Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

He’d order another girl—just one more before moving on. He’d see if Randy showed up or another handler. He found himself wishing for Hart. Maybe he’d been too merciful, essentially gifting Randy to the police. Yes, if he got the chance, he’d take him out himself. He could handle that now.

He went to the internet and logged on to the dark web. He selected a girl from the list named Amber. Her real name had probably been something more American red, white, and blue. Something like Susie or Jane. Simple, naive, boring. She may even have been born into a home with doting parents she didn’t appreciate. Could have had a brother or sister who always came in second to her as well.

He clenched his hands at his sides, his gaze in the direction of his screen, but his focus was somewhere distant, his mind in the past. His vindictive sister was why he could kill without remorse. He saw her reflected in the eyes of the girls he strangled. Tonight, he wouldn’t waste one second feeling merciful toward anyone.

Fifty-Five

The call to Amanda’s phone had been untraceable. The front desk was managed by a mix of officers and civilians, but it had been one of the latter who told Malone that a man had dropped off the card with her. She was the one who had put it on Amanda’s desk. Still, a brazen move that the killer had showed his face in a police station.

Amanda kept repeating the words in the card like a chant. “Not the bad guy.” Finally, an epiphany struck. “Our killer doesn’t think he’s a bad person, hasn’t from the start. He sent me that note—the one at Lindsey’s grave—saying we’re on the same team. I lock up bad guys. He sees himself as being to that level with what he’s doing. He sees himself… as what?” She locked her gaze with Trent’s and snapped her fingers. “He sees himself as a victim. He suffered because of sex trafficking, and he pointed us to Randy Hart. I don’t think it was an act of self-preservation. There’s more to Hart. His background gave us nothing… google his name.”

Trent stepped in front of her to use her computer, brought up an internet browser, and entered Randy Hart. There were several hits.

“Narrow it down,” Amanda said. “Add the words ‘suspect’ and ‘sex trafficking.’”

Trent proceeded to do that, and she watched as articles popped up.

Arson Killed Young Woman.

Young Woman from House Fire Identified.

Arson Suspect Questioned & Released.

Prince William County—A Stalking Ground for Human Traffickers?

Trent said, “These results link to articles dating back seven years.”

“Pick the second one.” She jabbed a finger toward the screen, and Trent clicked on the link. He read, “‘The remains of a young woman were pulled from a house fire three weeks ago today.’”

“The article title alludes to the fact she was identified. Her name?”

Trent drew a finger down the screen. “Christina Ross of Haymarket, eighteen.”

Haymarket was a forty-five-minute drive northeast of Dumfries, with a population under two thousand, and still part of Prince William County.

Trent resumed looking at the article. “From what I can tell, Christina disappeared from a horse show when she was eleven.” He looked over his shoulder at her.

“She’d been kidnapped and held for seven years before her death.” Amanda clutched her stomach.

“And here’s her picture at age eleven.” Trent flicked a finger toward the screen.

“Even considering the age difference the resemblance to Ashley Lynch is still uncanny.”

“That’s one word for it. So what’s the killer doing? Targeting her lookalikes for some reason?”

She hitched her shoulders and nudged her head toward the monitor. “Does this article say anything about Randy Hart?” Sometimes Google produced results that didn’t include all the search words.

“Ah, let me see.” Trent scrolled down. “Actually, it’s not looking like it. Let me try another one.” He duplicated that page in a new internet tab and returned to the search results. He opened the “Suspect Questioned” piece.

Right there in the second paragraph was Randy Hart’s name. She read to herself and picked up that Hart had been questioned about his involvement in sex trafficking and the death of the young girl—Christina Ross. Suspicion was dropped when his alibi was confirmed. The house that had been set on fire was believed to have been a holding house—otherwise known as a weigh station—for trafficking victims. The property was registered to a numbered company that law enforcement had no luck in tracking down. Then another interesting tidbit … “It was an anonymous phone call that tipped off police about Hart,” she said, tingles running down her arms. “We need to find out who made that call.”

“Thought it says anonymous…”

“Yeah, nothing’s anonymous. But first, let’s find Christina’s family.”

He searched Obit Christina Ross. “She was laid to rest at Eagle Cemetery.”

“That’s where—” Amanda cleared her throat. “That’s where Kevin and Lindsey are buried. Continue,” she encouraged.