Skin Deep (Station Seventeen #1)(11)
There was no fucking way she was hearing this properly. “That’s what an investigation is for,” she said, trying—and failing—to keep her words level despite the anger free-flowing through her veins.
Sinclair sat perfectly still, save the barely-there lift of one brow. “An investigation into what, exactly? This case is already cold and it hasn’t even been opened. Look”—his voice softened in both volume and tone, and God, she officially hated this as much as possible. “I know this is personal for you, and it’s tough to let this one go. But for now, it’s what we’re stuck with.”
Translation: Until one of the girls in those photos becomes a body.
Not on her watch. Not ever.
Isabella set her molars together with a firm clack. If more evidence was what the FBI wanted, then she wasn’t going to stop until she damn well had some.
3
“Boss, we got a problem.”
Julian DuPree took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was wearing a five thousand dollar suit. If he hadn’t been so finely dressed, chances were rather high he’d have murdered the idiot in front of him.
At least his tailor would be pleased. Julian, on the other hand? Remained highly unimpressed.
“Come in, Charles.” Julian lifted a manicured hand, ignoring the frown on his employee’s normally vacant face as he waved the behemoth into his office. Muscle had its place within Julian’s organization, and he knew the value of a good enforcer. Still, he had standards. Calling the man Rampage wasn’t going to happen, no matter how deeply he frowned or how long he’d gone by the nickname in other circles.
“So.” Julian shuffled through the papers on his antique mahogany desk even though his attention was zeroed in on the no-neck delinquent in front of him. He fucking hated problems. They were so untidy. “What seems to be the issue?”
“There was a fire at the holding facility in North Point,” Charles said slowly, using all the right vernacular to relay all the wrong things. “The fire marshal says it was caused by bad wiring. Ruled the whole thing accidental. That geeky freak looked up the report online.”
Ah, Vaughn. Having a hacker on staff was wonderfully beneficial. Especially one with no conscience.
“We vacated that location several weeks ago, if I recall.” Julian kept his expression purposely neutral, calibrating his tone to match even though his senses were on high alert. The only thing he hated more than problems were surprises. “How is an accidental fire in an empty facility we can’t be tied to problematic?”
Julian had gone to great lengths to make sure no names were ever used to secure his holding facilities, no rental agreements, no middlemen, no paper trail whatsoever. Using vacant houses in low rent neighborhoods to house his girls meant frequent and strategic movement on his part, but since it also kept him six steps ahead of law enforcement, the effort paid off.
Plus, the girls were filthy anyway. Turning them out in dirty, abandoned flophouses actually seemed quite fitting.
Charles shifted his weight, his cheap work boots becoming suddenly riveting. “The fire is being ruled an accident, but the location wasn’t quite empty. There…might have been some photos left behind.”
“I see.” Julian remained perfectly still even though his anger slithered beneath his skin like a living thing. “Would these be photos of my merchandise?”
He kept his girls carefully catalogued, just as he did with all of his investment property. All hard copy photos, carefully posed for anonymity, and never, ever put on the Internet. Vaughn was good, and so far, loyal. But anyone could be bought. Or sold, as it turned out. No sense in taking chances.
“Uh,” Charles said, his beady eyes still focused on the Aubusson beneath his clumsy feet, and the grunt was all the answer Julian needed. “They were just some of the extra pictures, mostly duplicates. But yeah, of the stuff we used to keep there.”
Julian’s anger flirted with rage, making his pulse pound and pushing his next question between his teeth. “And where are the photos now?”
“I’m not sure. I went back to try and find them after Best Buy over there told me a nine-one-one call had popped on the address.” Charles hooked a meaty thumb over his shoulder, gesturing in the direction of the server room down the hall where Vaughn worked, ate, and slept. “But it took a couple of days before I could dodge the cops and the fire department. The place was pretty fucked up. Barely anything left. The pictures might’ve burned along with most everything else.”
“But they weren’t there when you went back,” Julian said, his rage growing sharper and more focused as the man shook his fat, bald head.
“No, but Vaughn said the fire marshal doesn’t have the case listed as pending investigation from the RPD, and—”
Julian silenced him with nothing more than a look. “Even if the police department did open an investigation, they wouldn’t get anywhere. Do you know how I know this, Charles?”
“Uh. No, sir.”
“Because I don’t make errors. And do you know what those photos being left behind at that holding facility is?”
Charles swallowed, but at least he had the decency to answer. “An error.”
“Exactly.” Julian folded his hands over the long-forgotten paperwork placed neatly on his desk. He had far more important things to deal with than sloppy work. “Tell me, Charles. Why were the photos not moved along with the merchandise in the first place?”