Logan (Federal Protection Agency #9)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Logan

San Francisco was a lot warmer than I expected. Although I had lived in Baton Rouge for four years now, and grew up in Maryland before that, I’d originally been born in New England, and the cold was still in my bones. Heat and I did not agree, and the dry heat of California was even worse. It felt like there was something missing in the air, and every breath seemed to scratch at my throat.

The smog choking the city didn’t help, either.

When I arrived in the city, I’d started out by first checking in with the local police department. The detectives there were obviously overworked and not interested in helping me track down a missing person. They took a copy of the old photo I had and promised to contact me if they found anyone using the name Clay Dahler or matching his description, but I didn’t hold out hope.

However, my trip to the local precinct wasn’t a complete bust. One of the more sympathetic officers did give me a list of places around the city where sex workers tended to congregate. It was a place to start, at least, and would hopefully guide me to a more concrete lead.

I still held out a small hope that Clay had managed to find legitimate work somewhere. Even after my trip to Dinah’s Place , I couldn’t let go of the thought that maybe Clay had gotten lucky somewhere. Even if it was a simple job flipping burgers at McDonalds, or even something less legal like working an under the table construction job. Those options would at least be better than selling himself.

Still, I would canvas the areas on the list I’d been given and see if any of the local street workers recognized him.

Even so early in the day, people were blatantly hooking in the back alleys. It was a shock. Baton Rouge had plenty of prostitutes as well, I’d both arrested and rescued plenty of them, but they usually didn’t work so blatantly out in public during the day.

The first street I visited, I was immediately propositioned by three separate people at the same time, who then got into a squabble about who had seen me first. I barely managed to get a word in edgewise, and it took me nearly ten minutes to explain that I wasn’t a potential client and what I was there for. As soon as they realized they wouldn’t be getting any money from me, they immediately lost interest, barely looking at the photograph I showed them before dismissing me.

The second street I had a little more luck, because I made sure to state my intention right away before anyone could get into an argument. This time a few people took a moment to look at the photograph before shaking their head with genuine sorrow about not being able to help me.

The third location I visited was a nightmare from the get-go. The street was ruled over by an iron-fisted pimp, who was absolutely convinced that if I wasn’t there as a client then I must be looking for a job. I’d had to physically restrain him to keep him from dragging me into the backdoor of a shady looking building. The photograph never even left my pocket on that trip, and I fled from the street without even uttering Clay Dahler’s name.

It was the same no matter where I went. No one had any idea where Clay might be, or if he was even in the city. Granted, it was a large city, with millions of people. I probably hadn’t even scratched the surface of possible places he could be, but I was still disheartened.

The sun had passed the halfway point and was on its way back toward the horizon when I stopped to rest under the covered archway of an abandoned building. Hanging my head in exhaustion, I sighed deeply.

“You having a bad day, too?”

I jumped at the sound of the unexpected voice. I hadn’t even noticed the young man hiding in the shade of the archway, probably using it as cover to stay out of the midday sun.

He didn’t come any closer and remained huddled against the dirty brick wall, but he also didn’t seem afraid of me as he regarded me with curiosity and concern.

“I’m looking for someone.” I shrugged. “I know he came to this city a few years ago, but I don’t even know if he’s still here. If he is here, he might be working the streets, so I’ve been checking around.”

The other man, who I realized was younger than I first thought, scooted a little closer so I was able to get a better look at his face. There was dirt smudged on his cheeks, and he looked thin, but there was still light in his eyes. Life hadn’t broken him yet.

“I go by Jordy around here. A lot of people know me, and I know a lot of people. Maybe I can help.”

Taking the picture out of my pocket for what felt like the hundredth time that day, I handed it over.

“His name is?—”

“Clay.”

