Page 56 of Cocky Secrets

It could also mean a zero.

As in nothing.

Not existing.

The Ciphers…

I dig deeper, page after page of garbage until finally on the eighty-seventh page I find a blog that says simply:If you need help or are in danger, call The Ciphers.

I spin back and forth in my rolling office chair while looking at the mysterious message. No number. Scrolling the blog’s pages, I find an message window, give my personal email as a return address, and type the message:

I need help. How do I get a hold of The Ciphers? And how do I know if it’s the kind of help they give?

“Bear,” Detective Rhodes calls over from his desk. “Got something on those Ciphers you were asking about.”

I stand up, chair rolling away in my haste. “What’d you find?”

“Have a case in another county where they helped capture a serial pedophile who was killing the kids. Says here Luke and Atlas Martinez gave their number as a contact. Look…” Rhodes scrolls through the report and shows pictures of the crime scene.

I curl away from the images, “There’s a special hell for the people who hurt children. Find anything else?”

“Says they reported being suspicious of the guy after seeing him with a kid that didn’t look like him. When the officers on the scene asked why they didn’t call the cops first, before going in and taking the guy down, they said they watch too many T.V. shows and got a little amped up. Says aSofia Sol Cockerexplained that they were afraid the guy would escape before police arrived.”

“Why didn’t we find this before?”

“Over ten years old. Guy’s dead. So much evidence against him the case got closed quickly.”

I nod, and look to my phone as a beep comes through. New email. “Good work,” I mutter to Rhodes, leaving him to read in private a telephone number along with two words:

Call me.

“Hey Rhodes, I’m headin’ home. Have a good one.”

“Night Bear,” he nods, sipping coffee and loosening his tie before returning to his computer.

Out into the crisp of night I stride to my truck, past my abandoned patrol car, and glance up as an owl hoots from a nearby tree. His head spins around, and his wings spread wide before he takes off into the silvery moonlight. I squint, watching him until I can’t see him anymore. Not every day I see an owl up close.

Tapping the phone number, I slide into my truck, start the engine and pause as a female voice answers, “Yes?”

“I’m the one who messaged you about The Ciphers.”

Her voice warms, like she’s concerned for me. “What do you need help with?”

“What can they do?”

“Anything. They got me away from a human trafficking ring when I was only sixteen. Now I help spread the word to people like me. They can do anything.”

I blink at the quiet police station, wondering what the hell I just heard. A human trafficking ring? That’s not normal motorcycle club behavior. “You’re okay now?” I ask, because it’s all I can think of.

“More than okay. I have my own business. A family of my own. I’m doing well, thank you. They took care of everything.”

“How?”

“They took the traffickers’ money and used it to put us all through college. If we wanted. Some just used it to get back home to their countries. Start over.”

Feigning being impressed, which I kind of am, I say, “Wow. That’s incredible. They took the traffickers’ money? How did the cops feel about this?”

“There were no cops,” she says as if it’s exciting. “You call The Ciphers when the cops can’t help you. If the cops had come, you tell me… where would that money we had earned have gone?”

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