Page 63 of Wicked and Claimed

Nash rifled through his bag until he pulled out a notebook and flipped it to a page full of his chicken scratchings. “They’re listed here, in chronological order, including the ones who got away.”

Ethan grabbed the notebook and slapped it on the table next to the laptop, glancing back and forth between the page and the screen. “Fuck.”

“It matches?”

Ethan nodded. “Exactly.”

“What?” Haisley felt like they were talking over her head, and it was pissing her off. “What matches?”

Ethan dragged her closer for a better view of the screen. “Each of these six-digit numbers corresponds to a date—the one in which the victim was abducted. The letter corresponds to her first initial. So see this? Twelve, twenty-four, and two digits for the year, followed by a K. That’s Kaylee, who disappeared on Christmas Eve.” He clicked on her file, only to find another assortment of numbers and letters.

“Shit,” Nash muttered. “This spells out everything about the girl abducted. H must be height. The fifty-two must mean she’s five foot-two. The W corresponds to weight. She weighs one twenty-two. The next numbers… B? W? H? I don’t know. We did weight and height, so what would another W or H mean?”

Haisley glanced at the numbers herself and it hit her. “Bust, waist, and hips. They’re measurements.”

Ethan nodded. “So the other stats just below? Another H and an E, next to abbreviations for colors, must be?—”

“Hair and eye color,” Nash cut in. “This lists Kaylee as having brown hair and eyes…and that corresponds to the information her mother provided. Son of a bitch.” He scowled. “But what’s the V for? There’s a Y next to that.”

Haisley knew and it made her sick. “If they’re selling these girls for sex, I’m sure they’re finding out whether or not she’s a virgin.”

“That’s disgusting,” Ethan growled.

“These fucking bastards don’t deserve to live.” And Nash looked ready to kill each and every one of them himself.

A few minutes later, they had verified that all the victims had a file folder with a document outlining her stats. Those who had been missing longer had other details, but interpreting their meaning wasn’t easy.

“What do you suppose the B stands for on this file?” Haisley pointed to the file they found on the first victim, Taylor. She worried like hell what the “yes” after it meant.

Both men shrugged. They might not know the answer, but their grim expressions told her it was probably bad.

“And what is this weird combination of stuff below? They both have decimal numbers, they’re separated by a comma, and the last number is negative. Is that…longitude and latitude?”

“It is.” Nash was already pounding away on his phone. Then he looked at Ethan with a shake of his head.

“An island. Am I right?” Ethan asked.

“Tiny. Private. In the middle of the Atlantic, sandwiched between the west of Cuba’s southern tip and the most westerly Cayman Island.”

“Fuck.”

“Is that where they’re taking those girls?” Haisley asked in dawning horror. It was terrible enough for these victims to be ripped from their homes, but to be transported out of the country to a foreign land with no government reach, no help in sight…

“This one at least,” Ethan answered. “But look, victim two, Collette, has all the same information after her abduction date and her initial. Except…wait. There’s another seven-digit code beneath the B we can’t figure out and the location.”

“What the fuck could that mean? Damn it,” Nash grumbled.

“I don’t know. Where does that leave us?” Haisley asked.

“Still searching,” Ethan admitted. “Sometimes cases are one step forward and two steps back. We just keep plugging away.”

“And hope for a break.” Nash sighed.

“What he said.” Ethan’s eyes were fixed on the computer screen as he clicked away. Suddenly, he sat up straighter. “Anyone ever heard of a business called Rugs Direct Unlimited?”

“Nope.” Nash shrugged. “Should I?”

Haisley shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it, either.”

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