5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Dion
I was saved from having to press Emily further by the sound of the security system announcing visitors turning in. Emily tensed immediately, her eyes darting to the front door.
"That'll be the guys," I said, standing to clear our plates. "Don't worry, they're here to help."
She nodded, but I could see the anxiety written across her face as she tugged at the hem of my shirt. "I should change. I can't meet your team like this."
"Your clothes from yesterday are in the dryer," I told her. "But if you'd prefer, I can find you something else to wear."
"My clothes are fine," she said quickly, sliding off the stool. "Where's the dryer?"
I showed her to the laundry room, noting how she'd straightened her posture and schooled her features into a mask of professional detachment.
The vulnerable Emily from breakfast was gone, replaced by the social worker who'd faced down her captors with defiance.
I wasn't sure which version was more real, but I suspected both were essential parts of who she was.
While she changed, I let my team in. Gideon entered first, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of the house as if checking for security breaches. Maddox followed, carrying a laptop case, with Eric bringing up the rear, his arms full of technical equipment.
"Coffee's in the kitchen," I told them, leading the way. "Emily's changing. She'll be out in a minute."
"How is she?" Gideon asked quietly as he grabbed a mug.
"Stubborn. Brave. Traumatized but hiding it well." I leaned against the counter. "She wanted to go to work today."
Maddox snorted. "Of course she did."
"Talked her down to one day off," I continued. "And full disclosure about what she knows."
Gideon nodded approvingly. "Good. We need everything she can give us if we're going to get ahead of these people."
"She's protective of her cases," I warned. "Professional ethics are important to her."
"Understandable," Gideon replied. "But we'll need to convince her that the usual rules don't apply when children's lives are at stake."
Emily chose that moment to appear in the kitchen doorway.
She'd changed into her clothes from yesterday— a blouse and jeans— and had pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail with a simple, plain elastic. All traces of the woman I'd held through the night were gone, replaced by a professional facade. “I left you some new hair ties in the bathroom.” I’d loved the pink ribbons she’d worn yesterday.
She blinked at me in surprise but then turned to the guys. "Good morning," she said, her voice steady despite the way her eyes darted nervously between the three unfamiliar men.
"Emily," I moved to her side, placing a reassuring hand at the small of her back. "These are my friends. Gideon, Maddox, and Eric, our tech specialist."
Each man nodded in greeting. Gideon and Maddox were especially gentle, and then we all got a notification on our phones of another car. Gideon checked his first and his eyebrows went up. "Walker." Emily glanced at me.
"Didn't you just say he'd lost his gran?"
I nodded. I was surprised to see him myself.
I went to the door, even though we all had our own entry codes.
Walker looked awful. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and he'd lost weight.
He still had the huge, muscular body I was familiar with but not a spare ounce of fat on him.
I didn't say anything, just pulled him into a quick hug, which he returned with a brief, one-armed embrace.
"Heard we had a situation," he said, his voice rough. "Thought you might need all hands."
"Thanks for coming," I said quietly. "But if you need more time—"
"I don't," he cut me off. "Work helps."
I nodded, understanding completely. When you'd seen the things we had, staying busy was often the only way to keep the darkness at bay.
"Come meet Emily," I said, leading him to the kitchen.
Emily's eyes widened slightly when Walker entered. Despite his haggard appearance, there was no denying his presence—tall, muscular, with the watchful eyes of a man who'd seen combat. He nodded politely to her but kept his distance, leaning against the wall rather than taking a seat at the table.
"Now that everyone's here," Gideon said, taking charge as always, "let's get started. Emily, first I want to thank you for agreeing to speak with us. I know this isn't easy."
Emily straightened in her chair. "I just want to help the children in my care. If you can do that, I'll tell you whatever you need to know."
Gideon nodded, his expression serious. "That's our goal too. Eric, you want to start?"
Eric set up his laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard. "I've been looking into the foster system records in this county," he began. "There are some definite anomalies, especially in placement patterns for certain demographics of children."
"Teenagers," Emily said immediately. "Specifically, girls between thirteen and sixteen, and boys between eleven and fourteen."
