Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Ethan grabbed the notebook and slapped it on the table next to the laptop, glancing back and forth between the page and the screen. “Fuck.”
“It matches?”
Ethan nodded. “Exactly.”
“What?” Haisley felt like they were talking over her head, and it was pissing her off. “What matches?”
Ethan dragged her closer for a better view of the screen. “Each of these six-digit numbers corresponds to a date—the one in which the victim was abducted. The letter corresponds to her first initial. So see this? Twelve, twenty-four, and two digits for the year, followed by a K. That’s Kaylee, who disappeared on Christmas Eve.” He clicked on her file, only to find another assortment of numbers and letters.
“Shit,” Nash muttered. “This spells out everything about the girl abducted. H must be height. The fifty-two must mean she’s five foot-two. The W corresponds to weight. She weighs one twenty-two. The next numbers… B? W? H? I don’t know. We did weight and height, so what would another W or H mean?”
Haisley glanced at the numbers herself and it hit her. “Bust, waist, and hips. They’re measurements.”
Ethan nodded. “So the other stats just below? Another H and an E, next to abbreviations for colors, must be—”
“Hair and eye color,” Nash cut in. “This lists Kaylee as having brown hair and eyes…and that corresponds to the information her mother provided. Son of a bitch.” He scowled. “But what’s the V for? There’s a Y next to that.”
Haisley knew and it made her sick. “If they’re selling these girls for sex, I’m sure they’re finding out whether or not she’s a virgin.”
“That’s disgusting,” Ethan growled.
“These fucking bastards don’t deserve to live.” And Nash looked ready to kill each and every one of them himself.
A few minutes later, they had verified that all the victims had a file folder with a document outlining her stats. Those who had been missing longer had other details, but interpreting their meaning wasn’t easy.
“What do you suppose the B stands for on this file?” Haisley pointed to the file they found on the first victim, Taylor. She worried like hell what the “yes” after it meant.
Both men shrugged. They might not know the answer, but their grim expressions told her it was probably bad.
“And what is this weird combination of stuff below? They both have decimal numbers, they’re separated by a comma, and the last number is negative. Is that…longitude and latitude?”
“It is.” Nash was already pounding away on his phone. Then he looked at Ethan with a shake of his head.
“An island. Am I right?” Ethan asked.
“Tiny. Private. In the middle of the Atlantic, sandwiched between the west of Cuba’s southern tip and the most westerly Cayman Island.”
“Fuck.”
“Is that where they’re taking those girls?” Haisley asked in dawning horror. It was terrible enough for these victims to be ripped from their homes, but to be transported out of the country to a foreign land with no government reach, no help in sight…
“This one at least,” Ethan answered. “But look, victim two, Collette, has all the same information after her abduction date and her initial. Except…wait. There’s another seven-digit code beneath the B we can’t figure out and the location.”
“What the fuck could that mean? Damn it,” Nash grumbled.
“I don’t know. Where does that leave us?” Haisley asked.
“Still searching,” Ethan admitted. “Sometimes cases are one step forward and two steps back. We just keep plugging away.”
“And hope for a break.” Nash sighed.
“What he said.” Ethan’s eyes were fixed on the computer screen as he clicked away. Suddenly, he sat up straighter. “Anyone ever heard of a business called Rugs Direct Unlimited?”
“Nope.” Nash shrugged. “Should I?”
Haisley shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it, either.”
Ethan scowled at the monitor. “I found an advertisement of sorts. There’s a picture of a pretty typical area rug stretched across a hardwood floor. The ad copy reads: Exclusive, one-of-a-kind decor. Lay them right the first time, and they’ll be yours forever. They’re based out of Cuba.”
Nash lifted a brow. “Want to bet their ‘headquarters’ is on a small island between the mainland and the Caymans?”
“Oh, god.” Haisley slapped her hand across her mouth. “They don’t mean rugs. They’re talking about…”
“Women,” Nash confirmed.
She was going to be sick. “Is this how they’re finding…buyers for these girls? Through a fake rug business?”
“That’s my guess. Let me see if I can find a website.” A few clicks later, Ethan swore. “It’s prompting me for a password.”
“So anyone with the right credentials can just…shop for a sex slave?” Haisley pressed a hand to her chest. “That’s…”
“Disgusting? Repulsive? Terrible?”
Even imagining the horror these women must be enduring was hard. “All of it. And nothing on the computer might help us get into that site and rescue those girls?”
“I need more time. Nothing is jumping out at me right now, but I’m going to head home and keep looking.” He raised a brow at Nash. “You staying?”