The unexpected sound of that familiar name made me jump. “Yes. How do you…”

Before I could finish the question, Jordy shrugged and quickly handed back the photo. “I met him years ago, though he didn’t look like that even back then. But the birthmark on his neck is easy to remember.” He paused for a minute, regarding me with a suspicious eye, before deciding to finish his explanation. “He and I were… kept in the same place for a while.”

Shit.

He’d been a victim of those damn traffickers, too. Taking a closer look at Jordy, I realized he was exactly their type. Slight stature, young looking, and blue eyes. His hair had been buzzed short so there was only about two inches left, but if it were longer, it would probably be bright blond and curly.

My immediate impulse was to sweep the young man away and take him to safety, but I couldn’t even find the person I was looking for.

How was I supposed to take care of a second person as well?

“Why are you looking for him?”

Jordy’s question snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. I needed to focus. Find Clay first. Then maybe I could worry about saving other lost souls.

“His brother is looking for him, and I’m helping in the search. I have some experience with the traffickers who took him.” Jordy’s eyes grew wide, and I quickly rushed to correct myself. “Not that kind of experience. I’m trying to stop them, or at least save as many victims as I can.

Jordy fell silent, obviously struggling with his thoughts.

I waited as patiently as I could, giving him the time he needed to think. He was the only lead I had found so far, and I couldn’t afford to scare him away by being too pushy.

“All right,” Jordy eventually declared when he’d come to some sort of decision. “Guess it can’t hurt. Not like things can get much worse for guys like us. Can I borrow your phone?”

I handed it over without hesitation, and watched as he punched in a number.

Clay’s lucky enough that he doesn’t usually need to work the street directly. He’s got a ‘middleman’ that anonymously sets up work for him. That’s the number, but I don’t know if they’ll let you talk to Clay or not.”

“A middleman, hmm?” I quickly saved the number in my contacts to make sure I didn’t lose it. “Don’t worry. I have plenty of experience dealing with ‘middlemen’. I’ll find some way to get through to Clay.”

A plan was starting to form in my mind. It would be distasteful, but it would probably be my best bet to speak with Clay without his ‘middleman’ interfering.

“Hey, does Clay use an alias when he works?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jordy shrugged. “We all do. Clay goes by Blue Steele. His middleman tried to convince him to go by Angel, based on his looks, but he shot that down real quick. I don’t blame him. I would, too.”

I gave Jordy a questioning look, and he just shrugged again. It seemed to be his go-to move whenever he was uncomfortable.

“The, um, people who took us. They called us their little angels . Don’t think I’ll be able to step inside a church again without getting flashbacks, which sucks. The family I came from was really religious. They’d be horrified to see me now.”

“Don’t use the word Angel. Got it. And, hey. I wouldn’t be so sure about your family. They’ve probably been missing you and would just be happy to have you home.”

This time, instead of shrugging, Jordy laughed. It was a sad, broken sound, that made me wish he would go back to shrugging.

“Kids like Clay and I weren’t just taken because of our looks. It was because we were easy victims who likely wouldn’t be missed. Clay’s lucky in that sense. Someone misses him, but not all of us are so lucky.”

What could I even say to that?

I didn’t know Jordy or his situation. I couldn’t guarantee that his family actually missed him, even though I was certain the traffickers had probably lied to him or at least exaggerated things in order to maintain control over the kids they took.

I clenched the phone tighter in my hand. I had to focus on Clay first. Now that I had a solid plan, I couldn’t delay. If Clay got word that someone was going around the city looking for him, he might spook and run away, and then I’d never track him down again.

Still, guilt gnawed at my stomach when I left Jordy sitting under that old, abandoned archway. I gave him all the cash I had on me so he could at least get himself a decent meal and hopefully, wouldn’t have to work for a few days, but that didn’t ease my conscience.

I’d joined the Air Force at eighteen because I wanted to save the world, and I’d become a detective when I was twenty-two because I wanted to save people who couldn’t save themselves.

The one thing that both careers had taught me, was that I couldn’t save everyone, no matter how hard I tried.