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“These are perfect,” she declared, looking them over. “I don’t think this will take me long at all. Let the games begin.”
Walking with Elizabeth to the back of the house, Scott unlocked the door to Rosemary’s room, but remained in the hall as she entered. Elizabeth found her at a table against the wall beneath a barred window.
“Hello, Rosemary,” she began, sitting opposite her. “Are you okay? Are they treating you well?”
“I guess. Why are you here?”
”I need your help, but it hasn’t been easy getting in to see you. These fucking men,” she added in a hushed whisper. “They think they own the fucking world.”
“When did you discover that?” Rosemary asked, her brow crinkling.
“Let’s just say it took me a while.”
“That’s not uncommon,” she remarked, still frowning, “but If you want my help, you need to answer a question for me first. Who do you work for?”
“When I was at the mansion, I worked for Jim Parker.”
“Lying sonofabitch,” Rosemary growled. “I fucking knew it.”
“But you’re missing a vital piece of information.”
“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”
“One of my dearest friends, Emily Wilson, disappeared a couple of years ago. I’ve been trying desperately to find her. She’d been going out with a guy who worked for Sonny, and that was the sole reason I agreed to go into the mansion. I thought if I could track him down, I might get a lead. Here’s Emily’s picture,” Elizabeth said quietly, sliding it from the envelope and placing it on the table.
“Don’t know her,” Rosemary declared. “Is that it?”
“I’m not with the DEA anymore,” Elizabeth continued. “I’ve moved over to missing persons, and something happened recently directly related to you.”
“Me?” Rosemary said skeptically.
“Two girls disappeared outside a charity you founded, Tragedia al Triunfo, and I was told there have been others. Tragedy to Triumph is becoming Tragedy to Triumph back to Tragedy.”
As Elizabeth paused to let the news register, she saw a flash of alarm in Rosemary’s eyes.
“A couple of days ago, Peter Griswald was arrested on child pornography charges.”
“Who’s Peter Griswald?” Rosemary asked, leaning across the table.
“He’s an extremely wealthy man who owns a software company in Silicon Valley,” Elizabeth answered, slowly retrieving another photograph from the envelope. “This was found on his computer. He’s pictured with the two missing girls. Rosemary, the hills in the background have been identified. The picture was taken in Santa Barbara.”
“Dios ten piedad…” Rosemary muttered under her breath.
“I’m sorry, Rosemary, I don’t speak Spanish.”
“God have mercy,” Rosemary breathed, still staring at the image.
“Girls are being abducted off the streets near your charity, and if they’re being sent to the brothel your son owns in Santa Barbara, their fate is in your hands. Please, for them, tell me where it is.”
“Si,” she whispered, snatching up the picture. “370 Vista Drive. It was an abandoned convent. There are high walls, armed guards, but you must save my girls!”
“I will,” Elizabeth said earnestly, “but Rosemary, I have to ask, why would you send women into sexual slavery?”
“Don’t you see? It hurt the men,” she exclaimed, her voice rising. “Stop wasting time. Save my girls!”
“I’m on my way.”
Quickly rising to her feet and hurrying out the door, Scott closed and locked it behind her, then threw his arms around her.
