New York, January 7th, 2016

Elsie had been in a much better mood since they had gone out the day before. She hadn't argued at being left behind again when Aidan slipped out earlier to 'handle some business.' Lunch and a bit of shopping were practically all Elsie needed to feel like her life was all back to normal. And that was fine, the blonde never needed to know that it had been a test, a calculated risk. Yes, it had served the purpose of assuaging the growing tension, but the true reasoning was so that Aidan could find out whether or not Sala knew where Elsie was.

The condo wasn't being watched. They weren't followed at any point throughout the day. How did she know? Because she had called in a very awkward favor and paid someone to follow them, someone who knew what to look for. She trusted his abilities. She did not trust, however, that the situation would remain the same as time pressed on. Anton Sala was not a man who would just let things go.

He was also not a man that Aidan herself had any ability to deal with directly. Nor was she going to put anyone else square in his path. Subterfuge was going to be the name of the game, tightening the knot by pulling strings that were not directly attached to the Czech's trafficking. Trapping, not hunting.

She finished off her cigarette and ground out the butt in the ashtray of the trash can, flipping down the collar of her jacket as she stepped into the building she had been hovering outside of while she waited. Regina Winslow had finally stepped out of her lawyer's office and headed into the ladies room. Aidan gave her a few moments' head start before she entered as well.

She chose a stall directly next to the one Regina was in before pulling the two throw-away cell phones from her pocket, dialing one with the other. After a ring and a half she “picked up.” With the detritus stirred up in the back of her throat from smoking, and holding her nasal passages just so... she knew—and hated—that she sounded just like Maureen Carlton.

“Hello?”

…

“Well it's about damn time.”

…

“Did you follow up on my request?”

…

“What do you mean they won't do anything about it? Known human traffickers are hanging around too close to my home for comfort.”

She could hear Regina lean in a little closer to the plastic wall to hear better as she took the bait.

“Well of course I don't care that they're on the other side of that end of the neighborhood right now, but how long do you think it will be before they move up?”

…

“Of course they have no idea. Do you think any of them see anything that isn't smacking them right in the face? How else do you think I've stayed on top this long?”

…

“I don't care what you have to do. Just do it. This will not be tolerated. We have built an upstanding community over decades and some low life is not going to waltz in and ruin it.”

Aidan hung up, hearing Regina shift again in the stall beside her. With a flush to maintain the illusion and a pause to wash her hands, she slipped out of the bathroom and headed for the door. She had no doubt at all that before she even made it home Regina would be having a little emergency afternoon tea with half the Rochester elite trying to find ways to pressure the authorities into action. It was one string, a small one, but it was a start.

 

 

- - - - -
 

England 2008

The tapping of her boot heel against the linoleum flooring echoed softly in the small room. The back of her head hurt where it had hit the wall, but she had checked half a dozen times and there was no blood, barely even a knot. She knew that Belinda was in the adjoining room, giving her side of the story, and though the clock said it had only been ten minutes, it felt as though it had been forever.

So much for a night out on the town. The club was a blur. Things had started off well, and gotten even better. Then, when it was time to go home, reality came crashing back in. The reality of Blake Ross, at least. Between the drinks at the club and the adrenaline from everything after, Aidan couldn't honestly even remember exactly what happened.

She would have bet anything that it had been planned that way, too. The three of them had already made multiple reports to the police that had seemed to fall on deaf ears, and now there they were, at it again, this time after drinking. Elsie was a wreck, Linnie was sure someone would listen this time because there had been a witness or two outside the club, but Aidan had already seen the looks.

Still, she stared down at the loosely folded napkin in front of her on the table. Ross hadn't planned for everything. If something didn't happen now, she was damn well going to find a way to make something happen. She had already started looking into private investigators, but she hadn't told anyone else.

Her attention flicked upward as the door opened. It wasn't any of the officers from before, not the same one that had been, or maybe still was, questioning Belinda. She had never seen the man before at all. For a moment she began to wonder if he was a lawyer, but she shoved that thought aside as he sat down across from her.

“...Do I need to tell the whole story again?”

She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but she knew from her own tone that she wasn't successful. Surprisingly, he didn't seem offended. Instead, he studied her, and she studied him back. The air grew thick and the seconds ticking by on the clock got awkward as they stared at one another without flinching. Finally, he gestured with a single finger toward the folded napkin in front of her.

“What's that?”

“It's his ID card. I pulled it out of his wallet when I had the chance.”

Aidan slid it across the table toward him. Blake Ross was no longer a phantom for the police to roll their eyes over. Now there was an address, a picture, a name, and most likely fingerprints. He unfolded the napkin carefully, looking over the card with an expression that told her nothing.

“What possessed you to take his ID?”

“Because I've had enough of the patronizing and being told that 'everything in our power' is being done when I know nothing at all is being done. I'm not stupid. I know what I'm being lied to, and I know when people don't believe me. From the very first time we tried reporting this, no one has believed anything we've said.

“Now you've got people at the club who have told you it that it did happen. Now there is a face and whatever else you can get from that. We couldn't get him down long enough to keep him there until you arrived, so I did the next best thing.”

Another long silence passed as he studied the ID card without touching it. When he spoke again, it wasn't what she expected.

“Your friend is almost done, Miss Carlisle. A cab is coming to pick all of you up and take you home. I'm going to look into this. If you don't mind, don't go anywhere in the morning until you've heard from me?”

She almost, almost made a smart ass remark about why he wanted her to stay home when obviously they were all just hysterical women who had no idea what had happened, but she bit it back. There was something different about this one. His tone, his focus. Whether he believed everything or not, he knew something wasn't right. She wanted to question him, but the door opened again and Belinda was the one standing there, ready to leave.

“Miss Carlisle?”

“Right. I'll stay in until I hear from you... Thank you.”

The night was long. Elsie was all tears and apologies. Aidan let Belinda deal with her. She didn't have the emotional strength or energy to deal with the sobbing. Unfortunately the walls were thin and she still had to hear it. With a sigh, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. She had taken a picture of the ID card while she was alone, making sure that all of that information wouldn't just disappear if someone 'misplaced' the evidence.

She fell asleep to the reckless urging from an unfamiliar voice inside. Go there. Hunt the hunter.

In the morning she was jarred awake by her phone ringing and vibrating on the wooden stand beside the bed. She barely managed to answer it before it went to voice mail and couldn't get out anything coherent resembling a greeting. Whatever she had mumbled, apparently it was good enough.

“Miss Carlisle? The ID you gave me is fraudulent. The address belongs to someone else, and I've already gone there to be sure. The name Blake Ross is nowhere on file, and there is no match to the fingerprints on it either. Before you get upset, I'm going to try something else. It's a long shot, but it might get me something. In the meantime, save my number and call me directly if something happens.”

“So, what, we're just supposed to stay here trapped in the flat?”

“No. Go out, do what you will. Carry on normally.”

“You mean bait him?”

“For lack of a better word... yes.”

She didn't frown. She wasn't even angry. Nowhere inside did she relish the idea of dangling herself like a worm on a hook. But... this was more than had been done so far, and it did seem like a sure-fire way to get him to come out, didn't it?