any information about her to anyone. Then, if she had to leave a position on a moment’s notice, they already knew the truth. If the boss was a woman, the good-bye conversation always ended in tears and hugs. Male employers got angry and wanted to help her. All she needed from any of them was a spectacular reference so she could get the next job to keep supporting herself.
This time, she had a new reason making her procrastinate. She hated the idea of SDSA being run out of business by a clinic undercutting their fees. Her research Monday night confirmed SDSA’s prices were within the industry averages. How much lower were the fees at this new competitor that they were able to steal clients? And how were they able to offer them?
She had to act, and act quickly.
* * *
Just after midnight, Ben trudged through the passageway between the buildings and stopped in front of the mailboxes. He unlocked his and retrieved the mail from the past two days. Then he stood back and studied all the boxes.
Before going to work Wednesday morning, he’d visited Lisa at the office to tell her about the guy attacking the mailboxes in the middle of the night. She’d been pissed about the dents the jerk had left. She concluded he planned to break into some and steal the mail, hoping to find checks or bank and credit card statements for identity theft. Not a bad theory since mail theft was quite common, but Ben thought something else was going on.
The stranger’s examination of the labels meant something. Perhaps he was looking to steal the mail of someone specific. Or he wasn’t interested in the mail at all, but in finding the apartment number of a particular person. Not an illegal activity, but doing it at two in the morning sparked suspicion. And suspicion was Ben’s middle name since he became an FBI agent.
As his gaze traveled across the labels, he counted how many lacked identifying names next to the apartment number. Only eight, his being one of them. As an FBI agent, he didn’t broadcast where he lived. He also rarely revealed whom he worked for, which made him wonder why he’d been comfortable telling Amber the very first time they’d met.
Amber.
His gaze darted to the box with her apartment number.
No name.
He recalled Mailbox Man getting angry as though he wasn’t able to find what he wanted. Since the maximum data available was the apartment number with the corresponding last name, the eight boxes without surnames represented the missing information. Although he couldn’t be sure, Ben’s gut feeling was the guy wasn’t looking for him. So it had to be one of the other seven people. Could it be Amber?
A jaw-locking yawn forced him to admit his exhaustion. Since he needed to get to the office early to write up the reports on tonight’s disappointing raids, he postponed his speculation about Mailbox Man and climbed the stairs. After unlocking the door, he glanced across at Amber’s apartment. Dark, of course. An FBI agent’s hours made personal relationships hard, but not having someone’s phone number made it even harder. He would have to remedy that problem.
As he got ready for bed, he analyzed the raids in Oceanside and Chula Vista. Six prostitutes freed. Ten johns and four guards arrested. Again, not a bad night’s work. But no Maria or the other four kidnapped women. Once again, it felt like failure. Especially during his conversation with Pedro.
Ben lay staring at the ceiling, pondering whether he’d stumbled on something significant tonight. When he’d shown tonight’s women pictures of the ten prostitutes they’d freed Tuesday night, every one of them recognized at least two or three. Not the same ones either. This supported what they knew of H’s practice of constantly shuffling the groups of women so no alliances could be formed to plan escapes as well as to provide new merchandise for the customers. However, when shown pictures of the five missing women, none of tonight’s prostitutes recognized
This time, she had a new reason making her procrastinate. She hated the idea of SDSA being run out of business by a clinic undercutting their fees. Her research Monday night confirmed SDSA’s prices were within the industry averages. How much lower were the fees at this new competitor that they were able to steal clients? And how were they able to offer them?
She had to act, and act quickly.
* * *
Just after midnight, Ben trudged through the passageway between the buildings and stopped in front of the mailboxes. He unlocked his and retrieved the mail from the past two days. Then he stood back and studied all the boxes.
Before going to work Wednesday morning, he’d visited Lisa at the office to tell her about the guy attacking the mailboxes in the middle of the night. She’d been pissed about the dents the jerk had left. She concluded he planned to break into some and steal the mail, hoping to find checks or bank and credit card statements for identity theft. Not a bad theory since mail theft was quite common, but Ben thought something else was going on.
The stranger’s examination of the labels meant something. Perhaps he was looking to steal the mail of someone specific. Or he wasn’t interested in the mail at all, but in finding the apartment number of a particular person. Not an illegal activity, but doing it at two in the morning sparked suspicion. And suspicion was Ben’s middle name since he became an FBI agent.
As his gaze traveled across the labels, he counted how many lacked identifying names next to the apartment number. Only eight, his being one of them. As an FBI agent, he didn’t broadcast where he lived. He also rarely revealed whom he worked for, which made him wonder why he’d been comfortable telling Amber the very first time they’d met.
Amber.
His gaze darted to the box with her apartment number.
No name.
He recalled Mailbox Man getting angry as though he wasn’t able to find what he wanted. Since the maximum data available was the apartment number with the corresponding last name, the eight boxes without surnames represented the missing information. Although he couldn’t be sure, Ben’s gut feeling was the guy wasn’t looking for him. So it had to be one of the other seven people. Could it be Amber?
A jaw-locking yawn forced him to admit his exhaustion. Since he needed to get to the office early to write up the reports on tonight’s disappointing raids, he postponed his speculation about Mailbox Man and climbed the stairs. After unlocking the door, he glanced across at Amber’s apartment. Dark, of course. An FBI agent’s hours made personal relationships hard, but not having someone’s phone number made it even harder. He would have to remedy that problem.
As he got ready for bed, he analyzed the raids in Oceanside and Chula Vista. Six prostitutes freed. Ten johns and four guards arrested. Again, not a bad night’s work. But no Maria or the other four kidnapped women. Once again, it felt like failure. Especially during his conversation with Pedro.
Ben lay staring at the ceiling, pondering whether he’d stumbled on something significant tonight. When he’d shown tonight’s women pictures of the ten prostitutes they’d freed Tuesday night, every one of them recognized at least two or three. Not the same ones either. This supported what they knew of H’s practice of constantly shuffling the groups of women so no alliances could be formed to plan escapes as well as to provide new merchandise for the customers. However, when shown pictures of the five missing women, none of tonight’s prostitutes recognized
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