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Matt stayed stubbornly silent as he looked out the window.
Meredith balled her hand into fists, trying to exert patience and not go flying over the seat to gouge out Matt’s eyes. But she’d promised to hang back, and she had to trust that Travis could get it out of him.
Or kill him for her, at the very least.
“I’m your best bet, Matt. You see, I’m not a cop,” Travis drawled. “I’m just a hired investigator. My priority isn’t the number of laws you’ve broken or the number of charges I could file and hope they stick. My priority is seeing that this lady’s daughter comes home safe and sound. And to do that, I’m going to need a few more details about where we’re going.”
“Nothing you do could be worse than what they’ll do to me if they think I told you a thing.”
“They who?”
Matt stayed silent. In one quick motion, Travis pulled the gun from his waist and pressed it against Matt’s thigh.
She gasped. Was he really going to shoot him?
“I’ll count to three, and then I’m going to shoot. Who is ‘they’? One—”
“Shit. Don’t shoot. Look, all I know is I get a grand for every girl I deliver. Sometimes they’re girls I’ve met and thought would be a fit. Other times I’m asked to bring in someone who’s been identified as…promising.”
Meredith’s heart tightened and nausea roiled in her belly.
She lifted her gaze to the rearview mirror, where Travis was watching her. He barely shook his head, but she knew what he was telling her. Be patient. Let him do the talking. She pressed her nails into her palms and prayed for patience.
“Who tells you who to take?”
“Usually one of the bouncers you saw back there. The big bald white guy, Lance, is normally my point. That’s the only person I know for sure.”
“Not true.” Travis fired a deafening shot into the kid’s leg, and she jumped. Matt’s scream was nearly as deafening. It temporarily assuaged her desire to wreak violence on the kid.
“What the hell? I’m telling you everything!”
“Who was the guy you were speaking with earlier? Don’t try and lie to me. I saw you.”
This time the kid sobbed, no longer the tough guy. “His name’s Ayman. That’s it. I think he owns the club. I’ve seen him a few times. I’ve probably only talked to him three times total. Ever. Tonight he wanted to know if I had any more leads on—on Vs.”
“Vs?”
“Virgins. They earn me an extra grand.”
Death would be too good for this punk.
If Travis was disturbed by this new revelation, he didn’t show it. “So you’re paid to deliver girls. Where?”
“To this safe house. I told you.”
“Why? What are they doing with the girls?”
The question hung in the air, and Meredith strained to hear the response.
“I don’t usually ask.” He sounded sullen. Travis pressed the gun against the bleeding flesh wound on Matt’s thigh, and he howled again.
“You probably could venture a guess. Try.”
“Sex. Okay? I think they’re used as prostitutes. All I know is I deliver the girls to the place and I get my money. Anything beyond that I’m not usually given details.”
“Nor would you want them, huh?” Meredith said, no longer able to stay silent. “Then you might feel some guilt for selling these girls into human bondage. There’s a special place in hell for people like you, and I for one hope that you find that place sooner rather than later.”
“Is that what you did with the girl in the photo?” Travis asked, not skipping a beat. “Tell me about her.”
