“I can see that.” Jack touched the small bear. Poor old man, he thought. Saving these all this time.
“Inside, you’ll also find other photos and letters Susan wrote to the children.” Again Ike’s eyes welled up. “I’d love to show you.”
Jack had to get going. “I’ll look through it later.”
“Okay.” Ike nodded. “If you ever find them, my family, give them this. Please.”
“I will, Ike.” Jack took the portfolio and ran his hand along the top. “I’ll keep it with me.”
They returned to the front porch and the two hugged. “I’m sorry.” Jack looked deep into the old man’s eyes. “About your family.”
“Thank you.” Ike pursed his lips and his eyes grew steely. “I’ll be praying for you.”
Jack hesitated at that. “I appreciate it.” He nodded once more and then climbed in his rental car. Halfway to Belize City, Jack stopped at a gas station and changed clothes in the bathroom. He shaved in the stall and when he walked out he was no longer Luke Armstrong.
He was a finely dressed Henry Thomas Ellington IV.
By then another operative on the ground—someone dressed in a red plaid shirt and chinos was driving the Jeep back to the rental agency. In its place, out front of the gas station, a new-model Porsche was waiting, keys in the glove box. The operative had moved Jack’s things into the backseat. Jack slipped on his Ray-Bans and climbed behind the wheel.
Two things hounded him as he continued on to Belize City. The heartbroken lined face of Ike Armstrong. And the intensity of the man’s conviction. Old Ike really thought Agnes Potter and Paul David James had something to do with the disappearance of his family. And he truly believed the three might somehow still be alive. With every mile, Jack’s belief in the man grew until he had a hunch about Ike Armstrong.
A hunch that just maybe the man was right.
CHAPTER SIX
The Lord detests those whose hearts are perverse.
—Proverbs 11:20
Noon was showtime at the Palace, and Eliza hated it. If a customer didn’t already have a girl picked out, he could show up midday and choose his entertainment in person. The girls would take their places in the living room, the younger teens lined up on the two sofas, older girls in the chairs.
Eliza sat at the head of the room. No one ever bought Eliza, but today was different. Today she would meet her groom. Eliza held her breath for half a minute. If she didn’t think the guards would catch her, she would’ve run away from this place years ago. The problem was the things her captors threatened if ever she went against her father. Things that were vile and unthinkable.
And they did not include death.
Death would be easy. Eliza had often longed for death—in the sea currents or on land, the method didn’t matter. Death would mean she wouldn’t have to spend her days waiting to be married off. She wouldn’t live another night in the Palace, hearing the muffled cries of the girls down the hall.
But death had eluded her for the past ten years.
At this point Eliza had no choice but to sit in her velvet chair, untainted captive that she was. But she didn’t have to smile. No one asked that of her. That job belonged to the younger girls.
Five minutes before noon, two housemaids entered the room—the way they did every day at this time. They moved among the girls, fixing hair and applying blush to the cheeks of the youngest. The older girls did their own makeup. Better than letting anyone touch them before nightfall, they had told Eliza.
The housemaids were older and indifferent. This was their living. When the customers arrived, they went home. Clocked out like this was some sort of twisted hotel. As if sex slavery was just one more aspect of the tourism industry in Belize. When the clock chimed noon, the women left. Lunch break. No big deal. No efforts to save the imprisoned girls.
Eliza exhaled. If the housemaids felt bad for their part in perpetuating Anders’s trafficking ring, they didn’t show it.
A minute later the doors opened, as predictable as the ocean waves. This part of the horror belonged to her father alone. Showtime, he called it. And every day Eliza had to be here to reassure the girls, to watch over them. To make them feel safe.
When she was little, Eliza had actually looked forward to this hour each day. Seeing the other girls, talking with them. They were like big sisters to her back then. Her father would enter the room and walk down the line of girls. Then he would stop and pat her head. Like she was the most special. His princess.
Eliza studied the girls on the two sofas. That was how they felt, now. They looked up to her and the older teens. Eliza could see it in their eyes. Whatever unspeakable things had been done to them the night before, all seemed well now.
The older girls would keep them safe.
After the beating when she turned fourteen, Alexa had told Eliza that her eyes had been opened to the demon her father was. Now when he smiled, chills ran down Eliza’s spine and it took everything in her not to run.
“There you are, darlings.” Her father waltzed into the room. He dressed in flamboyant costumes and strange suits. Like he’d lost his mind—which of course he had. Today’s ridiculous costume was blue flouncy pants and an old English button-up blouse, high ruffled collar and all. His pointy leather shoes clicked on the tiled floor.
He looked more like a court jester than the prince he believed himself to be.
The younger girls sat straighter on the two sofas. They
