The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s holding me accountable for the outcome of the Palmer investigation.”

“You told him you’re not working it anymore?”

“I did, but he didn’t want to hear it.”

“So what do you do now?”

She peered into his eyes. How far did his claimed loyalty go? “I plan to keep working the case.”

“Oh.” Trent raked a hand through his hair. “Just to hear you say it…”

“You’re loyal, remember?”

His gaze snapped to hers again.

“There’s something I need to tell you. Remember the bracelet I got off Freddy?”

“Yeah?”

“I took it to Digital Forensics last night and it turns out there’s evidence on there of a sex-trafficking ring.” She probably should have filled him in last night, but she was going to tell him once the files were confirmed on the mainframe server. But Lieutenant Hill happened, then Rick Jensen.

“A— What?” Trent dropped back onto the couch. “Right here in Dumfries or…?”

She realized that Jacob hadn’t specified geography. “Probably and Woodbridge, maybe all of Prince William County. Washington, DC, too? I don’t know the reach yet.”

“Wow. I never would have—”

“I wouldn’t have seen this coming either. I mean Palmer was involved with fencing stolen goods. That’s a far cry from facilitating the sale of little girls.”

“Girls?” Trent blanched.

“Some as young as six.” God help any man who might have tried this with Lindsey. Amanda would have disemboweled him and tied his entrails around a tree, letting him bleed out or be eaten by wild animals.

Trent wiped a hand over his mouth. “Wow. So what do we do?”

“We bring them all down. The information from the data chip is already on the server and someone from Sex Crimes has been assigned the case. Detective Patricia Glover. Quite sure that she left me a voicemail, but I haven’t listened to it yet.”

“Wow.”

“Would you please stop saying that?” She realized it was usually her throwing that word around. It was official: she was rubbing off on him.

“It’s just I came here thinking I had a good lead to share, but this—what you have—overshadows whatever I could say.”

“What is it, Trent?”

“The Caprice was found,” he said.

“No, that’s good; we might find more pieces of the puzzle.” She looked at the front door, then him. “You sure you’re okay with me tagging along?”

“I came here to get you, didn’t I?”

“Thought you were worried about me.”

“That too.”

She let him go out first and double-checked to make sure the door was locked—not that it had stopped Rick from getting inside. She grabbed the passenger door and had one leg in when she saw what was on the seat. Her badge and her gun in its holster.