Toni slipped out of her house to meet Jones at the office, leaving Leo sleeping soundly in her bed. She knew she shouldn’t feel ashamed, but she did. She was getting the jump on Leo. He told her about his appointment with Monique Bentley and she wanted answers for her own case before he alerted the woman that the 4Teen Center was being monitored. After what he'd revealed about his case last night, she was beginning to suspect their cases were coming to a crossroads and deliberately kept it under wraps. While it was a leap, it wouldn’t be unheard of for a girl to runaway and go missing, only to find herself mixed up in a sex trafficking ring. However, Toni wasn’t ready to jump to that conclusion yet. She needed to talk to Monique before Leo did because, if there was any truth to her suspicions, she didn't want Leo tipping Monique off that one of her employees was a suspect in the FBI’s case.

Her pumps pinched at her toes as she slid out of the Mercedes and Toni wished she’d been able to wear her more comfortable Ferragamos but her role as a starving student in borrowed Prada called for cheap shoes. Few twenty-one-year-olds, even ex-pageant models, could afford shoes that high end. Hell, she couldn’t have afforded them if not for the money she and her sister had inherited from their father’s vast portfolio of investments. The man had been a genius, both in business and in law, and she wished she had even half his acumen. Not that she wouldn't give up every penny to have him back again.

Jones’ deep voice rumbled in her ear. “You remember the list of questions we need answered?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” she muttered as she made her way across the parking lot.

“Good to see you’re frisky this morning. We’re down the street. Got your six.”

Toni lifted a thumb at her side, confident he observed her acknowledgment, before knocking on the front door of the 4Teen Crisis Center. For a facility that housed people in need, it was incredibly elegant. However, the brick building still had the chemical smell of fresh paint and antiseptic cleaners. Hidden sprinklers misted over the planters, hitting Toni’s bare forearms, wetting her face as she approached the granite steps of the front doors. The cloying scent of lilies overwhelmed her as she got closer to two towering floral decorations gracing the pillars alongside the entrance at the doors.

Toni pressed the bell, waiting as a giant-sized man lumbered to the doorway. She tipped her head backward, looking up to see his face. Almost as wide as he was tall, he moved slowly as he opened the door, giving her the impression he could move quickly, but he chose not to. He looked like a bouncer in a biker bar, or a grizzly bear awakened from hibernation and as grumpy as either option. He didn't belong in a place where kids hid to flee abusive situations.

“Help you?” he grumbled, slurring the question as he eyed her.

Remember, scared college student. “Um, I spoke to Monique last night at the gala. She asked me to come by.”

Toni tried her best to mimic how she assumed a student might react to him. His muddy eyes narrowed as if determining the truth in her statement. She speculated what her best option for a take-down move on this beast of a man would be. She met his gaze, deciding a well-timed throat punch would be in order if it came down to it and flexed her fingers slightly.

“She’s in the back. Come in and have a seat.” He escorted her inside and directed her toward a chair in the well-furnished reception area. “I’ll let her know you’re here.”

Toni noted the way he locked the front door behind her, blocking her escape route. There could be a simple reason for it, like that the center wasn’t open yet. Maybe it was a protective measure for the kids who might be inside. But, in spite of the various logical reasons she imagined, her gut told her there was more to it than a simple explanation. She longed for the press of her Glock at her hip but, since this case called for her to be twenty, she only had a small handgun hidden at her inner thigh and pepper spray in her purse.

“Have a seat.” The man waved a hand the size of a ham at the Queen Anne chairs in the entry. “Your name?”

“Casey Miles.”

He narrowed his eyes and nodded before heading toward the back of the long hallway. Toni waited until he’d left her sight and wandered closer to the desk at the front of the reception area. A computer and telephone graced the corner of the L-shaped desk, clear of any personal items. Another floral arrangement of roses and mums graced the other corner. The wall behind the desk was sporting what appeared to be an original Renoir with its bright splashes of pink, red and yellow roses. Glancing up, she spotted several holes in the ceiling she was sure housed security cameras, watching her even now. It looked more like an opulent apartment complex than a shelter.

