Free Midnight Crossing by Tricia Fields

stockroom. One of the women said, “We’re leaving now. Okay?”
    Selena waved. “See you tomorrow. Lock the door behind you.” Her speech was heavily accented and her voice low-pitched—the kind of voice that commanded authority. She pointed to the plastic chairs in the waiting area and they took seats next to each other.
    “Do I remember right that you moved here from South America?” Josie asked.
    Selena raised her eyebrows in response and Josie noticed their perfect arch.
    “Yes. I came from Venezuela. I’ve been in Texas almost two years now and came to Artemis just a year ago,” she said.
    Josie nodded. “That’s what I thought. I’m hoping you can give me your perspective on a current investigation we’re working on. A young woman was found shot to death early this morning. Another woman was found hiding nearby. She’s in shock and hasn’t said a word.”
    “You think they’re from Venezuela?”
    “We’re not sure. We’re investigating a possible human trafficking connection. They aren’t from the area, and we’ve not been able to match them to a missing persons database for the surrounding areas.”
    Selena looked confused. “You want me to translate?”
    “We have a Spanish translator, but we can’t get the survivor to talk. Honestly, we don’t know what language the woman even speaks. Until we have some background information, though, we’re lost. Let me be clear. I’m coming here because I’m grasping for anything right now, any kind of lead that could help us figure out who these women are.”
    “Okay.”
    “Typically, human trafficking cases we’re seeing are coming up through Latin America.”
    Selena tilted her head back and made a guttural sound that startled Josie. “Let me get this right. Because I perform licensed massages you’ve made the leap to massage parlor, which makes you think those women were coming to Artemis to work for me.”
    Josie shook her head. “No.”
    “Now I have a human trafficking ring running through my salon? Did some old biddy tell you that too?”
    Josie raised both of her hands in the air. “No, Selena, that’s not—”
    “Because I thought we were beyond this. I thought we’d all grown up a little and decided it’s okay to touch someone without being labeled a prostitute.” Her accent became even more pronounced as her anger intensified.
    Josie hadn’t anticipated her reaction. “No one has complained. And no one is calling you a prostitute. I’m here because I’m trying to help find justice for these women. You’ve recently moved here from South America. You may have information that the police aren’t aware of. Even if it’s rumor. At this point, we’ll take any lead we can get.”
    “So now every country in South America is the same? That’s such an American attitude about the world.”
    Josie sighed openly. “Selena, I’m sorry. I’m not handling my questions well. Of course I realize Venezuela is quite different from other countries in South America. But you traveled to the U.S. from far away, facing all kinds of obstacles that I can’t know about. You may have a better understanding about what this woman has gone through than I do. It seemed reasonable to ask you if you’d heard anything around town about women traveling through the area. I certainly didn’t mean to offend you.”
    Selena turned from Josie and stretched her long legs out in front of her, staring ahead at the shelf full of hair products across the room. “I hear drama all the time.”
    Josie shifted to examine the woman’s profile more carefully. Her arms were crossed over her abdomen and her sulky pout had turned into a frown. She looked like a stripped-down version of the model she was ten minutes before. Josie felt like she was finally talking to the real Selena.
    “About what?” Josie said.
    “About girls leaving their families. The U.S. is riches and happiness.” Selena turned back. Her brows were drawn together in frustration. “That’s