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Caleb shakes his head. “We found her because we already had an idea of where to look.”

“How?”

His gaze falls, and he looks downward, stalling maybe. “We have our own people on this, and we have access to programs they don’t.”

“That’s conveniently vague.”

He laughs lightly. “I’m not about to give away all the ingredients to our special sauce. Let’s just say that we had a head start.”

This guy is grating on my nerves. I’m itching to find her, and he’s wasting time. I’m opening my mouth to ask another question when Jake pipes up.

“There’s a Chick-fil-A up ahead. You want that?”

Caleb cranes his neck to see out the windshield. “Yeah. Get seven grilled chicken sandwiches.”

I cock my eyebrow. “Seven?”

Caleb grins. “Yeah. I’m not that hungry.”

Five minutes later, Jake distributes the food, but rather than dig in, he twists in his seat and eyes Caleb.

In response, Caleb closes his eyes. “Thank you, Lord, for this food. Please bless our efforts, guide us, be our shield, strengthen us, and help us to not be led by our emotions. Amen.”

I can’t help but think that prayer was mostly about me, but I add my “amen” before chomping into the sandwich I wasn’t planning on eating.

Caleb puts away three, and Jake only manages two, which he eats almost faster than Caleb does. The second he’s finished, we’re back on the road again, with Caleb dropping tidbits about the woman who we’re on the hunt for.

“Based on the tip-offs, we have around a dozen men who have reported spending time with her over the past six months.”

“She’s a pro?”

He shakes his head. “No. Things never get physical. And each man has a different impression of her. To one man, she’s demure; to another, she’s confident.”

“Oldest con in the book. Become whatever you think they want you to be. All the better to fleece unsuspecting marks,” Jake says from the front.

Caleb nods. “As far as we can tell, she’s had at least six identities that she rotates,” he says.

“Do you have her real name? She told me it was Stella.”

His mouth presses down. “Yeah. We think we do. Not a pretty story.”

Is this guy for real? He’s feeling sorry for her.

“What? She grow up on the streets or something?”

He shakes his head and puts his half-eaten sandwich down. “Parents handed her over to a total stranger when she was seven. Cute kid, she was, too.”

Hard to brush a statement like that off without coming across as heartless. “Can parents do that?”

It’s Jake who answers, grinding the words out. “Yeah. Parents who want to give up their kids just find Facebook groups full of wannabe adopters and claim they’re looking to give their kid a better life.”

I glance at Caleb for confirmation. His jaw’s set, expression tight. “Plenty of parents happy to sign away their rights.”

I thought I’d seen the worst humanity had to offer. Turns out I was wrong.

“And this is legal?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Jake barks a humorless laugh. “Yeah. It’s called rehoming. Like kids are pets.”