Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [71]
Tick dried his hands on a kitchen towel, then sat next to Kate. “When I saw those mattresses scattered around, I knew something other than drug runners had occupied the place. A few weeks ago, when I was jogging, I thought I heard crying but didn’t pay too much attention, told myself it was probably some wild animal. I’ve heard voices in the past and never given it too much thought. Now I know it might’ve been a young girl or girls. I don’t think our Rosita has been there for weeks, at least I hope not. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid, so self-centered that I didn’t see what was really happening at that place.”
“Human trafficking isn’t something your neighbors would advertise,” Sandy pointed out kindly. “At this point, we’re not even sure that’s what happening,” she added. “And aren’t you busy writing books and movie scripts?”
Tick blushed. “Yes, but you’d think as a former police detective, I would be aware of these things going on. I’ve been so immersed in my own little world the past eight years that I truly haven’t paid attention to anything except my own needs.”
Pete spoke up then. “Look, Tick, don’t be so hard on yourself. We’re not positive that’s what’s going on. I’ve been here, too, don’t forget.”
Kate chimed in. “That’s why we’re here. To investigate. As soon as the sun’s up, I’m going to call Jelly. He’s the guy who arranged for us to be here. If we can get Rosita to talk, she may help solve this. For now, I think it’s best to let her sleep. Speaking of sleep, I think I’ll head back to the shell for a bit of sleep and a shower.”
She looked at the clock on the stove. After four. She’d be lucky to sleep for an hour. Years as an agent had taught her to grab a few minutes of sleep whenever the opportunity presented itself because one never knew when the chance to sleep might come around again.
Reluctantly, Sandy stood up, too. “Yeah, I guess I better try for a bit of shut-eye myself. I get these terrible bags beneath my eyes when I don’t get enough sleep.”
Tick and Pete followed them to the door. “We’ll have coffee on by seven if you’re interested,” Pete called out to them when they reached the bottom of the steps.
Sandy waved. “I can’t wait!”
Kate smacked her hand down. “Lord have mercy! Would you just stop for one minute. You’re acting too eager, if you ask me. And remember, we’re working, Sandra. Working. It’d be best to remember that.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with us coming over for coffee. Theirs was a sight better than that instant stuff we’ve been nuking in the microwave. Besides, I think you should be there when Rosita wakes up. She might be willing to talk to you after a good night’s rest and a healthy breakfast.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Now, let’s get inside and get some sleep. I, for one, can’t run on adrenaline forever.”
“Whatever, you’re a party pooper,” Sandy teased.
Fifteen minutes later, Kate and Sandy were lying on their cots with the air conditioner cranked as high as it would go and two oscillating fans blowing warm air across the room.
In a sleepy voice, Sandy said, “I think I’m going to move to Alaska when this gig’s up.”
“Then you’ll be begging for heat. Good night, Sandra.”
“Night,” came the reply.
Two and a half hours later, Tick readied the coffee while Pete showered. He’d spent the past couple of hours on the small sofa and wanted to take a run on the beach to stretch his stiff muscles but decided it could wait until later. He had the little girl to think about, which made him think of Emma and Ricky. God how he missed those two. They had been the core of his existence, the reason he got up every day. Gone before they’d even had a