Page 30 of Captivated with Them

“Any surnames?” he enquired.

The girls shook their heads. They had surnames—of course they did—but they’d probably been threatened by the Capellos never to speak them. Hell, even their first names probably weren’t right, but they were less important. If we knew their surnames, we could run checks to see if any missing girls by those names had been reported and get in touch with the families to let them know of their missing loved ones’ locations. Getting in touch with the cops wouldn’t work—you never knew which of them was on the Capellos’ payroll. Inform the wrong one, and you’d most likely end up dead.

“We’re going to need to give you surnames for the passports, though, okay?”

Both girls nodded.

“Come with us.”

Though the doorway of my bedroom had been widened to allow for a wheelchair, the doorway to the office hadn’t been. To move around in there, I needed my crutches. Kodee retrieved them for me without me even needing to ask, and I hoisted myself up on them. It felt good to be standing, though I could never do it for long. Even with padding, the crutches dug in under my arms. It was hard work getting around like this.

We got to work, taking photographs and uploading biometric data onto the RFID—radio frequency identification—chips that were in the covers of the new style passports. Plenty of people had no idea these microchips were even part of their passports, but they carried all the data of the photograph page of the passport, including the biometrics of the photograph. The data on the chip needed to match that of the contents of the passport.

“Are there any other girls where you’re staying?” I asked the blonde, trying to sound casual.

She pressed her lips together and kept her gaze on some fixed point on the floor. “We’re not supposed to talk to you about anything that doesn’t involve getting the passports.”

“How about if you don’t talk?”

She frowned at me and I elaborated.

“I mean, I could just say something, and you could either nod or shake your head. You wouldn’t actually be saying anything.”

The brunette jabbed the blonde in the side and shot her a warning glare. I understood why they were being cautious. They’d probably been treated with nothing but disrespect and contempt since they’d ended up in this position—especially at the hands of men—and why should they think we were any different? In their minds, we were simply more of the same, working to get them out of the country in return for a hefty jump in our bank balances.

“Those men who brought you here have our friend,” I continued. “Her name is Rue. She has lots of silky dark hair and a small build. Do you know her? Or might you have seen her?”

The brunette, May, didn’t even look at us, but the blonde quickly nodded.

“You know her?” I said, encouraged. “Is she being held at the same place as you?”

Again, that same nod.

“Are you being held at the restaurant? The pizza place?”

This time Skye shook her head.

“One of the Capello’s residences instead?”

A nod. Yes.

“Frankie’s or Manuel’s?”

She lifted her gaze to mine, and I realized I hadn’t given her a yes or no question.

“Sorry.” I tried again. “Manuel?”

She shook her head.

“Frankie?”

She nodded.

I assumed the short amount of time it had taken for them to bring the girls to the apartment meant she was talking about a property in the city. So that meant Rue was there, too. I didn’t know how that helped us at all. There was little chance we’d just be able to walk in there and take her.

“And is there another man there as well? Dark, messy hair. Irish accent?”

Her eyes narrowed, lines forming between her eyebrows as she thought. Then she twisted her lips and shook her head.

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