“The termination went fine. The body’s wrapped and ready to go.”
“Then what is it?”
“We, uh, found, I don’t know, a dungeon, I guess.”
“Excuse me?”
He described Edmondson’s secret basement and the women they had found down there.
“Holy crap.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“I grabbed a few IDs.” He started to read off the names but Orlando stopped him.
“Let’s get Helen on the line first. She’s going to love this. Hold on.”
Thirty seconds later, the night officer at Helen’s office transferred their call to his boss’s home.
“I’ve got Quinn on with me,” Orlando said when Helen came on.
“Problems?” their client asked.
“Yes, but not what you think,” Quinn said.
He explained how the mission had gone, what they had found, and then read off the names on the IDs: Laurie Wright, Vanessa Holland, Kelly Blackwood, Marsha Venton, and Danielle Chad. The last two were the women from cells three and four, respectively. “I need to know how you want us to handle this,” he said when he finished.
Helen was silent for a moment before saying, “Give me ten minutes. I’d like to know a little about who you’ve found before making any decision. Can you shoot me photos from the IDs so I can check them against official records?”
“No problem.”
“Thanks. I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can,” Helen said and hung up.
“Copy me on the photos and I’ll see what I can find out on my end,” Orlando said to Quinn. “If Helen calls you back directly, make sure you get me on the line.”
CHAPTER 5
THE MOMENT THE photos arrived, Helen logged into her agency’s system and navigated to the information interface. The module would not only search her group’s database, but also cull information from other US intelligence and law enforcement organizations.
She typed in the five names Quinn had given her, set the parameters for a basic search so that it would be quicker, and clicked the ENTER button.
She received the results for the first four women within minutes. Wright, Holland, Blackwood, and Venton all matched the IDs Quinn had obtained. Each had been reported missing within the last month from different locations, all within a three-hundred-mile radius of Seattle.
None of the cases were getting much attention, however. The four women were recovering addicts of one type or another, and law enforcement officials in charge of each case seemed to think the person they were looking for had probably fallen back into her addiction and would turn up eventually, either stoned or dead. Because of this and the distances between the cases, no connections had been made to reveal a pattern.
Helen had started to assume Danielle Chad was a similar case that just hadn’t been reported yet when her computer spit out a response:
DANIELLE CHAD: A&D/Alpha One
A&D — apprehend and detain, in this case with the highest priority. It had been routed through the NSA, but could have originated from any of a dozen or more other agencies. Usually some basic information about the individual would come with such an order, even an alpha one, but the only other item was a link to a contact. When she clicked on it, she was presented with a screen telling her that remote access to the requested information was restricted.
She spent several minutes searching other databases for anything she could find about Danielle Chad but came up with nothing.
It looked like she wouldn’t learn anything until she went into the office.
But that could wait for now. She was already late getting back to Quinn.
The moment Orlando hung up with Quinn, she arranged through an app service for a car to pick her up right away. By the time she reached the street and removed her laptop from her backpack, her ride pulled to the curb. She gave the driver her address and settled into the backseat.
Using the information from the IDs, she conducted a similar search to the one Helen was doing on the other side of town. Her results for the first four women were basically the same. When it came to Danielle Chad, all her normal sources returned nothing.
Orlando then did a general search on the woman’s name. She received several hits but none matched the age and description of the woman Quinn had found.
There was only one other thing she could do. After cropping the woman’s photo out of the ID, she uploaded it into her web-based facial recognition interface and hit START. There was no telling when, or if, it would kick back any results, so she closed her computer and put it away.
She squirmed in her seat, trying to alleviate some of the aches she was feeling. When that didn’t work, she twisted to the side so she could rub the base of her spine. She couldn’t remember having this much back pain when she’d been pregnant with her son Garrett twelve years before.
Barely five feet tall, Orlando’s pre-baby weight had always hovered around ninety-four pounds. Her little passenger had added over twenty percent to that, rocketing her to — at last check — what she considered a hefty one hundred and fourteen.
Being pregnant again wasn’t all annoying, though. She was having a baby with Quinn. Thinking about that always brought a smile to her face. Okay, perhaps they hadn’t planned it this way, but damn if it wasn’t cool. She could already tell Quinn was going to be one of those overly involved, pain-in-the-ass dads, and she loved him even more for that.
As the baby nudged against her belly, Orlando sucked in a breath, the movement catching her off guard. She rubbed the spot and said, “Sweetheart, come on out anytime you’re ready.”
“Excuse me?” the driver said.
She looked up. “Sorry. I was — hey! There!” She leaned forward and pointed down the street to where a small crowd had gathered next to several food trucks. “Pull over.”
“But this isn’t where—”
“Just pull over.”
“Okay, okay. No problem.”
She opened the door as soon as he stopped. “Wait for me. I won’t be long.” She started to get out but then asked, “You want anything?”
“No, I’m good.”
“You sure? My treat.”
“A Coke, I guess,” he said. “And a taco. I mean, if that’s okay.”
Orlando climbed awkwardly out of the car and waddled over to the end of the line in front of the Mexican food truck.
Barely half a minute later, her phone rang, the caller ID reading HELEN CHO.
CHAPTER 6
Quinn remained in the garage, expecting Helen to get right back to him. When several minutes passed without his phone ringing, he began to pace.
What was taking her so long?
He and Nate should have already finished the job and been on their way home. Remaining in the house with the body lying in the kitchen was taxing his patience.
“Quinn?” Nate called from the bottom of the stairway.
Quinn walked over to the trapdoor.
“Our friends are getting a little anxious,” his partner said.
Join the club, Quinn thought. “Tell everyone to relax. I’ll be there soon.”
He started pacing again, wishing he could step outside for some fresh air, but the way things were going this night, some idiot would see him and call 911. A full twenty minutes passed before his phone finally rang.
“I’ve got Helen,” Orlando said.
“Sorry for the delay,” Helen told them. “This is a…delicate situation.”
“I don’t care what kind of situation it is,” Quinn said, not hiding his frustration. “You can’t leave us hanging like this. This is a crime scene. We need to get out of here.”