Page 95 of What Comes Around

Detective Alan Jackson met us in the hallway. He was in his forties, tall, tired‑looking, with the kind of expression that said he had seen too much and slept too little.

“Ms. Richards,” he said. “Thank you for coming in.”

I nodded.

His eyes shifted to Knox, assessing him, trying to place him.

“This is Mr. Sinclair,” I said. “The attack happened on his property.”

Detective Jackson gave a short nod and gestured for us to follow him down the hall.

We stepped into a small interview room. Knox pulled out a chair for me before taking the one beside mine. His knee brushed mine under the table.

I already knew more than I should have.

A few days ago Amy had told me everything she found before the detective even called.

Detective Jackson opened a folder and slid a photo across the table.

A mugshot.

Mario García.

Even expecting it, the sight of his face still hit me like a punch. My stomach tightened, my fingers went cold, and for a moment the room narrowed around the edges.

The past and present collided in a single heartbeat.

Mario García.

The second trafficker from my past life.

The man I had been sold to.

The man whose voice still lived in the darkest corners of my memory.

I inhaled sharply.

Knox immediately took my hand, thinking my reaction was because I was seeing my attacker for the first time.

I let him hold it, grounding myself in something real. Something now.

Detective Jackson watched me carefully. “This is the man who attempted to abduct you. Mario García. He is currently in custody.”

I nodded once.

He continued. “We received an anonymous tip early yesterday morning. It led us to his residence. We found burner phones, cash, and evidence linking him to a sex trafficking ring. He was running a brothel with women who were not there by choice. We are in the process of freeing them.”

“There is a shelter,” I said. “For trafficked women. They will take them in if they have nowhere to go.”

The detective nodded. “I know the one. We already contacted them.”

Knox’s voice cut in. “How did his car get into the parking garage?”

Detective Jackson exhaled. “The license plates were stolen. One of the employees reported his car stolen the night before. The plates were removed and placed on a silver Honda Accord. The gate camera only checks plates, not the vehicle itself. So the system let him in.”

Knox’s jaw tightened. “I will speak to my security team. This should never have been possible.”

Detective Jackson hesitated. “There is something else.”