Eric nodded. "Exactly. And these placements tend to cluster around specific foster families."
"The Wilsons, the Derksens, and the Grants," Emily supplied. "Plus two others who recently moved into the county—the Bennetts and the Levines."
I watched her as she spoke, noting her professional demeanor was a shield, allowing her to discuss horrific things with clinical detachment. It was a coping mechanism I recognized from my own time in the service.
"These families all have something in common," Emily continued.
"They're relatively new to fostering, all approved within the last three years.
They all requested older children specifically, which is unusual—most foster parents want younger kids.
And they all have connections to my supervisor, Susan Martin. "
Maddox leaned forward. "Connections how?"
"Social connections, mostly. Susan's husband plays golf with Mr. Wilson and Mr. Grant. The Derksens attend the same church as Susan. The Bennetts are her neighbors. And the Levines—Mrs. Levine is Susan's cousin."
Gideon exchanged a glance with Maddox. "And these children who get placed with these families... what happens to them?"
Emily took a deep breath. "At first, nothing unusual. Regular home visits, school attendance, everything by the book. Then, typically three to four months in, there's an incident. Usually blamed on another child, school, new boyfriend, etcetera, and the child runs away.”
Emily continued, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. "It's never immediate."
"How did you discover this?" Walker asked, speaking for the first time.
"It started with one of my cases—Marisol Diaz, fifteen.
She was placed with the Wilsons last year.
Five months in, she allegedly ran away, only five weeks before I got taken.
When I tried to follow up, Susan Martin, who wasn't even my direct supervisor at that point, took over the case on orders from the manager, Richard Kline.
She said it was protocol for runaways. But Marisol had left me a voicemail the night before she 'ran away.
' She was scared, said Mr. Wilson had visitors who kept looking at her 'in a weird way.
' Said they were taking pictures of her. "
My stomach turned. I'd seen enough human trafficking operations to know exactly what those pictures were for.
"After Marisol, I started looking at other cases," Emily continued. "Found the pattern. Seven children in the last year alone, all following the same trajectory. I brought my concerns to Susan's supervisor, Richard Kline. He seemed concerned, promised to look into it."
"But he didn't," Gideon surmised.
"Worse. Two days later, I was called into his office. He said my allegations were unfounded and dangerous. Threatened to fire me if I pursued it further. Said I was 'disrupting vital placement relationships,’ and instructed me to follow the proper procedures.'"
Eric was typing furiously. "Richard Kline... his wife is on the board of Oak Development Corporation."
"Jonathan Rice's company," I explained to Emily, watching her face pale.
"Rice?" Her voice shook slightly.
Every one of us knew he was one of her father’s clients, but it looked like she did as well.
"You know him?" I asked gently, but she shrugged. It was clearly a lie, but I wasn't going to call her on it.
"Jonathan Rice is also involved in numerous less legitimate enterprises," Gideon said. "Human trafficking being one of them."
Emily's eyes darted between us. "How do you know all this?"
Gideon leaned forward. "We've been tracking Rice for years. He's careful, well-connected, and extremely dangerous. We believe he uses legitimate businesses to mask his trafficking operations."
"But what does he want with foster children?" Emily asked, her voice breaking slightly. "I mean, isn't that too complicated? Sadly, the statistics make undocumented immigrants the high-risk group, but every one of these children has a paper trail."
Walker pushed away from the wall, his face grim. "That's where Rice's operation differs. We're not talking hundreds of girls or boys forced to work in brothels or on street corners, he picks girls and boys for certain wealthy pedophiles that want to own their new toy."
Emily blanched and I decided she'd been frightened enough and went to stand, but Emily interrupted us. "I've heard my dad mention him, not in great detail because he was actually talking to my sister at the time. Something about re-zoning."
Gideon arched a sardonic eyebrow. It probably had to do with Kingdom.
"First," Gideon said carefully, "we need to gather concrete evidence. Your testimony and observations are invaluable, but we need documentation, recordings—something that would stand up in court."
"I have some things," Emily admitted, her voice small but determined. "Files I copied before my reprimand and hid. Notes from meetings with the families. I keep them at my apartment in a lockbox."