Page 102 of Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

“Not disagreeing with you there.”

“Good.” She spun to leave.

“Detective Steele,” Malone said.

She turned back around. “Yes?”

“You could go in there and really muck things up—” he held up a hand to stave off her defense “—not intentionally, of course, but this man could be the key to bringing more down in the sex-trafficking operation. I’d contact Sex Crimes. Let that department handle Hart.”

She felt like a balloon deflated of air. “But… Sarge—”

“No, I feel strongly about this, and I know you wouldn’t want to jeopardize justice being brought to those girls—and the countless others still out there.”

“Never.”

“Okay, then. Call Sex Crimes. Pass this along.”

“Wait,” she blurted out.

Malone angled his head. “I’m listening.”

“Let us at least stake out this guy, track his movements. It’s the best thing we have going right now. And, yes, I see your point about Sex Crimes. Trent and I won’t move in. We’ll just see where he goes, keep a distance. But here’s what I’m thinking: he’s in charge of watching the girls. If our guy orders another one or two, we’ll be in the vicinity to follow him. Hart might lead us to our killer and where the girls are being held.”

Malone stared at her, thinking it through. “Huh. You’ll stay back, observe only? Call in Sex Crimes if—and when—it comes to that?”

“I promise, and I’ll call Detective Glover when I leave this room, just to give her a heads-up.” She’d already sent Randy’s picture, but now they had his name.

“All right, then. Do it.”

Amanda and Trent didn’t waste time leaving his office and heading to the lot.

“If there’s something personal there, between our killer and this Hart guy, why not just kill him then? He obviously knows where to find him.” Trent looked her in the eye and the validity of his question caused her mind to go blank.

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

“Suppose whatever the reason, it would serve to get us off the killer’s back and onto Hart’s.”

Amanda could agree that was the simplified version, but she had a feeling there was something more there between their killer and Hart. Just what was it?

She called Patty while Trent signed out a car, and they got on the road. When Patty answered, Amanda said, “I sent you a picture of a man with black eyes, the suspected handler.” Though it was fact—not suspicion—in Amanda’s head. “I’ve got a name now.”

“You work fast,” Patty said, a smile lighting her voice.

“Things came together, but I need to let you know that my partner and I will be tracking this guy’s moves for the next while and seeing what he does.”

“Okay, just observe, if you can help it. I’d rather see where he can lead us.”

“That’s the plan, I assure you. I want us to have the best shot at bringing down the ring, not just a single player.”

“Good luck on this guy leading you to your killer too.”

“Thanks.” Amanda pocketed her phone and hated how the words “good luck” seemed to hover overhead like thunderclouds.

Fifty-Three

It was inching close to noon when Amanda had Trent park a few houses down from Randy Hart’s duplex. The department car was unmarked, but bad guys had a way of spotting cops.

“Hard to say if he’s home,” Trent said. “No sign of his Nissan.”