Free Twin Threat Christmas by Rachelle McCalla Page A

front of the building.
    “It was too dark.” Deputy Perez shook his head regretfully. “With no flash, it increases the exposure time. You have to hold perfectly still—”
    But as he spoke, a clearer image filled the screen—this one with one face pointed directly at the camera, unobstructed by the other man.
    Vanessa sucked in a sharp breath. “Arthur Sherman.”
    “Arthur Sherman,” Eric repeated. “Isn’t he the guy who owns the Flaming Pheasant restaurant chain?”
    Perez turned to Vanessa. “Does he fit the voice you recognized?”
    “Yes.” Vanessa pinched her eyes shut against the flood of memories. “That’s why I recognized his voice—oh, my!”
    “What?” Eric sounded concerned and took a step closer to her.
    Vanessa reached for him, to lean on him for support, surprised when his hand held her, steady yet firm, supportive without hurting. It wasn’t a feeling she was at all accustomed to, but it was one she desperately needed right now. And he kept her upright. “He interviewed me before I was hired. He asked me questions about my family, about not having parents, just a grandfather. He made it sound like he wanted to make sure I’d have alternate means of transportation if I had trouble getting to work, but that wasn’t it at all, was it?”
    Deputy Perez looked angry. “There are Flaming Pheasant restaurants up and down the interstate highway system, across several states. Not too many in any one state, so they’re spread out over jurisdictions. If girls went missing here and there, especially if they didn’t have parents or close family to file a report when they went missing—”
    Eric looked equally disgusted. “He could target vulnerable girls all over the country, have his boys whisk them away one night, and there might not even be a missing person’s report for the authorities to use to see a pattern.”
    “Their employer certainly wouldn’t file one,” Vanessa concurred, seeing the picture all too clearly now, leaning heavily on Eric as the reality weighed upon her, threatening to pull her to the floor. “I always wondered how the restaurant chain could be so popular when we never had too many customers. The food isn’t very good.”
    “But if his main source of income isn’t the restaurant or the food—” Perez shook his head “—he can afford to keep the restaurants open as a cover for his real business. I’m going to call the station, have them run a search on missing-person reports all over the country and see how many have ties to the Flaming Pheasant. I think we’re onto something.”
    “But what about the evidence on the CPU?” Vanessa asked.
    Even before she had the question asked, Perez stepped off to the side, speaking into the microphone of the radio-communications set he wore.
    The female officer, whose name badge identified her as Deputy Abbott, explained, “If this is half as big as I think it is, the FBI is going to want that information. Our office doesn’t have the manpower to field an investigation of this magnitude. We need to call in the big guns—but before we place that call, we need to see if my partner’s theory is correct. This shouldn’t take long.”
    While Perez spoke to the authorities running the search at the station, Vanessa turned to face Eric, still leaning on him, needing his strength, but still unsure where she stood with him after so many years. She could see the disgust on his face that had been triggered by the realization of what Arthur Sherman was up to—but she couldn’t help wondering how much of that disgust extended to her, for getting caught up in such sordid crimes.

SEVEN
    A nger and revulsion warred inside him. Eric tugged Vanessa securely against him, wishing he could have shielded her from harm as easily as he held her now. For how many years had Arthur Sherman been using his restaurant chain as a cover operation so he could traffic girls? Too many. They had to put a stop to him—soon, before he had a