Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

proceeded to key in a business search for the Pansy Shoppe and found the names of the business partners—a man and woman, different last name.

She pulled their backgrounds. Neither had a criminal record. Both were single, lived separately, and held mortgages. Nothing was glaringly wrong with them, but what about their employees—past and present? She’d need to wait until morning as the place would have long been closed for the day. They’d probably also want a court order to part with their employee names.

She got the paperwork together to subpoena that information and sent it over to the judge on call. By the time she came in tomorrow, she should have the approval she needed and be able to march right to the Pansy Shoppe.

She got up and stretched her arms overhead. The clock told her it was now half past ten. “Let’s call it, Trent.”

Fifty-Two

Amanda had arrived at Central the next day to find the approved subpoena for the Pansy Shoppe employees in her email inbox. There was a card on her desk as well. Probably for her birthday and signed by everyone in the station. She didn’t resent getting older; if anything she was thankful. But she left the envelope unopened and headed for the flower boutique.

She called Trent from their parking lot to let him know where she was, and he told her that he’d just pick up where he’d left off last night.

She got out of the car and went inside. A bell rang when she entered, and Bonnie Pratt, who Amanda recognized as one of the owners, greeted her with a pleasant smile.

“What can I get together for you?” Bonnie asked.

Amanda hated to wipe the grin off the woman’s face, but she was there on business. She held up her badge. “I’m not here for flowers today.”

“Oh. All right, then. What can I help you with? I’m guessing this has something to do with that guy putting our name on his van? But I told the officer who came by that wasn’t us.”

“It’s in regard to that case, yes,” Amanda admitted. “But I’m going to need a list of your current and former employees. I have a warrant.” She pulled it up on her phone and showed Bonnie.

Bonnie’s lips moved as she read, then she met Amanda’s gaze and walked to the counter. She went behind it and clicked on the computer. Shortly after, a printer was humming to life. She snatched a sheet off the tray and handed it to Amanda.

There were fifteen employees listed with addresses and phone numbers. “That’s all?”

“We’re a small shop, and we don’t have much turnover in staff.”

Amanda held up the piece of paper and said, “Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Amanda left, hating how she’d entered Bonnie’s life as a gray cloud over her otherwise sunny morning, but she had no choice.

* * *

By the time Amanda was walking to her desk at Central, it was ten o’clock. Trent looked up, appearing haggard.

“You all right there?” she asked him.

“I think so, but I’m still not getting anywhere.”

“Keep looking. I’m going to dig into this.” She held up the page she’d retrieved from Bonnie. “It’s the employee list from the Pansy Shoppe.”

“All right.” Trent returned his gaze to his monitor.

She sat down and got to work, focusing on the male employees. The last one on her list was a former employee named Randy Hart. She pulled his background. No record, but his DMV photo had her blood running cold. “Trent, come here.”

“Ah, yeah.” He sounded like she woke him up.

“Get over here.”

He made quick work of it; he must have sensed the urgency in her voice.

“Look.” She pressed a finger to her screen.

“The Devil.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, but how does a sex-trafficking guy wind up working at a flower shop? And can you imagine this guy behind the counter, or at your door with a delivery? I’m guessing the Pansy Shoppe kept him working in the back.”

“Well, he was a former employee…” She looked at the list, which included hire and leave dates. “Looks like he left nine years ago.”

“Maybe before the black eyes and the sex trafficking.”

“Probably.” And she hoped so. She hated to think that the flower shop was caught up with the sex-trafficking ring somehow.

“I’m still stuck on why our killer pointed us to him in the first place. Does he hold Randy Hart responsible for whatever happened in the past? If so, why not just kill him?”

“He could be biding his— Oh. Maybe he’s just trying to protect his own ass? He could view Hart as a threat.” She met her partner’s gaze, feeling confident in this suggestion.

“We did discuss that the sex-trafficking people would be interested in exacting revenge for the stolen girls.”

“We’ve got to move.” She jumped to her feet and went down the hall, Trent behind her. She stopped at Malone’s office, rapped her knuckles on the door.

“Yeah?”

She entered with Trent and filled him in about Hart.

“Hold up.” Malone sat back in his chair and swiveled slowly. “Do we think he’s working with the killer?”

Amanda glanced at Trent, back at Malone. “We have no reason to believe that, but our killer wanted us to find him. At least I believe so. Hart should be brought in and questioned as soon as possible. It might shed light on everything.”

“Not disagreeing with you there.”

“Good.” She spun to leave.

“Detective Steele,” Malone said.

She turned back around. “Yes?”

“You could go in there and really muck things up—” he held up a hand to stave off her defense “—not intentionally, of course, but this man could be the key to bringing more down in the sex-trafficking operation. I’d contact Sex Crimes. Let that department handle Hart.”

She felt like a balloon deflated of air. “But… Sarge—”

“No, I feel strongly about this, and I know you wouldn’t want to jeopardize justice being brought to those girls—and the countless others still out there.”

“Never.”

“Okay, then. Call Sex Crimes. Pass this along.”

“Wait,” she blurted out.

Malone angled his head. “I’m listening.”

“Let us at least stake out this guy,