There were a few seconds of silence, and then Watts muttered,

“Shit.”

“What’s the common denominator between the sex videos, the clubs, the prostitution…all of it,” Rebecca said. “The girls. None of it works without them.”

“And,” Sloan mused, “if those girls are your business, think how good it would be to have an inside person at the DA’s ofÞ ce. Someone who would hear about any local investigation that started getting close.

Beecher.”

“Not to mention,” Jason said, “using him to hack into law enforcement’s entire computer network. All bases covered.” He turned in his seat and looked at Sloan. “What do you want to bet that the Port Authority computer system is compromised too. This organization is sophisticated, and they’re going to want to monitor everything they can. If they can Þ nd an assistant district attorney to squeeze, they can Þ nd somebody at the port.”

Sloan nodded, her eyes shining. “We’ll need to get at that system.”

“The problem with that,” Rebecca said, “is if we go for warrants now, we’ll have to bring Clark into it.”

“No fucking way,” Watts snapped. “The last time we did that, he stole the case out from under us.”

“Then let’s Þ nd some other way to break this open,” Rebecca said, her voice like ß int. She looked at Mitchell. “How did Jimmy trip to those ships? Watts couldn’t Þ nd a connection between them. Different captains, different crews, different cargos.”

• 241 •

RADCLY fFE

“The timing,” Mitchell said.

“No way,” Watts objected. “I looked at that with Captain Reiser.

Different days of the week, different weeks of the month. There wasn’t a pattern.”

“But they were at about the same intervals, right?” Mitchell knew that everything hung on this, and sweat broke out between her shoulder blades and trickled down her back. She didn’t have a damn bit of proof.

Only a feeling. I must be crazy. She took a breath. “Every two to three months.”

“Yeah,” Watts said warily, as if he expected a trap. Still, he eyed her with lively curiosity. “So?”

“Those are the same intervals when the regular girls weren’t available to do the sex videos. That’s when Trudy and her friends Þ lled in. Trudy knew those dates. The exact dates.”

“And if we got those dates from her,” Rebecca said pensively,

“we’d eventually match them to those ships. That could have worried someone enough to eliminate Trudy, especially with her right in the middle of that bust last week on the Þ lm set.”

It ate at Rebecca to know that the sting operation she’d set up had inadvertently led to a young woman’s death. No matter that she couldn’t have foreseen the risk to Trudy, who just happened to know more than anyone realized at the time. Hindsight didn’t change the fact that Trudy was dead. Rebecca swallowed back the bitter bile of self-recrimination and forced herself to focus. “We need to nail down those dates.”

“All we have to do is check the videos right around the times those ships arrived and see if we Þ nd Trudy or any of her friends in them,”

Jason said, looking at Sandy. “You’d recognize most of Trudy’s crowd, right?”

Sandy nodded. “I’d for sure be able to tell the working girls from the pole dancers.”

Sloan looked up from the tablet where she had been jotting notes and turned to Mitchell. “According to your theory, the girls who were smuggled into the country on those ships were the regular girls—the ones who usually performed in the sex videos, right?”

“Yes. And probably danced in the clubs, were hired out to sex parties, and eventually ended up being sold off as sex slaves.” Mitchell’s tone dripped with revulsion. “A sweet little pipeline in human ß esh direct to the marketplace. Bastards.”

• 242 •

Justice Served

“What’s your explanation for why the girls weren’t available around the time the ships came in to do the sex videos? Why was it then that Trudy and her friends had to Þ ll in?”

Rebecca spoke before Mitchell could answer. “Because they were being rotated. New girls were arriving, the old ones had to be moved.

Probably sent out to other cities. I bet there’s a network all across the country merchandising in these girls. And the new girls would need to be broken in before they could be trusted to perform in the Þ lms.”

“It hangs together,” Watts said with an approving glance at Mitchell. “Nice.”

“We’ve got to Þ ll in all the blanks,” Rebecca said. She stood abruptly and paced. “Jason, how far back do you have the video downloads?”

“I’ve got a couple of computers from guys who stored everything.

At least a year, maybe more.”

“Sandy,” Rebecca said, spinning in her direction. “You work with Jason and map out the timelines. I want all the dates where it looks like local girls were Þ lling in.”

“Okay,” Sandy said, with no hint of her previous distaste at the task.

“Watts, you’ll need to get with Captain Reiser as soon as Sandy and Jason narrow down those dates. Try to isolate those ships. The network supplying these girls has to be relatively close-knit, so I’m betting you’ll Þ nd that all of them originated in one or two ports. We’ll need to nail them down.” She frowned, looked around the table. “What else?”

