Page 14 of Hard Game

“Yes,” I mutter as he stares at me.

“Yes, you’ve lost your mind? I can see that. Jeez, Diess…” His voice fades as he glances around us. “Look, stop saying what you’re really thinking when you’re in front of her. You’ll get us both sacked.”

I say nothing but chew on my inner cheek as I roll the conversation over in my head. Lockwood isn’t a huge town; it’s hardly New York City. Where are these bastards finding their victims? “We need to find out who she was.”

Elijah stares at the ceiling and drags his hand over his chin with exasperation. “No shit. Like we haven’t been trying.”

“No, we need to hit the streets to find out who she was.”

Elijah scoffs. “We’ve tried—no one knows her.”

I shake my head and stride past him. “Then someone is lying. Someone knows who she is.” I grab my jacket and badge from my desk and snatch up my car keys.

“Where are we going?” Elijah asks with defeat. “Back to the park? That area?”

I shake my head. “We’re going to the mall.”

7

LAUREN

The mall isn’t overly busy, which I’m grateful for. Most people I see are bored teenagers, but they’re not the kind our trafficking ring would go for. These are loved and cared for; you can tell by their designer sneakers or freshly cut hair or how they laugh without a care in the world. I’m happy for them, but it’s the others I’m looking for. The ones that don’t have anyone to care for them. The lonely and vulnerable ones. I scan the mall, not seeing anyone that fits the description, and Elijah sighs.

“So what now?”

I walk into the mall, the scent of freshly baked cookies hitting my nose and reminding my stomach it’s time to eat. “First we eat, then we walk around,” I tell Elijah as I stride to the cookie stall and order what I want.

Elijah doesn’t follow me. He leans over the railing that overlooks the mall’s lower level and sighs.

I know what he’s thinking—needle in a haystack.

But we have to try.

The vendor hands me my cookies, and I munch on them thoughtfully as crumbs spill from my lips.

God, these are so good.

“Maybe I’m wrong,” Elijah says, his eyes narrowing as he nods to a woman pushing a cart. “But she’s a cleaner, right?”

I follow his gaze, and my heart skips a beat. The girl must be around twenty, give or take a few years. She looks exhausted and desperately unhappy. Her hair is scraped into a high ponytail, and she grimaces when she leans down to pick up litter. “Let’s go,” I say, heading for the escalator.

It could be nothing.

“Wait,” Elijah says, tugging me back before I make a beeline to her.

I follow his gaze to where a man stands, his eyes fixed on the young cleaner. He’s watching her intently and lifts his phone as though he’s snapping a photo of her.

Oh my God.

I leap into action, but Elijah holds me still, muttering in my ear.

“No proof; stand down.”

He’s right, but it’s too late; he’s already spotted me.

He ducks his head and turns, striding away from us at record speed.

I yank my arm free and follow him, with Elijah at my heels.

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