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She needed to keep investigating quietly until she knew what she was dealing with. Only then would she call Peter or bring Tom in. Stripping off the tiny dress, she made her way into the shower, hoping the hot water would relax her enough that she could sleep.

Sleep came, but it wasn’t restful. She spent the night being chased in her dreams and woke every hour with her heart racing and her face and back drenched in sweat. At six Tuesday morning, she finally dragged herself back into the shower before pulling on slacks and a blouse.

By seven-thirty, she was sitting at her desk digging into Dino Carranza. Most of her basic Internet searches came up empty, but she found mention of his name in some police reports an hour later. No charges had ever been filed against him, but he was listed as a person of interest in multiple crimes that ranged from assault, to rape, to drug trafficking. The interesting thing was there were no pictures of him anywhere, not even a mugshot.

When the morning mail arrived, she was eyeballs deep in Corbit Upwood’s public travel history. The manila envelope with no postmark caught her eye first, and she set the rest of the mail to the side to tear into it.

A note was on top of the contents.

Have you called Peter Mercer yet? He’s a good man. He’ll help you. Show him this package. I’ll be in touch soon. I’m sorry I can’t just come to you directly, but it’s dangerous and lives depend on my anonymity.

RIP

Along with a stack of photos, there was a thin notebook about five by seven inches. Inside was a date log. Whoever owned this book had been tracking something, but she couldn’t decipher what. There were names next to each entry. Most appeared to be female, but she saw the initials D.C. and C.U. a few times as well. Dino Carranza and Corbit Upwood? Or was D.C. the city? It was difficult to tell.

The tipster’s question kept nagging at the corners of her mind. Have you called Peter Mercer yet?

She wanted to call him, but she wasn’t sure what she was going to say. Then she reached the last entry in the book. There was a note beneath it.

These women have gone missing, but nobody is looking for them. Dig into their disappearances and I’ll send you more information when I have it.

Missing women certainly raised the stakes. Flipping back through the log, she noted there were no last names. That was going to make the search for these women harder. Especially if they were strippers from the Doll House. If that was the case, it was unlikely that these were their real names, and she couldn’t go back there anytime soon. Not if she wanted to stay alive. She fully believed her captors last night when they warned her she might end up floating in the Potomac.

Grabbing the envelope, she stuffed it in her laptop case and picked up her energy drink. A glance down the hall told her that Tom was out. She didn’t feel up to talking to him about this yet. Not until she had a game plan, anyway. She was just going to ride the metro to a park where she could walk and clear her thoughts.

When she got to the metro stop, she was grateful the train was arriving. She had spent the entire walk there glancing over her shoulder. Next time she was taking a cab. Though she had proved those weren’t difficult to follow, either.

Without realizing what she had done, she rode the train to the stop closest to the Doll House Cabaret. Might as well check things out. She told herself she would stay back, maybe sit in the deli across the street and see if she could spot anyone suspicious going in. The club wasn’t open yet, so she didn’t expect to see much, but if it was the front for a criminal enterprise, it would make sense that much of the criminal activity would happen while the place was closed.

She ordered a sandwich from the deli, then sat on the bench outside. Ignoring the food, she pulled the manila envelope out of her bag and flipped through the pictures. Some of them were taken inside the Doll House, but others were in unfamiliar places, many of which looked like strip clubs. All of them contained either a girl or Upwood and Dino Carranza. Were these the girls who had gone missing? After flipping each photo, she would glance up to see if there was any activity across the street. So far, nothing.

The last photo made little sense to Carrie. It was of what looked like a rest area with a picnic table and a restroom in the background. Why would he send her a picture with nobody in it? Did he want her to find this place? She flipped it over. There was handwriting on the back.

Call Peter Mercer.

This guy really wanted her to call Peter. His number was sitting in her bag, but still she resisted, choosing instead to keep watching the strip club across the street.

Someone sat next to her, and she jumped. It was Lola.

“You need to stay away from here. I like you, but you’re going to get yourself and others killed.”

Carrie fought the urge to scoot away from the bartender. She had a feeling it was Lola who had put something in her drink last night.

“What’s going on Lola? If it’s illegal, we can go to the police.”

Lola was shaking her head. “No. No cops. Stay out of this. I’m warning you. You don’t want to stick your nose in here. Not only will you get yourself killed, you’re putting me and the other girls at risk.”

Saying nothing else, the bartender got up and walked across the street. When Lola turned back to look at her one more time, Carrie snapped a photo of her with her phone. She sat there for a few more minutes, contemplating her next move. With one more glance at the strange photo from the envelope, she sighed and pulled out the scrap of paper with Peter’s number on it.

8

“DIRECTOR Upwood has two more off-site meetings today, so you’ve got some work to do. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a lot of moving parts. Let’s keep our wits about us and get through the rest of this shift.”

As Peter finished his lunchtime briefing of Upwood’s protection detail, his personal cellphone rang. “Excuse me, folks.”

He stepped away with a scowl.

“Mercer.”

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