Page 95 of Nightfire

With a strangled sound, Nicole stood and took two shaky steps to the wastepaper basket near Harry’s desk and vomited. A worried-looking Sam held her as she rose trembling, wiping her mouth.

Tears were streaming down her face as she turned to her husband, holding on to his arms. “Sam,” she said urgently, “we have to stop them! You’ve got to do something!”

Mike looked at Harry. Nicole was not an hysterical woman. There was something very nasty in those files.

A huge sob escaped her and she leaned over the wastepaper basket again, though only thin bile came up. She straightened, shaking.

“Those girls are on a boat, coming here. Those poor little girls. We have to do something! Stop it! It’s an auction. They’re going to sell those little girls to the highest bidder.”

Another shudder and her waters broke.

NINETEEN

Chloe woke up with a gasp, heart pounding. Her head pulsed with sharp pain, as if she were wearing a crown of spikes.

“Good. You’re awake.” The voice, deep and accented, came from somewhere in front of her. “You’re no good to me dead.”

The words made no sense, none. It was noise, together with other noise, a low humming sound.

Her world was pain—sunlight directly in her eyes that was like a bright lance piercing her head. She could only keep her eyes open for a few seconds at a time. Her right side hurt, as if something hard had fallen on it. There was a sharper pain in her right thigh, tight and focused and burning. Her arms were tied together at the wrists. Finally she was able to twist around enough to look at where it hurt, but only for a moment. She stared at the bright red spot blankly. In the middle of the spot was a hole, a tiny puncture wound. She closed her eyes.

Had she been bitten by a venomous insect? Could that explain her reaction to light, the pounding headache, the lassitude? Maybe, but it didn’t explain the low humming sound, like—like an engine.

A…car? Was she in a car?

Keeping her eyes open for more than a few seconds was impossible, it was like having a stage spotlight shine right in her eyes.

The tone of the humming noise changed and she rolled against something soft. The deep fog in her head lifted for long enough to recognize that, yes, she was in a car that had just changed gears. She was lying on her side in the back seat and there was a plastic strip keeping her hands tied. She tried to pull her hands apart but it was hopeless. All she did was cut into the flesh of her wrists.

She couldn’t fathom any of this. Was she in a nightmare? Her last memory was sitting happily in Mike’s kitchen, sipping tea. Had she gone back to bed and fallen asleep and now she was dreaming being held captive by Russians?

The metallic mechanical beeps of a cellphone. Not a number. Someone on speed dial.

“No, this is not Chloe, Mr. Bolt,” that deep Russian-accented voice said. “Chloe is alive and your sister will stay that way as long as you do exactly what I say…”

Harry, who was almost as good at computers as Nicole, was sitting at the computer, scrolling through the files on the thumb drive.

Nicole and Sam were on their way to the hospital, Sam keeping them up to date. He sounded frantic and was breaking land speed records to get Nicole to the doctors so he wouldn’t have to deliver their little girl.

Harry suddenly sat up. “Shit.”

“What?” Mike walked over, frowning. There was something worse than little girls being sold at an auction?

He’d scrolled through the photographs, wishing he could throw up like Nicole. Pretty, innocent little girls. Most too thin, but clearly beauties. He didn’t understand the Russian but he understood the numbers all right. The ages, which ran from 6 to 10, and the bids, which all started at $100,000.

There was tons of other info, which was going straight to the FBI just as soon as Sam and Nicole’s little girl was born. The FBI was going to want to talk to Sam, too, and there was no way Sam would leave Nicole’s side. Not even a gun pointed to his head would do it. It was better all round if they just waited until Sam was free.

“Look at this.” Harry pointed to the screen.

“I don’t see—" And then Mike did. A list of names in Latin script, not Cyrillic. A list of names of potential customers, men who’d bid on those little girls.

It took a lot to shock Mike, but he was floored. There were people here he knew, people he recognized. Men he would never suspect could be filthy buyers of little girls

The mayor’s top aide, four district attorneys, five CEOs of major corporations, a famous journalist, the head of surgery at a major hospital…the list went on and on. Little girls being obviously a popular commodity.

He wanted to vomit like Nicole had and he wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Harry just stared grimly at the screen. “Those scumbags are going down.”

It was a thought to warm the heart. “Oh yeah,” Mike promised. “We’re calling in the FBI.” And he knew precisely who to call. Special Agent Aaron Welles, who was a friend and whose mother had been beaten on a regular basis by his dad. He was a big help to RBK in helping battered women because he had an emotional stake in it.