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It’d been two days since she’d walked into my place and found Cannel and I together, and in those two days, she’d done nothing but try to make me feel bad for my decisions.
Cannel, like the good sport she was, had taken it all in stride.
Well, the part about Brianna walking in on her thing.
At least, she appeared to have done that in the beginning when it’d first happened.
Now, after two days of trying to contact her, I had a feeling that was no longer the case.
Giving her time and space had given her time to think. And that time to think had changed something that I’d thought we’d solved.
“She has a fiancé,” she started from memory.
“She had a fiancé,” I corrected her. “They split, and he moved to Germany, I think. Thank you for being concerned, but I’d like to learn all of this from her…”
I really would, too.
As much as I’d like to know more about Cannel, I wanted to know it naturally. Not artificially.
If she didn’t trust me enough to give me this information yet, then that meant I needed to be patient.
Brianna let out a frustrated breath. “She was kidnapped from a grocery store parking lot and held for almost a year before she was found again.”
My stomach clenched. “What?”
Brianna smirked. “I told you I had information.”
She told me she had information. She didn’t tell me that the woman that had been in my home, that I was currently thinking about nonstop, had been held prisoner for a year.
“You told me…” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “How did you find this out?”
“I know a few people,” she answered smugly. “And I did my job. I called and checked into her when I knew she was a suspect. Something in which you should’ve done.”
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
There was no reason at all to suspect Cannel, so why the hell would I have looked into her?
“Pull over,” I barked.
Brianna did, pulling into the Chick-fil-A parking lot.
I got out of the car and leaned against the hood as I pulled my phone from my pocket.
I then called the only FBI contact I knew.
“Easton,” Easton answered curtly.
“Easton,” I said. “This is Schultz.”
Easton made a humming sound then said, “What’s up?”
I swallowed past a lump in my throat before saying, “I, um, heard a few things. And now I need to confirm them.”
Easton was quiet a few seconds before, “I guess if I can help, I will.”
I felt something close to nausea start in my belly as I said, “I’m seeing this girl…her name is Cannel.”
Easton cursed.
“Son of a bitch.” He paused. “I’m in the middle of a goddamn… hold on.”
I did, my boot tapping on the fucking concrete like a damn impatient twat.
When he finally got back on the line, he was cursing up a storm.
“Cannel Crow.”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“I can’t share everything with you because the trial is still ongoing,” he said. “It’s only been about nine months, and the man that ‘bought’ her is going to be testifying on a few key players that are bigger than he is.”
“What’s the guy’s name?” I asked.
There was a long moment of silence and then, “If I tell you this, and you fuck up this investigation, I’m going to fucking fuck you up.”
My lips twitched. “I’ll be good.”
Maybe.
“O’Ryan Regent. Thirty-four years old. White male, blond hair, six foot three. Blue eyes.” He faltered. “I’m sending you a picture. Don’t share that with anyone at all.”
I wouldn’t.
I would save it, though.
I’d commit the guy’s face to memory.
And one day, I’d fix it if things with this trial didn’t go well.
Which, by the sound of it, they wouldn’t if the guy was talking. That only meant one thing—he was searching for a plea deal.
“Thanks.” I paused. “Tell me what happened that you know about that you can share.”
It was an order, and Easton understood that.
He also didn’t give me shit for not asking nicely.
“Three years ago, Cannel was taken from a grocery store parking lot and sold into sex trafficking. I think she was lucky because she was purchased by a man in Arizona who used her for parties. Didn’t, from what we understand, touch her or abuse her physically. Mentally? That’s a different matter. I don’t even know the full extent, because Cannel was unable to share more than what little we got. But, man, I gotta admit… shit was fucked. He kept her in a cage when he didn’t have use for her. That cage was well equipped, but there wasn’t much to it. When she had to get onto a plane to head home… shit hit the fan. She doesn’t do well with enclosed spaces, big men, and new things.”
I pressed the side of my pointer finger, and the pad of my thumb, into my eye sockets and rubbed.
“The man tell anymore?” I asked.
