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That intel drops like a bomb.
Every weekend on this island, it’s a mad rush to clean those rentals after guests leave and before the next group arrives. Those cleaning crews work crazy hard, flipping dozens of units in hours.
I glance up. No cameras are on us, but I see the one by the back door.
“How long has she been missing?”
“Two days,” she says. “It’s not like her. She went to work and didn’t come home. I went there yesterday morning to the office and asked for her. Her manager said she went out with some man after work. No, she didn’t. She always comes home to me.”
“But you didn’t report it because…”
I stop and let her eyes answer me. Yes, they’re both undocumented and completely vulnerable to all kinds of abuse.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Mai Le.”
“And your sister’s?”
“Cam Le.”
“Do you have a picture of her on your phone?”
“The owner doesn’t allow us to bring our phones to work.”
Of course, Gentry Evans doesn’t. What a wicked way to control your staff.
“Tonight. Ten o’clock.” I ask her, “Can you meet me at the QuickTrip just over the bridge?”
The security cameras at that gas station don’t work. The owner, Ms. Dubois, hasn’t fixed them in years.
“If you can give me her picture,” I promise, “I’ll try to find her.”
Penny, Jameson, all the other deputies, I know they’ll help too. We don’t give a shit about immigration status. We only want these women to be safe.
Someone’s shuffling behind me in slippers. I whisper to her, “If you can’t make it there, I’ll be back here tomorrow morning. Okay?”
She nods quietly before darting back down the hall.
My logic fires while Penny and I check out. Before leaving, I quietly ask the staff if any man ever hangs around outside. Each says no, and Penny glances at me. We can tell something’s up. Once we’re back in Jameson’s Jeep, I fill them in.
“This is new,” I tell them. “Targeting locals isn’t the M.O. It’s been tourists, the young women visiting so far.”
And they all looked like me. But Cam Le is Asian, the first woman who doesn’t.
Frustration twists Jameson’s face. “There’s no way to confirm they’re connected.”
“They are,” I insist. “I can sense it. And it all has to do with Gentry Evans.”
“I agree,” Penny chimes up from the back seat. “It’s no coincidence.”
“I’ll back you up tonight.” Jameson drives toward the office.
Penny has to go home, but we’ll keep her in the loop.
All day my brain is full, and my phone is empty. Redix doesn’t call or text. I’m not worried. I’m working, and so is he.
By nine-thirty, I’m raging with impatience. Jameson and I are parked on the far end of the parking lot at the QuickTrip, waiting for Mai Le from the salon to appear. I’m staring at the lights illuminating the sliding glass doors of the convenience store, willing her to arrive.
