SEVEN
Ozzie
My internet searchturns up nothing about Mila. No hometown, no phone number, not even a vital record. No social media whatsoever.
Maybe I’ve headed too far into stalker territory. But I have to know. I need to know how to care for her, speak her language, and get her to open up. If I learned more about where she was coming from, I might understand how to talk to her better.
And now, I do something truly creepy that I know I’ll never forgive myself for. I do a reverse image search on her student ID.
What comes up is not Mila. The face is her, but with darker hair and different makeup. But the name that comes up is someone called Kendall Whitman.
What in the actual hell? Does Mila have a twin with another name? Is Mila not her real name?
I set aside any feelings of offense that she lied about her identity when my web surfing lands on a photo that links me to a news article. Oh shit. Here we go.
Click.
Known mob chief found dead; daughter sought for questioning vanishes.
The story quotes an anonymous source that says this Kendall was most likely kidnapped by an enemy of Bulletproof, someone trafficking young girls. The detective investigating the massive shootout said it was a gangland dispute. They would be untying all the threads for months.
The article doesn’t say if there was a manhunt for the girl.
It’s a confusing article, which leaves me with more questions than answers.
An hours-long internet rabbit hole takes me down article after article about the Whitman family and their many businesses—from strip clubs to music venues to discount stores repeatedly fined for illegal designer knock-offs.
I pore over detail after detail, and then things begin to click.
Mila doesn’t want the Whitman family to know she’s here. But if she witnessed Bulletproof’s murder and turned over evidence to the DA, why wouldn’t they place her in a safe house somewhere? The mountains of North Carolina seem like an extreme move for the FBI just for one witness.
But they wouldn’t let her go to college and live an average life, would they? Don’t witnesses live alone and—according to TV—work at Cinnabon or whatever? She wouldn’t be allowed to join a sorority. They would put her somewhere where they could keep an eye on her.
That’s when it hits me. Mila — or, I guess, Kendall— ran away.
But why?
I have to talk to her. Now.
I grab my keys, and I’m out the door.