“Miss Miles!” Toni turned to see Monique rushing toward her, a wide smile on her lips. “I’m so thrilled you are here. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to come so soon. I worried you might be scared off by my request.”

Monique Bentley looked impeccable in her Dior suit and Toni felt frumpy next to her. It was eight o’clock in the morning and Toni knew she’d been out until the early hours of the morning, campaigning for funds for her charity. There wasn’t a wrinkle in her suit or a hair out of place.

“I was excited to get your perspective for my thesis and, to be frank, you’re so busy, I thought you might forget that you issued the invitation.”

“I wouldn’t have forgotten, dear.” She flashed a charming smile at Toni and indicated she should follow her to her office. “You made quite the impression last night.”

“I did?”

Monique glanced back over her shoulder, her gaze lingering over Toni, making her self-conscious. “Oh, yes.”

Something in the boldness of the statement set Toni on edge. There was nothing that should’ve raised red flags for her yet but she couldn’t deny they were waving all around her. She wished she’d brought Leo with her. Everything about this case had her second-guessing her instincts, thrown off her usual confidence and, if there was anyone whose instincts she trusted, it was his.

* * *

Leo watched Toni leave the 4Teen Center from his position parked at the end of the street.

“Son of a bitch,” he bit through clenched teeth.

He hadn’t wanted to believe Toni would stab him in the back this way, that she would use their relationship to work her case, but that was exactly what it looked like she was doing. He tried to remember how much he'd told her about Monique Bentley and why he needed to talk with her. To diffuse her anger last night, he'd told Toni everything about his case and she'd given away nothing about her own.

Monique waved goodbye to Toni from the entrance as the Mercedes slid out of the parking lot on the street. So focused on his girlfriend and how she’d just screwed him, he almost missed Monique leaning close to the man beside her and point at Toni's car.

The man didn’t look like someone Monique would be associated with. He was too rough and unrefined for the image she portrayed to the public. He looked like a professional wrestler and had to be at least three hundred pounds of gorilla-like mass. His fists alone were the size of sledgehammers and could probably take down a man with one swing. Something Leo would do well to remember when he talked with Monique. The ugly brute turned away from her and headed for a beat-up white pickup truck parked on the side of the building. Leo held back as the man exited the driveway, talking on his cell phone.

“Well, that'll make my appointment with her easier.”

Great, now he was talking to himself. He waited until she re-entered the facility before twisting his key in the ignition and easing his car into the parking lot.

Leo reached for the case file on the front seat before jogging to the entrance doors and pressing the bell, not letting up until Monique showed up at the door, looking mildly annoyed.

“Detective, to what do I owe this pleasure? If memory serves me correctly, we agreed to ten.”

He shot her a guilty grin he hoped would melt the icy chip on her shoulder. “I’m only thirty minutes early.”

She sighed but returned his smile with a provocative one of her own. “Fine, come in. Although, I’m still not sure I know anything that will help your case.” She led him to her office. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you. In my experience, people can usually help more than they realize, even if it’s that you don’t have information.”

“I hate to say it but I’m almost positive that will be the case.”

She handed him a cup, pouring one for herself and settled herself behind her desk. He didn’t miss the way she gracefully crossed her legs, her skirt slipping higher, or the way she folded her hands over her thighs, trying to attract his attention to them.

She has no clue she doesn’t compare to the woman who screwed you over this morning.

“So, Detective, what sort of help do you suppose I can offer you?” She licked her plump lips and shot him a coy smile, running her hand up her thigh.

He ignored her blatant innuendo, passing the photograph of Megan across her desk. “This girl, Megan Fletcher. Did she stay here and, if so, for how long?”

Monique’s perfectly tweezed brows rose as she pursed her lips and breathed deeply. “I’m not sure. So many of our teens come and go quickly. I don’t force any to stay. I give them a safe place to reside until they find their way back home.”

“Are you saying she went back home?” Leo had already spoken with Megan’s parents and believed their story - their daughter left for school one morning, like every other morning, and never returned.

