Mark
Is this your girl?
The message pops up on my computer screen as I’m sitting at my desk in Juneau, sliding a pencil up and down.
Leaning forward, I tap my middle finger on the mouse pad, and, “What the fuck?” I shout, sitting forward in my chair.
It’s been three months. Three fucking months. Ninety days of searching, scouring the dark web for any signs of “Doll-Baby,” the username I read over Molly’s shoulder in Nice. I found old queries on Silk Road connecting Esterhaus to the White Pass line where they found him, and I know it’s how she’s finding her victims.
What I don’t have are two important pieces of information—where they are now and who’s next. Since the old theater in New Orleans burned to the ground, everyone associated with the place has scattered. One by one, the five members of the sex club are dead or missing.
Esterhaus was the last one I could find alive.
Guy has completely vanished.
My eyes fly around the browser window. The entertainment section of NOLA.com has a hazy candid photograph of Lara in profile. She’s standing in a bar beside a piano. The pianist’s back is turned, but I’d recognize that guy anywhere.
“Of course she’s with Roland,” I say, wondering why the fuck I didn’t track down that guy first.
How did you find this? I message back.
Check the headline, is the reply.
It reads “Dark Angel Returns.”
Resurfaces, is more like it.
Snatching up my phone, I book a plane ticket to New Orleans as I’m walking to my supervisor’s office. She has more guts than I thought going back to New Orleans, but where else would she go? Roland has always had her back.
Donovan Lee is sitting at his desk, studying an open folder. He’s classic native Alaskan, with straight dark hair and bronze skin.
“Knock knock,” I say, taking a chair in front of him.
“Fitz.” He looks up and smiles briefly before looking down again. “What’s on your mind?”
“I need to take a few days off, sir.”
That gets his full attention. He rocks back in the chair and studies me. “What for this time?”
“Personal matter. I found my daughter.”
He nods, looking grave. “Nothing hits you like family.”
If only he knew.
“It’s a slow month.” He glances at the file in front of him. “I suppose we could do without you for a personal matter. If it’s only about a personal matter.”
Clearing my throat, I scoot back in the chair. I consider how much I can tell him without revealing my motives. Legally, I can’t do anything about Lara’s past or mine in New Orleans. Still, I can try and get some answers. I can get my family back.
“It’s possible Esterhaus was part of a sex trafficking ring that extended from New Orleans to the Pacific Northwest to the Yukon Territory.”
“
Pacific Northwest…” Donovan puts a hand over his mouth, thinking. “The chief in Seattle is one of my oldest friends. He might appreciate a tip like that. How much evidence do you have?”
“When I lived in New Orleans, I worked at a theater in the French Quarter. A burlesque show.”
His eyebrows rise. “Good for you. What capacity?”