Kingston Kidnappings (What Happens In Vegas Book 3) by Matt Lincoln (great book club books .txt) 📗

you have any internal damage. It won’t do you much good to have everything bandaged up if your organs and getting sliced up in there.”

“Thank you for the advice,” I responded as I carefully flexed my side. Moving more than a few degrees hurt, but it was manageable. “I assure you, I’ll go to a hospital as soon as I’m finished here, but I can’t call it a day yet.”

“Alright,” the paramedic shrugged. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” He turned and walked away briskly then, likely off to help his comrades examine the children.

I made my way slowly around the room as I tried to take in every detail I could. There were cops and paramedics everywhere, so it was difficult to get a good look. After a few minutes, I decided there was nothing noteworthy down here. We’d ascertained a long time ago that the traffickers were teaching the kids how to do domestic work in preparation to sell them off, so there was no new information to be gained by looking around the first floor.

With that in mind, I made my way up the stairs. Every step sent a shock of pain through my ribs, but about halfway up, the worst of it seemed to subside. There was no sign of blood through the bandages, so I at least hadn’t made my injury any worse.

The second floor of the building was similar to the first in that its layout was wide and open. Unlike the first floor, however, there weren’t any tables or washing machines up here. Rather, two rows of bunk beds were shoved against the far wall. Beside them, piles of blankets and pillows were spread out around the floor. Along the wall immediately to the left of the entrance were six cribs. Fletcher had said that they’d found babies up there when they’d come in through the back door, but the cribs were empty now. Presumably, they’d been the first children that the paramedics took out of the building.

On the other side of the room were two adult-sized beds with a desk between them. I assumed this was where the men guarding the children would sleep at night. It was impossible to get to the stairs without passing directly in front of those beds, so it would have been virtually impossible for the children to sneak away.

There were several paramedics up here rushing about as they tended to the children. Every once in a while, one of them would carry a child out of the room and down the stairs. I couldn’t imagine how much work it would be trying to transport all of these children out of here safely.

I approached the desk. It was piled high with papers and folders. Most of the papers appeared to be receipts and sales transactions, as well as dates and descriptions of children. It was similar to what we’d found in Aaron Brown’s house. He’d had all of these records as well since he was the one tasked with tracking the children’s whereabouts.

As I riffled through the documents, something peculiar caught my eye. It was a flier with a design I’d seen before. I pulled it from the stack and gasped when I realized what I was holding. It was a flier for the Hope for Children organization. The same flier we’d found in the Weavers’ home.

Fear and horror clawed at my stomach, and I rushed back down the stairs. I was vaguely aware of the pain in my ribs as they protested the rough treatment, but I barely paid any attention. I needed to confirm that my suspicions were wrong.

I pushed my way through the throngs of people on the first floor toward the wall the suspects had been lined against. The wall was bare when I arrived.

“Where are the suspects?” I asked Smith, who was speaking to one of the police officers.

“They’re being taken back to the station,” Smith responded, frowning at the haggard expression on my face. “Aside from the two who were injured, they’ll be ready for interrogation by this evening. I thought you were going to go to the hospital first. Is everything okay?”

“How long ago did they leave?” I asked, brushing off the rest of his comments. I didn’t have time to explain right now.

“Just a few minutes,” he replied. “What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, I took off out the door. If I hurried, I might be able to catch them before they left. I caught sight of one of the men being loaded into a police car just a few feet from the entrance.

“Stop!” I yelled as I ran toward the car. The cop loading him in slammed the door shut and reached for his holster in response to my outburst.

“I’m Agent Patel,” I explained. “I need to speak with him. It’ll only take a moment. Please, it’s urgent.”

The officer relaxed and pulled the door back open.

“What is this?” I demanded to know as I thrust the pamphlet in the suspect’s face.

“Get away from me!” he spat.

I leaned into the car and placed my hand against the suspect’s windpipe. I positioned myself so that the officer outside wouldn’t have a clear view of what I was doing, but I wouldn’t be able to stay concealed for long.

“Answer my question,” I commanded through gritted teeth.

“It’s the place we send the kids to,” he gasped. “Our contact in the United States. She organizes the sales for us. We get the kids for her, and then we split the profits. She makes those fliers to hide what she’s really doing.”

I released my grip on his neck and stumbled backward away from the car. I felt as though I couldn’t breathe. How could we have missed this?

“Agent Patel!” Smith yelled as he leaned forward to look into my eyes. “Can you hear me? You’re bleeding again. You need to get to the hospital.”

“I need to call my team,” I mumbled as I reached a shaking hand into my pocket for my phone.

Smith was still