Page 81 of Hunted Innocence

BODEN: They went missing at fourteen and fifteen.

So they’re all technically adults now. I can’t just ignore this information, though. Maybe they like where they are, maybe they’re too scared to try and leave, or maybe they just don’t think there's life for them outside of the one they’ve been forced to live in.

Whatever the case, before I leave Miami, they will have the opportunity to make their own decisions.

I’m going to approach them and have a chat. Maybe I can help them.

My whole idea could be absolutely fruitless, but if I don’t try, I’ll always wonderwhat if. Even though they are adults, they’re still very much kids, and I have no doubt they have been through some shit. They deserve an opportunity for freedom, however that looks.

After responding to Boden, I check the other new texts. I have one from Theron and one from Merrick.

I’ve still not completely forgiven Merrick for the shit he pulled in the surveillance room. I understand that mistakes are made, and even though I can rationalize it and understand it in my head, emotionally, I’m not over it.

So, instead of touching Merrick’s name on the screen, I read Theron’s message first.

THERON: I’m hoping you’ll be done with this one within the week. After that, I want you to take some time off before the next one. At least a week.

Frowning, I stare at the screen, unsure why he would give me any kind of time frame. I want to ask him what the fuck he’s talking about but decide against it. Instead, I just respond simplistically.

I’ll try. But I’m not taking any time off.

Taking time off goes against every fucking reason I’m doing this. I’ll take time off after I’ve given them the information to take down every goddamn asshole on that thumb drive. So, the fact that he wants me to take a weeklong vacation after only finding the first one is bothersome.

Closing Theron’s text thread, I open up Merrick’s. Reading his message, I can’t help but feel… off. He’s trying to tell me something, but I don’t understand it.

MERRICK: Call me when it feels like it’s too much. Don’t do anything you will regret.

Instead of responding, I close the app and place my phone on the nightstand again. Merrick’s message niggles in the back of my mind. I know he’s trying to tell me something there, but I have no fucking clue what it could be.

Making my way toward the bathroom, I take a long hot shower, trying not to overanalyze what both Theron and Merrick have said, but I seriously have no goddamn clue what they’re trying to tell me.

When I’m finished with my shower and dressed, I grab my phone again before I head into the kitchen to make a coffee. Although I haven’t put any listening devices on the target’s yacht yet, what I have done is put a tracker on his fucking car, and it is on the move.

Lifting my warm mug to my lips, I take a sip of the dark liquid, hissing as it burns my throat on the way down, and watch as the target’s car moves. It doesn’t take long before it stops and parks in a parking garage that is across from… a nightclub.

Rolling my eyes to the ceiling, I almost laugh because how fucking cliché. The last drama we had with this group, or men of his ilk, was at a damn nightclub. Then we were stuck with it and running it for longer than any of us would have preferred.

However, I have to admit that it’s going to be a nice, diversified cash flow now that we have it leased out. I was able to follow all the girls to what appears to be their home. I know that it isn’t just a shared house where they’re roomies, hanging out and eating bonbons on Friday nights.

I need to watch that house a bit closer now that I know the location. With the target at a club in the middle of the day, I push off the kitchen counter, dump the dregs of my coffee into the sink, and fill the cup with water so it doesn’t stain before I head out of the rented house and get into the nondescript rental car.

It doesn’t take me long to get to the house. Weirdly enough, it’s only a few blocks from my rented one. In a really fucking nice neighborhood. Parking a few homes down and across the street, I watch the place.

What I want to do is set up some surveillance, but I can’t do that here. I’ve already clocked at least four security systems just in my line of sight. So I wait and watch. An hour into my waiting, I shift lower in my seat when I watch two of the women I recognize walk out of the house.

They don’t go far, mainly because one of the guards is close behind them. I watch as they walk over to a tree and one of them reaches up. That’s when I realize it’s an orange tree. They pick oranges, but neither of them seems relaxed or comfortable. Even from a distance, I can tell they appear to be holding their bodies tightly.

Something is wrong. Really wrong. And I have a feeling this is going to need my immediate attention, whatever it is. I can’t just walk away from the body language they are exuding.

NADINE

Humidity doesn’t seemto accurately describe the air around me. When I step out of the airport, the thick, soupy air hits me in the face, and I struggle to take in a breath. I cannot believe that people live every day like this. It’s beyond stifling. I don’t know what it is, but it’s almost so thick that you could chew it.

Walking over to my pickup area, I watch for the Uber I hired to arrive. A deep-purple Dodge Challenger. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to miss it, and a few moments later, I hear a car roar, and then it appears, pulling up to the curb directly in front of me.

The trunk of the car opens before a woman stands from the front seat, her eyes meeting mine from across the top of the car, a smile playing on her lips.

“Hey, girl,” she cries out. “Let’s get you loaded up.”

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