Little Girl Gone

longer Elyse any more. It was her. She was standing near the tan wall, tearing flowing down her cheeks. As she began moving away from him, he yelled out. But it only made her run faster, and faster, and—

 Logan’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. With effort, he pushed open his eyes, and picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Logan Harper?”

“Yes.”

“You called me.”

What? Called who?

Then, through the haze of the pills he’d taken, he remembered the number from Dev. Only he’d been expecting a man to call him back, but the voice belonged to a woman.

“Yes. Yes, I did. I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.” He paused, waiting, but apparently she wasn’t ready to share that information with him yet, so he went on. “I got your number from a friend in California. He said you might be able to help me.”

“I’m familiar with your situation, Mr. Harper.”

He sat up, his senses coming back to him. “You are?”

She remained quiet.

“Then you know a girl’s life is in danger,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in Thailand. I don’t have any contacts, and I don’t speak the language. I’m looking for someone to point me in the right direction. I was hoping that maybe you—”

“Be downstairs in ten minutes,” she told him, cutting him off. “You’ll be picked up.”

The line went dead before he could say anything else.

25

Logan was out in front of the Angel City Hotel seven minutes later. His mind was still cloudy with sleep, but moving around was helping a little.

He scanned the road in both directions. The number of people on the sidewalks had thinned, and many of the vendors had left. Off to the right, he saw a pair of headlights turn onto the street. He edged closer to the curb, anticipating that it was his ride. As it neared, he could see it was a taxi, but it raced past the hotel without the driver even glancing in his direction.

In the distance he heard thunder, and looked to the sky. It was cloudy, but at the moment there was no rain. He wondered if he should go inside, and see if they had a spare umbrella at the reception desk, but just then a motorcycle taxi like one of the hundreds he’d noticed on the drive from the airport, pulled to the curb. Like most of the other drivers he’d seen, this one was a younger man wearing an orange vest.

“Harper?” the driver said, catching Logan off guard.

“Yes.”

The kid nodded at the empty space on the seat behind him. It certainly wasn’t the ride Logan had been expecting, but if that’s what the mysterious voice had sent for him, so be it.

He climbed on, then grabbed each side of the seat to maintain his balance as they took off, helmetless, down the street.

The way his driver weaved through traffic, Logan half wondered if the kid had a death wish or something. He lost count of how many times they came close to hitting or being hit by another vehicle, but, scientifically, he would categorize it as a lot.

The wild ride went on for nearly twenty minutes before they finally stopped at the side of the road. The street they were on was wide but quiet, making Logan think that Bangkok was finally starting to wind down. The buildings that lined either side were packed right up against each other. Most of the lower floors were occupied by businesses, none of which seemed to be open during the middle of the night. The upper floors—most of the buildings were at least five stories high—looked more like apartments. A few had lights on, but the majority were dark.

The driver pointed at a door directly across the sidewalk. There were no markings on it or nearby to indicate what might be inside.

The moment Logan hopped off the bike, the driver drove off, leaving him standing alone on the sidewalk. He walked up to the door not knowing if he should knock or just go in. He decided to just open it. If it turned out he should have knocked, he could apologize after.

Instead of leading into a room, though, the door opened onto an empty staircase that went up one level and ended at another closed door. The incline was steep and the treads were narrow, so he watched his step as he made his way to the top.

He tried opening this one, too, but it was locked, so he was forced to knock.

There was a delay of several seconds, then the door opened into a small, dimly lit room. As soon as he stepped inside, the door closed behind him. He looked back. A short, thin Asian man wearing a crooked smile stood facing him.

“Please,” the man said, his voice strained like his throat had been injured. He pointed at the opposite side of the room.

Logan turned back around, and realized the wall the man was motioning to was actually just a dark drape.

“Please,” he repeated.