Page 28 of Upon Blooded Lips (Vengeance #1)
SPECIAL AGENT SUSANNAH GERHARDT
Lyon, France
I pull into a parking space and shut the engine off, staring up at the imposing Interpol headquarters building. How does this get to be my life? After spending most of it in Illinois, getting to travel around Europe is a dream come true.
After tying my brown hair back into a ponytail and checking my makeup, I grab my purse and lock my car before making my way inside, nodding at other agents while heading toward my office on the second floor.
When an assistant director gave me this assignment, I was both hesitant and thrilled.
It’s not every day you’re asked to move to France to join a specialist team dedicated to taking down the world’s most prolific trafficking organizations.
I’ve spent the last sixteen months hunting the most depraved filth to walk the planet.
No matter how much I’ve witnessed as an FBI agent, I can never wrap my head around just how evil humanity can be, especially to each other.
No one deserves to be a sex slave, to experience the terror, humiliation, and degradation of having their autonomy and choices stolen from them by people who believe they have zero worth. I’ve made it my mission to take down these sick bastards one by one.
My assistant, Jessica, who I brought with me from Chicago, comes into the office bearing coffee. God, I love this woman. She knows I can’t function without my caffeine. “Thanks.”
She offers me a grin. “No problem, boss.” She runs her gaze over the wall of information I created, heavily patterned with red string and sticky notes. To an outsider, it looks like a disorganized nightmare, but it makes perfect sense to me.
I lean my ass against my desk, joining her perusal of months of work. “It’s never going to stop, is it?” I ask softly. “No matter how much we try, people are always going to take advantage of others. We take one down, and five more pop up. It’s a never-ending cycle.”
“That doesn’t mean we can stop.”
I take a sip of my coffee before replying, “No. No, we can’t. I just wish we could live in a world where our children are safe to play outside, where women don’t have to fear walking to their car at night. I’m tired, you know? The things I see…”
Jessica nods, her eyes filled with sadness. She has three kids of her own and knows what it is to worry about their safety.
“Any news on that raid in Amsterdam on Thursday?”
She perks up. “Actually, there is.” She hurries out of the room before coming back with a file box, setting it on my desk. “This arrived an hour ago.”
I gulp down the rest of my coffee before tossing the disposable cup into the trash and opening the box.
Inside are several files, along with a number of evidence bags.
I go through them one at a time, setting them aside to look at more thoroughly later.
What’s this? I trace my finger over the plastic bag covering a photo of a young girl.
She lies in a bed with unicorn covers and pillows, wearing a pink dress that’s hiked up to her neck.
I cringe at the blood on her lips and legs and the bruises covering her naked body.
I flip it over, tears misting my eyes at the handwritten note scrawled on the back.
Tessa, 6th birthday
Cherry plucked
10/10
“Please tell me they caught the fucker,” I say, tossing the picture back into the evidence box.
Jessica sighs. “No, and he hasn’t been back to the apartment.”
“What was his name again?”
“David Harrison. There isn’t a lot of information on him yet, but it appears he’s a low-level operative. One of our informants says he’s with the Gianelli crime family, but that’s not verified.”
My lips twist as I consider that. The Gianelli name has come up more than once, but we’ve yet to connect them to trafficking.
Either they’re just that good at covering their tracks, or it’s all rumors—which are rife in this business.
The amount of leads we’ve followed only to find out they were nothing but misdirection or flat-out lies, is more than I like to admit.
The wasted time, money, and resources are something we can never get back, and meanwhile, more victims slip through our fingers.
I don’t know if it’s seeing that picture that sets it off or if it’s my intuition, but something about this guy makes my spidey senses tingle.
“See what you can dig up on him. I want to know everything, down to the color of his shit.” The phone on my desk rings, interrupting me.
I pick it up and bark, “Agent Gerhardt.”
“Agent Gerhardt, this is Agent De Vries calling from The Hague. I was part of the team that raided David Harrison’s apartment.”
“I was just going through the box you sent over. Thank you for getting that to us so quickly.”
“Not a problem,” he says, brushing off my thanks. “We thought you’d be interested in knowing that he arrived through US Customs at O’Hare International Airport at 10:52 p.m. last night.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Guess we’re going home, then.”