“A…uh, uh…location.”
“What location?”
“Hell if I know. That’s what he called it. I swear, he never told me. Oh, God, please call an ambulance.”
“Did he get the location from her?”
“Not as far as I know. He would have set up a drop-off if he had.”
“How did he contact The Wolf?”
“I have no idea. The business side was all Sam.”
Quinn thought for a moment, making sure he’d asked everything, and then said, “Thank you. I appreciate your time.”
He pulled his gun back and took a step away.
“Wait,” Platt said, his voice drifting. “I need…a doctor.”
“I have bad news for you. A doctor’s not going to do you any good.”
“You can’t let me die! You need to do something!”
The man continued to plead as Quinn left the room.
Before leaving, he removed Platt’s trophy albums from the closet and set them on the floor of the entryway, opened to particularly damning pages. He then unlocked the front door so that when the police showed up after he called them, they’d have no problem getting in.
CHAPTER 12
“I’m going to suck at this,” Quinn said.
Orlando smiled. “Hardly.”
“Yes, I am. It’s not like I had a great role model.”
“If you even come close to sucking, I promise I’ll kill you. Does that help?”
“You should. Look what a mess I am. I don’t want to do that to our kid.”
She grabbed his face with both hands. “You’re not going to be anything like your stepfather. You’re going to be a great dad.” She touched his chest. “You have a good heart. And you’re one of the smartest people I know.”
His features softened a bit. “Not as smart as you.”
“That goes without saying,” she said. “Our baby is going to be lucky to have you as a father.”
“How can you know that?” he asked.
“I can, and I do.”
He laid his head in her lap, his ear against her belly. “I think I hear something.”
“Just my lunch.”
“No, really. I think the baby’s moving.”
Orlando’s eyes snapped open. For a few seconds she didn’t know where she was, but then the drone of an engine brought everything back. She was in Mr. Vo’s RV, lying on one of the dining table bench seats.
She assumed a bump in the road had caused the jolt that woke her, but as she struggled to sit up, she felt a tightening of muscles in her lower abdomen.
A contraction? Hey, I know I said you could come at any time, but let’s put a hold on that for a little while, okay?
She took a couple deep breaths. Up front, she could see that Garrett had moved into the passenger seat next to Mr. Vo, and that Mrs. Vo was lounging on the built-in recliner near the side door. None of them had noticed Orlando was awake.
With each breath the cramp lost strength. To distract herself, she thought about the dream. She’d been having a conversation with Quinn about…she couldn’t remember. The baby, most likely. It was always the baby these days.
When she’d been a teenager, she couldn’t even fathom the idea of having a kid, much less two. Garrett was turning out all right, though, despite everything. And at least this second child would have the advantage of having two parents around.
The pain finally gone, she decided it had been a false contraction. She’d had them with Garrett, too.
She maneuvered off the seat — something that was much harder to do than it should have been — and headed up front, her hands on the walls to steady herself.
When she passed Mrs. Vo, she saw that the woman was asleep, so she took extra care not to disturb her. Up front, she held on to a side panel and attempted to kneel, but her balance was off. Her right arm flailed out and snagged the back of Garrett’s chair.
Her son turned quickly. “Mom?”
He reached out to grab her but his seat belt held him back. By the time he got it unbuckled, she’d managed to lower herself ungracefully to the floor without any permanent damage.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Sorry, sorry,” Mr. Vo said, looking at her through the rearview mirror. “I not see you come.”
“It’s okay. I’m fine.”
Looking unsure, Garrett let go of her arm.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Oregon,” he told her.
“Cross border forty minute ago,” Mr. Vo said.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Twelve-twenty,” he told her.
“Twelve-twenty-two,” Garrett corrected him. He was at that age when time was an exact thing. None of this “rounding off” stuff. Give or take the two minutes, she’d been asleep for over four hours, far longer than she’d planned.
“Looks like you guys have everything under control,” she said as she pushed herself up.
She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and called Quinn. The call went straight to voice mail.