“I’m saying she could have stayed here overnight on occasion. Megan, correct?” He nodded. “Yes, I think I remember her. She was a confused girl, looking for something dramatic in her life that, I’m afraid, I was unwilling to agree was in her best interests.”

“Could you elaborate?”

“She wanted to be an actress.” Monique shook her head, her eyes downcast. “Or a model. At least, that’s what she said. My suspicion is that she wanted to be famous, to live an exciting life filled with sensational people. Personally, I blame social media.”

“So she was like most sixteen-year-olds?”

Her face pinched slightly. “No, Megan was more uncompromising about it. She said she needed to escape now. She talked about running away, going to Los Angeles.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Monique stared up at the intricately tiled ceiling, leaning back in her chair. “Last Wednesday. Or maybe it was Thursday.”

“She’s been missing almost a week according to her parents.”

Monique shrugged indifferently. “I could be wrong about the day. I’ve been so busy preparing for the gala I barely know what today is. But she’d left before and returned later. I had no reason to suspect this time was different.”

“How many girls do you get in here each week?”

“Hundreds.” She folded her hands and laid them over her knee again. “And, Detective, this center isn’t only for the benefit of teen girls. We assist grown women leaving abusive situations as well as teen boys, those who live in the city limits and outside them. It’s part of the reason the community of Las Vegas has banded together with such generous support. We don't discriminate who benefits from our help though we originally began as a refuge for teens only.”

“Do the women who stay here mind being housed together with young men? I mean, after what they might be walking away from… Doesn’t it cause…issues?”

“People who come here are looking for assistance, not to harm someone else.” She cast him a disdainful glance down her nose as she brushed a nonexistent stray lock of hair from her forehead. “That includes the young men who stay with us. Many of them have also suffered abuse on the streets. We are extremely careful to keep everyone protected. We have taken every precaution to safeguard our guests and wouldn’t do anything that might jeopardize our reputation as a sanctuary.”

“I see. Is that why you have a bodyguard working for you?”

“I assume you mean Tank. Perhaps you shouldn't make such rash judgments based on appearances. Your attitude is exactly the sort of speculation that would tarnish what I’m trying to accomplish here.”

That struck a nerve.

“So, he’s not a bodyguard?”

“No, he’s an all-around handyman. He fixes what breaks and helps keep this place running smoothly. But, he offers a measure of security,” she admitted. She rose from her seat, a clear indicator that their conversation was over.

He followed her lead and stood up. “I apologize if I spoke out of turn and I understand your concern, Ms. Bentley. I only have a few more questions.”

Sighing, Monique remained standing, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, and pierced him with a withering glare. It was a very different attitude from the one she’d had only a few moments ago.

“Do you keep tabs on the kids once they’ve left your facility? To make sure they continue to stay safe?”

“I don’t follow them if that’s what you’re asking. But I make sure they understand that I am always available and that they are welcome to return, should the need arise.”

“Do you keep records of who stays here and for how long?”

“No, we do not. That would defeat the purpose of the anonymity this center offers, especially to victims of abuse.” Her tone had become curt, and she braced her hands on her hips. “Is there anything else?”

“One more question.” He tugged photographs of the other two missing girls from his file and set them on her desk, studying her reaction, praying that this would be the tie that linked these cases together. He desperately needed a break in this case. “Do you recognize these two? Did either of them stay here in the past six months?”

Monique studied the pair of photographs before she shook her head. “No, I’ve never seen them before.”

Leo felt his last hope come crashing down at his feet. He’d been grasping at straws, expecting the 4Teen Center to give him a fresh lead in the case. Instead, he’d reached another dead end.

* * *

“When will my package arrive?” Gupta’s voice was thick, whether from his accent or from his desire wasn’t quite clear.

“We have eyes on your package now. It might take a few days, but you said you preferred—”

“I know what I said and I believe I explained the change in my delivery preferences. The price I’ve paid above the typical charge we agreed upon more than compensates for any inconvenience my indecisiveness may cause you.”

“Yes, sir. I’m not sure how quickly I can deliver this particular package. There are many factors to consider.”

His voice was as calm as if discussing the weather. “I don’t want excuses. I want what I’ve paid for. Now.”