“Presumably the girls are coming into port in containers,” Sloan said. “Someone has to know which ships, which containers, and where they go on the docks. Otherwise it would be impossible to free the girls and secret them out of the port.”

“Unless the container got loaded directly onto a truck and went out that way,” Watts offered.

“Maybe,” Sloan said. “But if they’re staying local—and we are hypothesizing that they are, at least for a while—all they need is a couple of vans to move them from the port to their stash houses. That’s a lot less complicated than arranging for a semi.”

Watts nodded in agreement. “They’ve got to have an inside man

• 243 •

RADCLY fFE

at the port, maybe even a couple. Don’t they track all those containers by computer or something?”

Sloan’s grin spread. “They do indeed. Give me some dates, and I’ll tell you which container they arrived in.”

“This is all very pretty,” Rebecca reminded the group. “But we don’t have any proof.” She looked at Mitchell. “We need the girls. In operations like these, the girls are supervised twenty-four hours a day.

They don’t go outside the house. They don’t talk to anyone. They don’t move from one location to another without guards. We need to know where they’re being kept.”

“I might have a way of Þ nding out.”

The room became very still.

“There’s a girl…a woman…at Ziggie’s. Her name is Irina.”

Mitchell was aware of Sandy going very still beside her. “I think she’s some kind of keeper. I think she watches out for them, supervises them maybe.”

“That Þ ts,” Rebecca said. “It’s easier to use women to indoctrinate the girls—less threatening. These supervisors teach them how to behave. Teach them how to turn tricks. Teach them that if they try to run, they’ll be caught and deported.”

“And you think this Irina is gonna tell you where she lives?” Watts asked disbelievingly.

“No,” Mitchell said quietly. “But I think she might take me there.”

“Why?”

Mitchell was careful to keep her expression neutral and her voice bland. She was also very careful not to look at Sandy. “We’ve talked a few times. We sort of…hit it off.”

Watts stared, his brows knit. Remarkably, he said nothing.

“The girls at Ziggie’s have always been friendly with the kings,”

Jason said, jumping into the breach. “Since Mitch is new, it makes sense that he would get noticed.”

“When are you seeing her again?” Rebecca asked calmly.

“Maybe tonight,” Mitchell answered.

“That doesn’t give us much time to set up.” Rebecca glanced at Watts. “Two-car tail? Put a wire on Mitchell?”

Watts grunted and drummed his Þ ngers again. “We’re going to

• 244 •

Justice Served

need more help. Crap. That means Clark, because the second we go to Henry with this, he’s going to cover his ass and call the feds.”

“I can ride backup with Rebecca and monitor the wire,” Sloan said quickly.

“I’ll be inside Ziggie’s with Mitch,” Jason said. “If he’s going to leave with Irina, he can give me a sign, and I’ll leave Þ rst.” He looked at Watts. “I can ride with you.”

“You’re gonna ride backup in a dress and those come-fuck-me shoes again?”

Jason smiled, a soft, sensuous smile that ß ickered and was gone.

“As I recall, you liked those shoes.”

Watts blushed beet red and muttered under his breath, “Fuck me.”

“It sounds like we can coordinate the tail and the bust, if we need to,” Sloan asserted.

Rebecca shook her head. “Uh-uh. It’s too soon. We need to tie this up a little neater before we put Mitchell inside the operation. I want as much corroboration as we can get before we go for the warrant—I want enough to make the arrests stick. That means the timeline, the ships, analyzing the computer system at Port Authority, identifying the inside people moving the containers. We need video surveillance on the docks. We need a few more days.” She looked at Mitchell. “You’re going to have to string her along.”

Mitchell nodded. “I think it will take some doing to get her to take me home anyhow.” She hesitated. “That’s not the way they usually do things.”

“What do you mean?” Sloan asked.

“What she means,” Sandy said brittlely, “is they usually fuck their johns in a dark corner in the back.” She angled in her seat until she could see Mitchell’s face. “They don’t usually take their tricks home.

Not unless there’s something special going on.”

Mitchell didn’t know what to say in front of everyone else. She didn’t know what to say, period. There wasn’t anything special going on; there wasn’t anything going on at all. Except, of course, the fact that Irina expected Mitch to fuck her, and Mitchell wasn’t exactly sure how to avoid that without blowing Mitch’s cover. From the sound of Sandy’s voice and the hot, hard fury in her eyes, Mitchell knew she