find out what she did with someone they're hunting for. And you'll still have her.'
The bidders looked at each other, as though each were trying to assess how much the others might pay. Grady Lee Beard said, 'Three million.'
Jane said, 'You don't have that much.'
Wylie's right arm straightened and he hit her, a punch on the jaw. The punch knocked Jane to the side, so she fell off the table, but Gorman leaped forward to catch her before she hit the floor in the midst of the bidders. Wylie shook his hand and blew on the knuckles as though they hurt him.
Grady Lee Beard said to Jane, 'I'll have that and plenty more after I get you. I know a dozen guys like these who will pay big for a chance to talk to you. They just don't know we've got you yet.'
'I've got a bid of three million,' Wylie said. 'You bidders might also think about the fact that she doesn't just know about somebody you're hunting for. She knows about you. She knows whatever her client knows about you- anything you might have done that wasn't strictly legal, and even what we're doing now. You can be sure she never tells any secrets that could put you away. Buying her is the only way to buy your safety. Her new owner will get every one of your secrets. What will it cost you to be sure that Mr. Beard, here, guards those secrets'
'Four million,' Eckersly said.
'Four million to you, gentlemen. This is a slave market. Once you own her, you can do anything you want with her. If you hate her, you can show her how much pain can be inflicted on a person before she dies. Or you can find out what you want and then resell her to the next customer for a profit. Whoever wins the bidding tonight reaps the benefits, because she'll only get more valuable. Any more bids Do I hear five'
There was silence. Some of the men in the room stared at Jane, as though they were trying to read her mind and determine how much the contents of her memory were worth. She refused to let them make eye contact.
'The last bid was Mr. Eckersly at four million. Final offer'
The silence took on a resentful, shamefaced quality, the bidders looking down at their shoes rather than at Wylie. 'Mr. Maloney, call our employer and see what he thinks of four million.'
Maloney dialed a cell phone and spoke into it. 'Hello, sir. The bidding is now at four million, and no counterbid. Is that an acceptable price' There was a pause while he listened. 'Thank you, sir. I'll tell them.' He put his phone in his coat pocket. 'I'm sorry, gentlemen. At four million the price is not high enough. Our employer has submitted a token bid of eight million dollars. He's going to give you one final chance to do better. If nobody beats eight million, he'll take her off the market.'
Phil Barraclough said, 'I thought the rule was that you had to bring your stakes and pay off at the end of the auction.'
'That's right,' Wylie said.
'You're telling me that you've got eight million here in this house'
Wylie shook his head. 'We brought the merchandise for him. She's worth eight million.'
'That's just bullshit,' said Barraclough. 'He's wasting our time. He's not going to sell her.'
'If that's how you feel, I can't say I blame you for dropping out. If anyone wants to go on with the auction, the bidding will start again at eight million.'
'When do we have to hand over the money' asked Beard.
'When we get the cash, you'll get her. But we've got to be gone in twenty-four hours, so it'll have to be before then.'
Beard looked around him at the others. 'All right. I want to be in on this. There are people I've been looking for, and she knows where they are. I have two million in cash in this backpack. If a couple of you want to go in with me, we can get together and make eight million.'
The other bidders were silent. Two million was clearly not a big enough percentage to make them risk an ongoing partnership with Grady Lee Beard. He was tall and rangy, with very light skin that had the ability to hold scars as raised pink lines, so the history of his dealings with others was written on his face.
Wylie said, 'Our employer doesn't care how you get together, or who contributes what. All he wants is that we go home with upwards of eight million, and somebody else goes home with the woman.'
A few of the bidders whispered together and there were muttered expletives, but no deal seemed to be concluded. There were frustrated scowls in parts of the room, as several bidders whose pitches had been rejected looked for each other in the crowd.
'Eight million and one thousand.'
The whispering and murmuring stopped. One by one, the men in the room found the source of the words. Jane felt sick.
'Is that a bid' asked Wylie. 'I believe we have a bid. It's eight million, one thousand dollars. Does everybody hear the bid'
The murmuring increased again, and this time Jane could see that the men were talking faster. There was some desperation as they tried to cobble together instant alliances to beat the bid. After a few more seconds, the side conversations died out and the men's attention was on Wylie. 'Mr. Eckersly has bid eight million one thousand.' Wylie was much more animated, and Jane could tell he must be delighted. His cut would be eight hundred thousand.
'Let's get our boss on the phone,' Wylie said, looking at Gorman.
Gorman leaned into the alcove that led to the kitchen and talked into his phone rapidly, with his free hand covering his ear so he could hear above the hum of side conversations. He nodded and said 'Okay.' He held the phone up so his boss could hear, and called out, 'The bid is in range. He doesn't want to beat it.'
This set off some more conferring as aggressive bidders tried once more to put together partnerships.
Wylie let it go on for a few minutes, until the voices began to die off. 'I have a bid of eight million and one thousand. Do I have any other bids Does anyone want to beat eight million and one thousand Any bids for the woman who has hidden so many people for so long' He stood tall, moving to look over the heads of the nearby bidders who had been walking around to talk to others. 'No bids Then it's going . . . going . . . gone! For eight million one thousand to Mr. Eckersly.'
The men who were still seated all seemed to pop up at once and mill around the room talking to the others. Between two of them Jane could see Eckersly sitting in his chair with a smile just barely lifting the corners of his lips. He suddenly seemed to be aware of her, and his eyes turned to settle on her and the smile broadened. The effect was like looking into an open coffin and seeing the corpse open its eyes and the face powder at its mouth wrinkle and crack as it smiled.
Jane knew terrible things about Eckersly. Rhonda had been twenty-five when Jane had taken her away, and Eckersly had been in his late forties. Now he was in his mid-sixties, but he looked ancient. The people in this room probably all thought that he was an astute speculator who would make a profit by forcing her to betray the people Beard and Barraclough and the others wanted, and then kill her for simple revenge. Jane knew him better than that. After all these years he wanted Rhonda back. He wanted to drag her to the same room and renew her torment where he had been interrupted, and then he wanted to do the same to Jane. He was a sadist, and simple murder would not be enough after fifteen years of waiting. He would prefer to keep them both alive for months, maybe years.
Jane saw a few of the bidders begin to leave. Some seemed angry at particular men who had not seen fit to join an alliance. Others looked merely tired and frustrated. She saw Wylie and Gorman make their way through the group to talk to Eckersly. She hoped there would be a delay, a problem of some kind with the cash. He had a large hard-sided case that sat between his feet. Was it big enough to hold eight million dollars
Wylie and Gorman were obviously thinking the same thing. Jane looked around her for Maloney, and she found him near the front door, watching the bidders filing out. As she watched, she saw Ronald Hanlon stop at the door, give her a smirk, and then blow her a kiss.
She looked away as he stepped outside, and she had to keep herself from shuddering. She hadn't thought about him in years. When she had crossed his path, he had been a trafficker in women from eastern Europe. His business was buying groups of them from a fake employment agency based in Kiev, and promising them jobs in the United States. In order to get into the country they had to sign loan papers for his high fees, and then swear to false answers on what they thought were immigration papers, but were just requests for tourist visas. When they arrived he kept them in isolation and forced them to work as prostitutes for two or three years until they paid off his fees. One of them who had served her indenture had come to Jane to ask for help to get her sister away. Jane had managed to get a dozen other girls out with the sister and into new lives. Hanlon had apparently been waiting for a
