keep her until she’s almost starved to death. Then he’ll break her neck and leave her body the same way as before.”
“We’re not going to let that happen,” Bill said in a tight voice.
Meredith said, “Agents Paige and Jeffreys, I want to you to get right to work on this.” He pushed a manila folder stuffed with photos and reports across the table toward Riley. “Agent Paige, here’s all the info you need to bring you up to speed.”
Riley reached toward the folder. But her hand jerked back with a spasm of horrible anxiety.
What’s the matter with me?
Her head was spinning, and out-of-focus images started to take shape in her brain. Was this PTSD from the Peterson case? No, it was different. It was something else entirely.
Riley got up from her chair and fled the conference room. As she hurried down the hallway toward her office, the images in her head came into sharper focus.
They were faces – faces of women and girls.
She saw Mitzi, Koreen, and Tantra – young call girls whose respectable attire masked their degradation even from themselves.
She saw Justine, an aging whore hunched over a drink at a bar, tired and bitter and fully prepared to die an ugly death.
She saw Chrissy, virtually imprisoned in a brothel by her abusive pimp husband.
And worst of all, she saw Trinda, a fifteen-year-old girl who had already lived a nightmare of sexual exploitation, and who could imagine no other life.
Riley arrived in her office and collapsed into her chair. Now she understood her onslaught of revulsion. The images she’d seen just now had been a trigger. They’d brought to the surface her darkest misgivings about the Phoenix case. She’d stopped a brutal murderer, but she hadn’t brought justice to the women and girls she’d met. A whole world of exploitation remained. She hadn’t even scratched the surface of the wrongs they endured.
And now she was haunted and troubled in a way she’d never known before. This seemed worse than PTSD to her. After all, she could give vent to her private rage and horror in a sparring gym. She had no way to get rid of these new feelings.
And could she bring herself to work another case like Phoenix?
She heard Bill’s voice at the door.
“Riley.”
She looked up and saw her partner looking at her with a sad expression. He was holding the folder Meredith had tried to give her.
“I need you on this case,” Bill said. “It’s personal for me. It makes me crazy that I couldn’t crack it. And can’t help wondering if I was off my game because my marriage was falling apart. I got to know Valerie Bruner’s family. They’re good people. But I haven’t stayed in touch with them because … well, I let them down. I’ve got to make things right with them.”
He put the folder on Riley’s desk.
“Just look at this. Please.”
He left Riley’s office. She sat staring at the folder in a state of indecision.
This wasn’t like her. She knew she had to snap out of it.
As she mulled things over, she remembered something from her time in Phoenix. She had been able to save one girl named Jilly. Or at least she had tried.
She took out her phone and dialed the number for a shelter for teenagers in Phoenix, Arizona. A familiar voice came on the line.
“This is Brenda Fitch.”
Riley was glad that Brenda took the call. She’d gotten to know the social worker during her previous case.
“Hi, Brenda,” she said. “This is Riley. I just thought I’d check in on Jilly.”
Jilly was a girl that Riley had rescued from sex trafficking – a skinny, dark-haired thirteen-year-old. Jilly had no family except for an abusive father. Riley called every so often to find out how Jilly was doing.
Riley heard a sigh from Brenda.
“It’s good of you to call,” Brenda said. “I wish more people showed some concern. Jilly’s still with us.”
Riley’s heart sank. She hoped that someday she’d call and be told that Jilly had been taken in by a kindly foster family. This wasn’t going to be that day. Now Riley was worried.
She said, “The last time we talked, you were afraid you’d have to send her back to her father.”
“Oh, no, we’ve got that legally sorted out. We’ve even got a restraining order to keep him away from her.
Riley breathed a sigh of relief.
“Jilly asks about you all the time,” Brenda said. “Would you like to talk to her?”
“Yes. Please.”
Brenda put Riley on hold. Riley suddenly wondered whether this was such a good idea. Whenever she talked to Jilly, she wound up feeling guilty. She couldn’t understand why she felt that way. After all, she had saved Jilly from a life of exploitation and abuse.
But saved her for what? she wondered. What kind of life did Jilly have to look forward to?
She heard Jilly’s voice.
“Hey, Agent Paige.”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”
“Sorry. Hey, Riley.”
Riley chuckled a little.
“Hey, yourself. How are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess.”
A silence fell.
A typical teenager, Riley thought. It was always hard to get Jilly talking.
“So what are you up to?” Riley asked.
“Just waking up,” Jilly said, sounding a bit groggy. “Going to eat breakfast.”
Riley then realized that it was three hours earlier in Phoenix.
“I’m sorry to call so early,” Riley said. “I keep forgetting about the time difference.”
“It’s okay. It’s nice of you to call.”
Riley heard a yawn.
“So are you going to school today?” Riley asked.
“Yeah. They let us out of the joint every day to do that.”
It was Jilly’s little running joke, calling the shelter the “joint” as if it were a prison. Riley didn’t find it very funny.
Riley said, “Well, I’ll let you go have breakfast and get ready.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Jilly said.
Another silence fell. Riley
